Episode 4

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SASKIA'S POV

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The snow is thick and up to my calves in profuse blankets of wet ice crystals. I trudge forward through the sea of blinding brightness while cringing at the thought of my shoes losing the glue holding their soles after this ordeal.

"Am I the sole person here who thinks it might not be too late to escape?" Wade groans as his left sneaker gets stolen off his foot by the thick, pale field.

"I wish." I huff then grin at the sight of him hopping on one foot as he shakes his now wet shoe. Serves him right. I think as I make my way ahead of his loitering figure and towards the supermarket a few metres ahead of us.

If I could, I would escape; maybe run away to a new country, or a new continent or even a new world. I honestly wish to find a place yet undiscovered by the cruel, selfish reaches of humans and supernatural beings alike.

The planet earth has been gradually destroyed by its creatures for ages, and it saddens me to see the consequences slowly unveiling themselves. Living among supernaturals who generally loved the land on which they were born, I had learnt a tune different from that which mortals sang. There is indeed, honestly, nothing more gratifying than having the opportunity to remind the earth of her beauty and how deserving she is of your love.

Through the many rituals performed in the pack, one learns to speak to the earth and, even more importantly, listen for her.

She breathes soft, silky ribbons, drawing mystifying patterns all over the azure skies. She speaks in silent syllables through the rippling waves in the shimmering ponds that littered around our borders. She screams harsh, lingering appellations when in pain through the havocs she wreaks accordingly.

Tornadoes were one of her ugly creations, which unfortunately was quite frequent in our state, Missouri. Despite the reality that we often put up a brave fight against the disaster by using magic, there was hardly any difference. It was impossible to quell Mother Nature's anger when it was unleashed in all its naked fury. But then again, she'd been ruined enough, so her fury was quite justified.

I, however, would love if she would stop making Edmonton snow in the summer.

While I pray for a miracle that brings summer back, I continue to delay the inevitable while hoping my husband-to-be is unaware that I am already in his city.

"Finally!" I bellow as Wade joins me by the entrance leading into the shop. "Took you long enough."

"Had to fix the shoes. But really, what the fuck? How do people survive here? It's only August, and they have a motherfucking snowstorm. How does this make any sense?"

"I'm not sure what makes sense anymore," I state in a resigned tone. "At least it's not too cold. Though I can feel the chills through my sweater, I'm sure it could be worse." I conclude then reach for the iron handle, only to be halted when Wade grabs it first.

"After you, my lady." He pulls open the door and ushers me in while I roll my eyes at his unnecessary display of bogus chivalry.

"You better not act funny," I warn, then pause to regard him in his dark, leather jacket coupled with black straight-leg jeans. I conclude he seems rather intimidating. Give the man a pair of sunglasses, and he could pass for a kidnapper—a slightly attractive one too. I grudgingly add to my mental journal of 'abductor' qualities.

With the way he was dressed, a good number of humans back in the countryside—particularly the small town of Hollister where we'd been in the past—would have been pusillanimous in his presence, courtesy of his image.

Calling the police, mainly by the old folks, on a weirdly dressed man and therefore potential suspect of an unknown crime was also not a bizarre reaction back there. Surprisingly, here we haven't even gotten an extra glance in our direction; and this makes me more uneasy than pleased if anything.

Like apart from winter jackets, what the hell did Canadians wear again?

"Shall I strip off the hassling coverings and put on a show for you as well, my lady? Maybe do a little tease?" Wade asks, and I cough awkwardly in response. Spinning on my feet, I quickly stalk away from him and his annoying talk.

Of course, he would make my staring at him—even though I had lost myself in my own world while my gaze was forgotten on him and my piercing contemplation had been for a purpose entirely different from what he fantasises about—a big deal. I think any sane person would expect a creature almost a century-old to be more mature.

"Can you act grown for once in your damn life?" I growl when I realise that trying to lose him is only a futile attempt on my part, as he's stuck to my side like glue.

"Let's grab some stuff, then join the line first, princess. You can yell at me after." He pokes a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the growing queue. "Unless you wanna camp in here today, I suggest faster movements."

"I suggest less nuisances," I say instead of my actual thoughts that camping in the store is, in my confidential and restricted opinion, a much more preferable option to meeting my new pack.

"I can't help it." He grins creepily like a Cheshire Cat.

"Okay, stop that. Don't smile like that when we are up at the front." I warn then get on my tiptoes to watch the procession of people that is thankfully diminishing. The clerk is a small-statured young lady with red hair and a pretty smile.

My attention is torn away from examining her more when I hear the sound of cheese crackers being crunched. "What the hell Wade? Can you stop breaking them up since we're not buying them?" I scold before letting out a deep sigh. Sometimes, it feels like I am babysitting a child when I'm with him. It's still perplexing how well he acts like one so easily. "And did you even hear what I said before?"

"Yes, ma'am. And my answer is I'll try not to."

"Please and please, also do not put your werewolf charm on air by flirting with the cashier. This ground is still foreign territory for us, and we don't know who could be watching."

"I'll think about that." He runs his tongue over his lips so that they glisten under the glare of the incandescent bulb overhead.

"Do whatever." My reply is stunted only because something else has caught my attention. A box of maple oatmeal cookies. "They really love their maple syrup, huh?" I muse out loud to Wade, who has his eyes on the beef jerky sampled next to him. "We're so getting this."

"How do you know you're gonna like it, though?" He gestures at the three boxes I have piled up in my hand.

"Well, oatmeal cookies are my favourite, so I'm not sure this could go wrong. Now, the better question is, how do you know you're not gonna like it?" I challenge, remembering how he ruthlessly devoured the Chicken Katsu sandwiches I made after claiming that he had low tolerance to spicy foods.

"Hmm." He shrugs, and I eye him suspiciously, then grab an extra box just in case, as I've come to rightly be wary of his voracious appetite. Werewolves can eat almost anything bearing the title of food, and I have not yet seen an exception.

"That's a nice decorating set," I nod at a purple pastry set complete with bags, tips and couplers for decorating cakes, then make a mental note to get myself some pretty ones for later when I've finally settled in. There's no escaping my new life here after all.

"You should get one. Your cakes are amazingly delicious."

"Stop giving them so much hype." I drag myself away from the other baking items before I lavish my money on stuff I don't need. At least not yet. "I only took baking classes for a year."

Coming up with crazy yet unique combinations of foods and baking many rounds of tasty treats was one of my favourite things to do as a child. It still is as of now.

Father often made good remarks on my baking, comparing them to my mother's. She was also a good chef, and he would say so with a wistful sadness to his tone. According to his belief, making good foods was a trait that I inherited from her, despite the many times I'd told him that genetics did not work that way.

For this reason, he permitted me to hone my baking skills for a year, then gave the go-ahead to tour the most popular bakeries in the US, all on my own.

Note the emphasis on 'all on my own' as the old werewolf hardly ever lets me out of his sight or that of his spies. His fear has always been that his only daughter would be snatched away from his fingers like his wife was.

I understood him well enough not to complain about the unneeded attention and endless fussing ats. It was clear how much of an impact mother's death had on him. It destroyed him.

On countless occasions, I watched him break down in secret when he was alone and thought no one could hear. This made me overly supportive of his marriage to Amelia twenty years later. My father deserved to be happy, and even though I didn't say it often, I loved him.

"Hi, there!" The crimson-haired cashier interrupts my next train of thoughts as she greets me in a warm, genuinely friendly tone. I guess they like their jobs around here. I muse to myself.

"Hey," Wade murmurs in a stupid, rumbly voice drawing my attention to whatever antic he is about to act out. I catch his eyes flash swiftly, a golden tint to their brown hues, and I resist the urge to smack him upside down the head.

Even though I'd warned him specifically on using his charms, he'd still gone ahead and done the exact opposite. Honestly, maybe I should get a dog collar for him sometime soon.

"How are you today?" She asks sweetly in return as she swipes the items over the scanner, but she doesn't show any signs of being fazed like I expect her to be.

See, werewolves had the powers to make themselves seem far more attractive than they actually were at will, and it was nearly impossible for humans to resist their glamour in such a state.

My father forbade the wolves from using their allure on me, but I had seen their effects on countless women outside of the pack. It, however, did not prove to be the same for the woman right in front of us.

"I'm great. You?" Wade replies coolly but sneaks a look at me with a quick raise of an eyebrow.

She's different. I think as I suddenly notice that the aura she gives off is slightly skewed. It is unlike a human's. Could it be feline?

"Thank you. Have a good day." She nods at Wade, who saunters out, but she interrupts me with her words before I can leave. "It's nice to finally meet you, Luna." I twirl around quickly to face her, and to my surprise, sharp canines that protrude in her smile become noticeably evident.

Werewolf.

"You..." I start, but before I can get out a coherent sentence, Wade appears out of nowhere and pulls me out of the store.

"We should go!"

"She was a wolf." Even to my ears, I sound too level and calm, the way I do when my composure is a product of pure fraudery.

"I noticed in the end." The car clucks twice as he presses the control key in his hand.

"Her aura felt off, and I was suspicious, but when she referred to me as the Luna, my speculations were confirmed. Seems that she might be from a pack that knows of my arrival." Hopefully, it's not what I think it is.

"I don't understand," he declares but not in reply to my observation.

"What?" I sit up straight in my seat.

"I could not detect her scent as a werewolf."

"What?" I blurt out for the second time in a row.

"She masked her scent." The car revs to life, but we remain motionless while I let my thoughts race on a treadmill.

"I have only heard of spells that do such in rumours."

"It can only be the work of a powerful witch."

"Who must be under the control of a powerful Alpha." I finish. "Well, at least I know I can't stall anymore." The nerves in my face tighten as my countenance turns cold. It is what I think it is.

Stay strong, Saskia. Don't break. You're doing this for the pack. I self-motivate while holding on to the weak thread of courage I have left and my box of oatmeal cookies.

"Why say so?"

"Mikael's waiting for us."

"Uh, I don't think he is. At least not anymore." He comments, and I follow his gaze to the windshield on the right of me. A harsh gasp escapes my lips as I behold the face of a gorgeous man with bright, amber eyes glaring straight at me.

"I'm here for my woman." His voice is gravelly and guttural-sounding. I shudder involuntarily. Almost immediately, the door opens, and a large hand shoots out to grab me by the arm.