Siege (The Pack/Team Crafted)

Chapter Eleven

A woman walked down the streets of Shakel, her thick brown hair twisting down around her shoulders. She looked young and happy, and from the outside view, you would never guess what turmoil lay in her head.

Dark eyes darted from shop to shop until she finally found the right one. Rushing inside, she tried to block out the hushed talk of a cashier and his customer. Whatever was going on in the forest brought her no concern.

Of course, she knew it should. For years, she had waited on the border, wishing she could see him. She knew it would be better if he didn't know she existed, but some part of her longed to feel him in her arms, this time a grown man.

“Aye! Missy!”

She bolted at the sound of her name, glancing back at the grocer with a shy smile. “Hello, Thomas.”

“I haven't seen ya around for a while. What’a happened?”

Missy shrugged. “I just got cut down a paycheck, is all.”

Thomas seemed to accept this. “I figured ya might have been scared by the big bad warriors.”

“What do you mean?” She asked, reaching for the canned fruit.

“The A-su-whatevers. Their leader is coming to talk to the gov’ner.”

+

Jerome wrapped his fingers around his axe, hauling it up. There was heavy silence in the air as his seven warriors fell in by him.

He knew he was breaking several sacred laws, but he also knew these were different times. With the rising population, there was no exception too great to keep his people from being hunted.

It was his first command as Chieftain.

Voiceless, he started out of the main camp. His head was high, chin tilted up. There was a soft padding as his warriors followed him.

Among them was an auburn-haired woman. She held no weapon, like the other six. Jerome knew she was nearing the end of her life, but also knew she had been one of the very few who had considered reaching out to the Shakelian Chieftain. Her views had always swayed Jerome, if not the tiniest bit. She was his mother, after all.

“I've seen some of the people from this city…” He spoke in their native tongue, a rolling tone filled with growls and murmurs. “They are cruel. You will not be taken as human, though we all know we are more forest than living. However, I will not allow you to fight. This is their version of being humane and civil.”

His followers didn't dare speak as the break in the trees approached. Feeling the lump rise in his throat, he signaled for his group to fall behind him.

Slowly, he moved up and stood parallel with the final oak, looking out. Superiors from the city were fanned out in a semi-circle, held back by guards. A man stood in the center, wearing some sort of cloth in a series of whites and blacks. It looked very uncomfortable.

There were gasps from the crowd as they got eyefuls of the Primitives, with their scavenged clothing and ragged fingernails. Jerome took them in, then slowly stepped out of the woods and into the full light of day. His warriors filled out behind them.

He swallowed again, pushing down any last regrets he had. Mustering up the words, he continued in English.

“My name is Jerome. I lead the Asumé. I have come to make a deal.”

+

She couldn't help staring.

After hearing that the warriors were coming to the town, she had out her basket down on the counter and ran out of the store. Of course, she knew it was stupid, but she couldn't help fostering some hope.

When she finally reached the area, her heart fell. No one was here yet. Would they not show?

Just as she was beginning to have her doubts, there came a rustling, and they appeared.

They all looked… Odd. Human, but not “normal” human. Not what Missy what used to seeing. Fangs poked over some of their lips. Their nails were jagged or pointed. They were short in stature and stocky, but not fat. They were just built like a tank. Their eyes were shades of grey and green, and their hair was chestnut and red and warm colors, fluffy but thin.

Except the one who was clearly their leader, with an elaborate headdress on his crown.

His body was wiry. His hair was mud brown and thick, eyes round and dark and glinting, like a piece of onyx. He had the fangs and the nails, sure, but he wasn't like them.

At first, Missy saw her father.

Then her heart burst.

The possibility was miniscule, but suddenly she was back at the river. Frigid waters lapped around her fingers as she set the basket on top of the water. She knew, or she thought, that the little boy would drown, or get torn apart by some starving creature. The forest was cruel. It would chew the child up and spit him out; she just didn't want to be there to see it.

Blinking away her tears, she whispered one last goodbye then stood and ran. At fifteen years old, she had no way to care for her child. It wasn't her fault she had been assaulted, but her parents never saw it like that. Her jeans were too tight, so she should have known someone would like how her ass looked. She was wearing a push-up bra, which was just clearly asking for trouble.

The most harmful accusation was that it had been intentional.

She didn't want to have to give him up. He was her flesh and blood.

Yet she didn't have a choice. The laws were strict in Shakel. She had a month to get rid of him.

If not, he’d be forcibly taken.

With a gasp, Missy pulled herself back to the real world. That was in the past, far in the past. Now she was thirty-seven. She had a kid of her own, one she could legally keep.

“I've come to make a deal.”

His accent was thick. His voice was gravelly. He wasn't from here.

This wasn't his home, no matter how much she wished to believe it was.

Suddenly she found herself unable to look at him.

Overcome, she whirled on her heel. Breaking away from the group, she rushed home as quickly as she could. Once she reached the door, she swung it open. Her husband, making dinner in the kitchen, lifted his head to look at her.

“Missy, honey?”

“Charles... Charles, I found him.”