"Screw these traditions," Shera snarled to herself. She was beyond terrified as her heart hammered against her lungs angrily. She should have been mad but instincts made her bow her head to Gerard. What was the point in holding her own if she couldn't even fight her instincts? Now she had to do this traditional race the founders developed for mates. Gerard had agreed to it with a smirk, the ability to put on airs still prevalent for the alpha.
Shera could hear him behind her, her ears flattening as her body involuntarily slowed down. This was witch craft and a load of crap to her. She didn't want to submit, she wanted to put up a fight and gouge his eyes out to display them. Pressure pushed her down as the finish line came into view, shoving her face first into the floor as the bodies rolled into the shrubbery. She spluttered around a mouth full of leaves and dirt only to have white claws shove her head back down with a chuckle.
"I like this game. Maybe we can have our own in our pack," Gerard snickered. Shera growled quietly, the palm holding her head down bouncing lightly. "Come on now, Shera. You made me hunt you down for six days around this city. The perimeter is by no means small, you know."
"I don't want to be part of your pack," her voice trembled. Even now, as anger bubbled at the humiliating position, she was still terrified of what the man would do to her. He released her head only to trail his claws along the back of her neck.
"In my pack, we fight everyone equally. It demonstrates someone's skill and helps with our hierarchy," Gerard hummed. "Our fight lasted more than ten minutes. You were still going strong, foxy, even for someone so tiny and feeble looking."
"Are you trying to flirt? Because this is making me hate you more," Shera snapped. She was released, her body shooting to its feet as she glared at the man. He fixed his coat, looking as though nothing happened. Compared to him, Shera looked as though she belonged on the streets; her clothes were torn, leaving the many scars to be seen in the open air and the deep auburn hair was matted from the wilderness around them.
"I can flirt with my wife, Shera. It's only natural when she's looking as attractive as always," he cooed. She grit her teeth and started walking for the end, her hand being pulled back. Her back was against Gerard's chest as his hand gently gripped around her throat. Her knees went weak as he nuzzled into her neck gently. "I will not force myself upon you nor will I force you to do anything you don't want. All that I need from you is to cooperate with me in the pack and in my outside work."
"And if I refuse," she snapped.
"Then I will do with you what I have to do so that you submit. Your body already knows it's place," he let go and started walking, leaving Shera to watch his back. Her father was more than bitter as she finally approached him, his eyes glaring at Gerard as if he was the anti christ so many humans preached against on the outside.
"You lost," it was more of a statement than a question, the ice sharp in his voice as his gaze turned to her. What was she supposed to do? She had ran as fast as she could for as long as she could. There was no way any of them could have thought she'd beat Gerard when one of his strides could match two of hers. The stare made her a bit defensive as she stood back, she knew she had changed a bit more. "Get ahold of yourself. You're such a child."
"I will not tolerate that," Gerard shoved Scott back as he carefully pushed a change of clothes to Shera's chest. "If you all hadn't gotten rid of your witch, there would be less of these problems, don't you think?"
"Never had one," Scott snapped.
"Then maybe that's something you should invest in," Gerard forcefully grabbed Shera's arm as soon as the new shirt was on, dragging her with him down a hiking path leading to the road.
"We never had the money-"
"Yes, I'm aware. Why do you know more about all of that than your alphas, foxy? Hm? Is it because of their fighting," Gerard's questions were ruthless as he continued with them, giving her no time to react. He seemed passionate about running the pack. It almost made her not mind this arrangement he and her father had forced on her.
Her dreams came back to mind, her heart dropping as she weighed her wants to her new reality. She couldn't just go on her own anymore. At some point, Gerard would want to mate and with how easily it was for her to get pregnant she knew it'd work. She'd be stuck at home, caring for a child as it acted as a living ball and chain. He'd expect so much of her as a mother and his female she couldn't wrap her head around ever leaving in that situation.
"Shera," Gerard snapped his fingers in front of her face, her eyes blinking as he motioned to an open car door. "What has you daydreaming now? Is that why I caught up to you?"
Her expression turned sour as she climbed into the car, "I don't daydream when I'm running." He climbed in next to her, speaking to the man in the driver's seat in a language she barely knew. The car was spotless with black leather seats, golden detailing, a dark mahogany wood. She shifted as the smell of a new car filled her nostrils.
"What do you do," she asked quietly.
"I own a chain of hospitals and veterinary clinics around the country," he replied. "It was how we stabilized our growing pack. A little something you can suggest to your own pack if you want." Shera looked up at him, blinking as he pulled out his phone. Even the phone seemed expensive and it made Shera wonder how the man got as far as he did. "There is an event I want you to come with me to tonight. I already have one of the omegas ready to help you go shopping."
"I don't need help," Shera retorted.
"It's not just to help you, foxy. It's so you don't decide to run away," he snickered. She pouted as the car ride continued. The silence was only broken by the occasional phone call for Gerard. It was almost like that's what he had wanted.
Shera was reveling in it as the car moved about. It was calmer than she anticipated and while she probably couldn't find this silence anywhere else, she almost missed the loud laughter from her pack. She closed her eyes and left her hands in her lap. If Gerard was a doctor of some kind, how old was he in all actuality? There also came the questions about his lineage.
A white wolf would never travel far from the north and yet here he was, midway between the ice covered lands and the equator. It just wasn't common. So who was the first to travel south? Or better yet; who decided to travel any distance from their home? Shera tapped her chin as she frowned a bit, her eyes open and focusing on the stitching in the front seats.
The car stopped not long after, leaving Shera still in a state of confusion and wonder. He hadn't said a word since the end of his questioning and she was beginning to feel bad for leaving him with no answers. How was she supposed to answer his questions anyways? There was never any real reason to the fighting that she was told. It had just been a difference in standing within pack politics and a rivalry.
Shera looked up at the house they had pulled up to, stopping and shaking her head. This wasn't a house, it was an apartment complex and there were a few people walking about and waving to one another.
"This is your new home," Gerard stated flatly, "I need to get to the hospital. The apartment is on the top floor. Don't let the other pack members give you any sass either; they'll step all over you, foxy."
"Stop calling me that," Shera huffed. He smirked as got back into the car. She watched it for a moment before turning and staring at the building again. How were werewolves living in such a modern looking place? Her pack had always stuck to the wilderness, never letting go of the roots they held so close to their hearts.
The sight of it made her homesick. She wanted the trees and the grass, the ferns that tickled her skin when she walked past. Her feet trudged up the stairs, a few of the people moving about watching her closely. She counted each step to distract herself, shoving her hands into her jean pockets. These people were rich and she could tell by looking into their windows.
Clean, neat, and expensive furnishings inside, no matter what she saw; that was intimidating in itself as she was used to hand-me-downs and a couple of twenties. She glanced around as she reached the top floor, smelling elm wood and pine from the only door there. She slowly turned the knob, blinking as it opened up for her. He was that comfortable with where he lived he didn't bother with the door? Didn't he just get done chasing her down for six days? He could have just went home and continued the next day.
Walking in, she was greeted with plants on every shelf, small trees in pots in almost every corner, and shelves covered in books. Tubes ran in the upper corners of the ceilings down to the plants where there seemed to be a consistent irrigation system Shera hadn't ever seen before. She stared at the brown leather couch separated by an arch, a flat screen set up with a single movie case next to it. The home was lived in and cared for as the cherry wood floors shined with gloss. It was a comfort in a place that would surely lack it when the owner came home.
Her shoes were off and set by the door as she walked in, glancing around. There weren't any pictures on the walls, no rewards and no evidence of a family. It was a full floor apartment with only one tenant. Shera could instantly feel just how lonely it must have been, her heart squeezing a bit for the man she wanted to hate. She would have wanted a mate too if this is what waited for her back home.
She settled herself on the couch after exploring the kitchen, unwilling to venture farther into the apartment. It wasn't hers, she felt it would be rude to wander in any farther than the main gathering areas. Her gut also screamed that there was something farther in she may not have wanted to see; something she wouldn't be allowed to. A man such as Gerard couldn't be a simple, open book. There was no way.
Her mind began to wander, a small hope in her chest pleading to be ignited on a way to get out of the arrangement she had no choice but to cooperate with. Her father hadn't seemed right either after the chase. There was a form of aggression that she had only seen him hold with Uncle Tyrone and it unnerved her even further. He had never spoken to her that way, even when he was training her or reprimanding her semi-transformations. This was more hostile, more dangerous than anything.
She hadn't realized she had dozed off, her eyes opening from the blackness her thoughts raged in. Someone held her, a gentle yet firm grip easily supporting her weight. It was warm, the smell of whoever it was reminding her of wet bark and the contradicting smell of a burning fireplace on a cold night. Her face buried itself into the smooth surface as she breathed in, her eyes refusing to open. She was set down and she curled into the soft surface, holding whatever it was that smelled good close to her face. It pulled slightly, her grip tightening as she let a soft whine roll from her chest.
"Not yet," she mumbled.