The Pack Slut

Twenty Six- I'm Back, Bitches

When I pull up to the pack house it is early morning. I had driven the entire day before and through the night, running on coffee and Rite Aid candy while my car ran on cheap gas and worn tires. I didn't expect anyone to be awake  but the night guards who were finishing up their shift.

Needless to say, I was surprised to find that the gated entrance to the road that lead to the house was manned by a dozen wolves.

"You fellas expecting me or something?" I call out my rolled down window and one of the guards approaches the side of my car.

"Who are you?" He asks in a stern voice, not the least bit affected by my playful tone.

Someone had a long night, I mentally roll my eyes but actually roll my window down farther.

"Anderson, Lenora Anderson," I give him my name without thinking—that was my first mistake.

"Lenora Anderson?" He questions but then responds before I can, "she's dead."

My jaw opens and closes like a fish out of water for a split second as I process his words.

Being the idiot that I am I think now is the appropriate time to make a joke. Wrong.

"Well, that explains how I was able to walk right through the bank vault without a problem and I could have sworn the cashier in the last gas station I stopped at looked paler than usual when I walked in." Joking was my second mistake. And you only get three strikes and then you're—you know how it goes.

The guard stared at me with a blank face, void of all emotion, "she died when she lied to her pack."

"I lied to the pack?" I raise my eyebrow and grip the steering wheel a little tighter.

Ladies and gentlemen, I would now like to direct your attention to strike three: "I would have died for this pack. Hell, I almost did—multiple times. But, if you wanna know the truth—just between you and I—I may be a bitch, I may be a slut, I may even be a little bit judgemental but one thing I am not is a liar. Call me that again and I'll knock your head off your shoulders."

I am ripped out of my car faster than I can process. At first, all I feel is the gush of air from the sudden movement; but then, I feel the knuckles batter against the side of my rib cage and my brain finally catches up.

Oh shit.

I raise my hands to protect my face and dodge another blow meant for my jaw. I wind up my right arm and step forward into a hard swing that connects with the guards shoulder. A little lower than I would have liked but he's tall for me to be fighting so close.

I retract my fist quickly to guard my head again but the man is faster. He latches onto my wrist and tugs me forward so that I fall into his arms. He wraps his thick forearms around my head and neck and holds me to his chest.

With wide eyes, I stand on my tip toes to keep my head just out of the lock enough to breathe. I pull my elbow forward and then shove it backwards into the man's gut and I can hear his grunt from behind my ear. I start to repeat the motion when I hear someone shout.

"Stop!"

It's a feminine voice that I recognize right away. I've heard the voice too many times in my head repeating that same line over and over and over. "because he's my mate" the voice says until I can't take it anymore.

But now, the voice is strong and assertive—a complete 180 from my vague memories of a cautious timid girl.

"Release her," the voice commands and the guard does so immediately.

Trained guard dog, I glare at the man in the hopes that he will keel over.

"Luna," the man speaks first because I am still trying to catch my breath. "What are you doing out here this time of morning?"