Chapter 4

***Falcon POV***

The red-haired girl lies limp in my arms as I gape down at her. Her freckled cheeks smudged with dirt and wet from what I can only assume are tears, yet she is still as perfect as ever. She looks different from expected. Which is alarming considering in every life she has always been white-haired with eyes that draw you in like the sticky honey they resemble. I lean in, my nose close, but not touching her neck as I inhale. She smells the same, and her aura… She must be the Luna. 

Or is she? Who knows what curses the witches of this world have added to the hell she and I have both had to endure life and life again? She groans as I lift her in my arms, moving to my makeshift bed and laying her down. The mattress made of leaves will have to do for her highness tonight. 

As I draw away from her, my eyes latch onto the huge dirty hole in her sweatshirt. I reach out, yanking her shirt up and examining the rough scab on her right side, midway up her ribcage. The scab is wide, surrounded by a grotesque bruise that is fading color as I watch. She heals fast, much faster than your run-of-the-mill werewolf.

My fingers reach out, and I pause, thinking better of it before I can control my actions and continue my exploration of her wound. I brush her pale milky white skin, leading up to the deep purple bruise that is fading into a sickly green. She hisses in her sleep, moaning as I press into her side, trying to assess how damaged she is. There is a definite crack in her rib bone sewing itself back into place. 

Anger washes over me at her carelessness. No wonder she passed out the moment she sustained another injury, her body is working hard to save her life from one wound while maintaining running at high speeds. She must either be desperate or completely stupid. I am leaning toward a little of both.

I turn her to the side, removing the bags from her back and laying her head down on my sack of clothing, then I move back to the fire to go through her things. Right now the most pressing question is why she was running so wildly, and who she is, aside from being Luna incarnate. What’s her name? What has her life been like? And why the fuck do I even care?

Her bags reveal nothing to me other than her clothing size and love of workout attire. I move to her second bag, trying not to smile at all the protein bars and health food snacks. Either she is one of those health nut people or she hit a sports store on the way into the woods. I glance over at her and know my answer. 

She is far too thin to be a werewolf who works out. We thrive on muscular forms. No, she is a girl who has starved before her transformation. Though normally on the night of transformation werewolves lend their humans a little helping hand in the muscle department. Young boys go from scrawny to ripped after one transformation. 

Yet here she is, looking gaunt and pale. Which means only that she has not been sustaining her running habits with the appropriate diet. A frown finds my lip at the thought of her earlier life being shitty. It’s been a long time since I have been hungry, but the feeling never truly leaves your mind. The painful pinch in your stomach or the overwhelming nauseous when you finally do come into food.

I sigh. I have to stop wondering about who she is and the life she led. What good will it do me when the time comes for me to complete my mission? It will break me as it does in every life. I can’t afford to break a hundredth time. Not when the fate of my mate is on the line. Guilt prickles up my spine but I shove it down. 

I have not lived for thousands of years to feel guilty for saving the werewolf world as we know it or my mate. The Luna is a girl. Just a girl. Unfortunately for me, she just so happens to be the girl who somehow breaks through my defenses every damn time. 

“Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair before scrubbing my hands over my face. “What the hell am I going to do when you wake and recognize me?” I ask the sleeping beauty across the fire, knowing full well she is currently dead to the world in her slumber. 

Her hair blazes in the firelight, like a girl, caught on fire come to burn my resolve to the ground. I can feel it, though. She is different this time. She seems less… polluted with anger and hatred. Which, though refreshing, only makes me want to rouse her more. I settle, however, on pulling out my nifty cast iron pan and oiling it up to cook up the rabbit I had been preparing for dinner before she arrived. 

Not all werewolves carry around camping gear, but when you have your mansion only miles away, you bring things. And these humans have done a pretty neat job of creating things perfect for outdoor living. Not that I bought all the things I have. No, I have acquired a lot of these over the years of finding abandoned campgrounds of those who were unfortunate enough to find themselves lost. Or at the hands of a beast much bigger than them.

The oil in the pan sizzles and bubbles as I toss the wild onions in before adding the rabbit. Once it’s seared, I add in the broth I saved from the other night’s soup and add it, along with potatoes and some random herbs I found along the trail. Then I let it simmer. 

While I don’t need food to sustain me, I’ve grown to enjoy food that tastes good. What is the point of it if it doesn’t sustain me anymore other than to pass time and learn something new to occupy my brain waiting for her revival and awakening?

“What is that?” Her soft voice asks from the bed as she winces, turning to face me. 

I point to the pot with my index finger. 

“It’s your dinner. And you should try to rest a little longer. Dinner will keep.”

Her eyes widen, and I can practically see her salivating from here. I grin at her.

“You made me food?”

“You are too scrawny to keep running… you need to eat something to sustain your healing.” I explain to her and she shoots up. I know she is regretting the fast movement, but she tries to mask it, which only makes me like her a little more. Which I tuck deep down. She rips up her sweatshirt and gapes at the pale pink line that runs across part of her lower chest.

“You’re not freaked out by it?” she asks shyly, edging herself up off the bed of leaves and moving her way towards me. I quirk a brow in interest.

“Why would it freak me out?”

“Because… I mean… well, it’s not very common…” she says, eyeing me carefully. I give her a full smile and wink at her. 

“It is where I’m from.”

Panic floods her eyes and I can see her itching to grab her bags and jet away, but then she looks at me again and her gaze softens, her face relaxes and she nearly makes me choke on my spit with how breathtaking she is. It’s written all over her face. She trusts me and for no good reason at all.

“Are you an… animal too?” she asks, finally deciding to take a seat next to me as I reach out and scoop her up some stew. I chuckle at her question. 

“We are all a little more animal than we would like to be.” I offer her the bowl and she takes it. “My name is Falcon. And we are both werewolves.”

She pauses and frowns for a moment.

“Your name is Falcon…?” She seems oddly disappointed with my answer.

I nod.

“Yes, my name is Falcon.”

“It’s not like… something else? Maybe Falcon is a nickname for you?” She watches me as if trying to find a lie. I just tilt my head with a smile. 

“My name is Falcon. It’s not short for anything.” Which isn’t a lie, not necessarily the truth either. Falcon is my name now. It wasn’t long ago, but I killed that idiot and recreated myself. I had to. I needed to never hear my true name on her lips again. To hear it once more in her voice would make me rethink everything I have done for thousands of years and I can afford to have that happen. I can’t waiver when the end is finally so close. 

“And you are sure?” She asks again with more conviction as if she knows I am lying. Panic rises. Her not recognizing me was new but clearly short-lived. I grace her with a fake smile and nod. 

“I’m pretty damn sure.” I offer.

“Sorry, it’s just you seem more like… I don’t know. The name just seems–not you.” Then she spoons stew into her mouth with a satisfied moan escaping her lips as she moves gracefully from the topic of my name.

“I am Laney. So, werewolves exist? And so do vampires?”

“Yes… Did you not know you were a werewolf?”

“I’m not sure I was. I’ve been human all my life and then BAM! Last night I exploded and then I was a wolf,” she says with wide eyes. Now It’s my turn to frown at her and question what she says.

“Bam? You exploded?” I ask skeptically, and she nods her head vigorously. Through a bite of stew, she says.

“It was insane! It knocked out a bunch of naked guys chasing me and two vampire brothers who have been chasing me.”

Now my panic is real, and it’s sticking in my throat. What the hell? Naked guys and vampires? They have to know what she is, but why the hell would what I assume are werewolves and vampires be working together to get to her? Not once in her past ninety-nine lives have I encountered this before.

“La–Falcon,” she corrects herself. “I know you planned to put me out after you fed me, but… I was wondering if maybe… you could help me?” She pleads, and I watch her dirty face morph into a pout. She truly does not know who I am to her. Shit, I’m not sure she knows who she is.

There doesn’t seem to be a single thing about me, she remembers. Not the love we once shared, or the ninety-nine times I killed her with the very blade on my hip right now, or the hands that made her dinner. She is innocent and in need of protection. What she doesn’t realize is she has wandered into the den of the big bad wolf and I can’t let her go, not until I’ve killed her one last time.