Journey to the last Werewolf Pack

Becca

We can’t be the only survivors.

My boots pound down the long corridor, and I can only repeat it in my head. We can't be the only survivors.

I run past the band posters on the walls, and doors on the left every so often, excitement bubbling up in me. My lips twitch into a smile but I smother it. I still can be wrong about this. 

This stadium is like most others, so it’s easy to find my way around, even though this is my first time here with my sound crew and a band I met two months ago.

I’m in a city I’ve never been to before, and I run towards someone I don’t know, someone who claims to have found my lost cardigan at a Diner. The few hundred meters between the mixing console where I work to the back door where he is waiting are decreasing at a steady pace.

I know I didn’t leave any cardigan anywhere because I don’t own any. I only wear hoodies or leather jackets.

The person claiming to have my cardigan knows it’s a lie. I know it’s a lie too, but still, I’m running to meet him.

Why?

Because I haven’t encountered another werewolf outside my family since I was 13, and I certainly hope he is one.

My bracelets jangle as I quicken my steps, hoping that he is here because he scented me at the Diner I visited and followed up on the hint I left by sharing my details with a server.

This is how I have lived my life lately- traveling through the country with a band so I can search for other werewolves.

Every town we visit, I spend hours at a local diner where most of the patrons are residents, leaving my scent behind sitting in a booth. I always chat with the servers, telling them I’m the sound engineer of the band performing that night.

This approach is a bit risky, but werewolf hunters are only humans, they can’t detect my scent, so I figured revealing myself this way wouldn’t draw any suspicion. I genuinely believe that they stopped hunting us, assuming there are no survivors left.

I need to hold on to that belief; otherwise, I'd live in fear every single day.

My heart races with anticipation that I’m about to meet another werewolf. This is what I’ve been waiting for, and not only waiting but actively working towards for years now.

“He is freaking hot,” one of my technicians, Nicky, told me a minute ago. “He is waiting by the back door.”

I quickly finished the soundcheck of Jackie, the first backup singer, and put my technicians in charge to do the second one while I ran out.

As a sound engineer, my entire day today is dedicated ensuring that every loudspeaker is perfectly positioned and aligned for the best experience possible for the audience. Every cord and mic plugged correctly, and every band member is satisfied with how they hear themselves and one other.

I’ll check later if the balance is on the spot. With the lead singer being late as usual, I have a few minutes to check out this guy who claims to have my non-existent cardigan.

The sun blinds my vision as I push the door open, still, I realize, no one is by the door.

I squint, turning my head first to the left, then to the right, while the purple ends of my hair whip around, obstructing the view of the parking lot in front of me. Despite all the distractions, I can see a guy leaning against his pickup truck about a hundred meters away.

It has been ten minutes since Nicky claimed he stood at the door. I can't expect anyone to stand here like an idiot for that long.

I start towards the only person around, slowing my steps and my breathing in case he is not who I think he is. What if I’ve been getting my hopes up for nothing?

‘I have a good feeling about this,’ my wolf, Bliss, encourages me, and I can’t disagree.

His tall build and broad shoulders are certainly werewolf attributes, but they alone are not enough to determine his being. Patches of paint cover his clothes, and a ladder, and telescopes stick out of his truck.

I have only a handful of memories of other adult werewolves. My impression is mainly based on my family. My father and brothers are all around 6 feet 2 inches tall, with strong builds and high capacity of work.

As our eyes lock, we simultaneously raise our noses, scenting the area. The robust, earthy aroma that reaches me is definitely not a cologne; it must come from a werewolf. My pulse quickens, and I struggle to contain my smile as my wolf jumps excitedly within me.

He pushes himself away from his car, catching my scent more clearly now. His lips twitch into a cocky, somewhat arrogant smirk as he approaches me slowly on his treetrunk-sized thighs. He takes off his cap before we reach each other, nervously scratching his buzzcut hair.

We stop and stare at each other for a few moments, not knowing what to say. He looks away briefly but then meets my gaze again, clearly trying to mask his nervousness. Up close, his smirk appears less arrogant, and his eyes sparkle with interest. Hsi shoulders rise and as he exhales slowly I find myself focusing on his lips, and a shiver runs through me.

This is the moment I’ve been waiting for so long. Growing up on a farm, just outside of our Pack’s territory, I lived for the full moon runs. When the moon was at its brightest, we would join our Pack and run together for hours. On other days, we lived as humans, trading the goods our pack produced–such as wood, game, and furs. My parents ran the shop in the nearest human town.

I wonder how he survived and what his family was doing when everything fell apart. Were they as scared as we were? Did they understand what was happening? Had they been searching for others? But perhaps these shouldn’t be my first questions.

“Hi,” I say as my eyes search his. White freckles adorn his sea-blue eyes as they narrow against the beaming sun.

“Hey there,” he replies with a Southern accent. “I wasn’t sure I should come looking for you. But then I thought, why else have you left the details of how to find you, right?” he raises a groomed eyebrow.

My shoulders relax as I nod. “Right.”

Bliss pushes forward before I can stop her, and her blue eyes shine through my brown ones. Not even a moment later, his wolf responds with his dark blue covering the guy's light ones.

“Well, that’s a way to introduce themselves,” I laugh at my wolf’s eagerness.

“It is,” he laughs with me. “I’m Jason, but everyone calls me Juice,” He offers his hand, and I take it.

“I’m Becca,” I reply, leaning closer. His long fingers envelop my smaller hand, with his warmth buzzing through me.

“So, Becca. Are you searching for someone or just leaving breadcrumbs for anyone to follow?” he asks with that cocky smirk again, and I instantly know he didn’t come up with this line just now.

“I’ve been dying to meet anyone who is like … me. You know,” I point to my eyes, not saying aloud the obvious secret we share. As he scratches his hair again, I examine his face. His eyes turned back to that light blue with white freckles. He has a definite, straight nose with depressed root, a sharp jawline, and slim, almost hollow cheeks, making his chin stand out. His clean-shaven face gives him a boyish look. He can’t be over 25 I think, at first, but then remember that it’s harder to tell with werewolves.

“I get it,” he shoves his hands into his jeans pockets with a sudden shy expression. “This is my first time meeting someone… you know.”

My smile widens as I sense his excitement. “Mine too, except my family, of course,” I add quickly, shifting my wheight from one foot to the other, unable to calm myself.

He nods when the door behind us opens with a loud thud. ”Becca,” Nicky, yells. “Scott is on stage, and he wants you.”

“Coming,” I reply quickly then turn back to Jason Juice. What a stupid name, I laugh to myself.

'Don't say that,' Bliss chides me. 'Let's get to know him before judging.'

'Thanks, my wise wolf,' I reply sarcastically, though I intent to do just that.

“I have to go back. Do you live here?” I ask.

“Yes, in a nearby town.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow with the band.” I scrunch my face. “Can we exchange numbers? Would you want to meet later today? I have a few hours in the afternoon before the concert.”

“That would be great,” he replies, taking out his phone.

I take mine from the back pocket of my jean shorts and type in his number before texting him so he has mine, too.

“See you later, Jason Juice,” I say giddily.

“Just Juice,” he replies with a slightly warning tone as I turn to hurry back to work.

Happiness bubbles through my veins, lightening my steps as the heavy door closes behind me.

'What do you think, Bliss?' I ask her, and I know she is thinking about the same thing - if we are the last ones, we are probably mates.

'We won't know that till we shift,' she replies, and I nod internally.

Mate bonds only reveal themselves under the moon, when we are in wolf form. In human form, none of us can identify our mates.

'Let's hope he wants to meet again tonight to shift.'