His Wolf

Fifty-One

I felt something. I felt something when I attacked Colin. It wasn't me. The me before or the me now. It wasn't anything that I had known before, nothing I had felt.

It was intense. It squeezed my bones until they felt like they would pop. It dug at my muscles, trying to rip its way free. 

I've been pushed ever since I could remember. Pushed to be stronger, angrier than any opponent I was ever pitted against.

But the rage that twisted in my gut was different from anything before. It was sharp and unrelenting. Everything makes me angry, Everything threatens to send me over the edge. I don't like the rage. I resent it. I don't want to feel the tightness in my muscles, I don't want to feel the phantom aching in my bones. The stiffness, the constant on edge. I hate it. But hating makes me upset. It makes me angry with myself, and the rage just continues until I'm eventually left with only one option. To embrace it. Make it a part of me, give up on pushing it back, let it take control, and just go along with whatever happens next.

I don't want to. I don't want to let it win, I don't want to lose myself in a blind rage that I may never wake up from. But every time it rears its head, it becomes harder and harder to control.

Everyone has their limit. Everyone has a point where they break, where they give up and just go through the motions of what's to come.

The question is, how long will it take?

What will it take?

How far can you push someone until who they were and who they might have been is gone forever.

That's the question.

Because I'm starting to see the cracks in the foundation. I'm starting to see that I can't keep it all contained much longer. Something wants out, and it will break whatever it has to do in order to.

Even if it means destroying me in the processes.
And I'm afraid that's exactly what the trainer wants.

He doesn't want the girl, be dosent want the wolf. He wants the beast.

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🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺

Austin:

A good man.

A good man thinks about his actions. A good man is the kind of man my father used to be. A good man wouldn't be treacking through the woods in hopes of finding his mate that he lost. 

"You didn't lose anything, son,"

I scoffed at the voice in my head. She seems pretty lost to me.

"You didn't lose anything, It was taken."

"And you're the one that took her."

"I didn't take anything. It was taken from me,"

His voice echoed through my head, and I despretly tried to block it out, but the echos of his words still thudded against my skull. Eventually, I was able to shove it from throught as I lumbered through the trees, aggravation clear in my body language.

"Keep it down, you big lump, we are almost there," I hadn't even realised. I had caught up with the rest of the group until Lucy's voice snapped me from my thoughts.

I ducked my head and mumbled an apology in the direction of my little sister's playful glare.

Ben tried to hide his smile by clearing his thoat, "Tell me again why we left the lycans behind?"

"Because," I reminded as I weaved my way back to the front, "This is supposed to be a rescue, not an execution."

Max's parents had wanted to come, her mother was basically foaming at the mouth while Tolvard was encouraging her tast for violence. Giving the lycan queen ideas on how to go about killing the man that had stolen their daughter form them once again.