Stranger In The Night

Smoke wafts into my face, stinging my eyes. Because why wouldn't it? What part of me hasn't been tormented in the last 24 hours?

I scalded my skin and scratched at it with a rough rag until there was no trace of Alpha Nolan's touch left. The scars and bruises from Wesley and Russel are all but gone. And yet, every inch of me still hurts down to the very marrow. I barely had the energy to start the fire in my pit, but it needed to be done.

Fear and worry kept me from eating at the dinner, and now that the panic has worn off from Alpha Nolan's advances in the courtyard, I'm starving. I've hunted and scavenged some meat scraps from the café in the territory. I throw them into my lone, worn-out pan, adding the few unbruised vegetables still rattling around in the bottom of my cooler. It's not gourmet, nothing close to the finery I was served in the packhouse earlier. But washed down with some tequila, it'll do.

The meat sizzles in the pan as flames lick up the sides, charring the metal bl