Still, he stood there in the dark for a long, long time, head cocked, listening for any sound of screams or distress coming from the direction in which she’d just gone.
* * * * *
Flora glanced back over her shoulder as she hurried off, looking at him once more before she turned a corner. He stood with his back to her, still naked in the chill of the night.
He seemed larger than any lion shifter she’d ever encountered before. He was a good 6’4”, with broad shoulders and rippling muscles. And not that she’d looked on purpose, but it had been impossible to miss the massive member dangling from that thick thatch of hair.
As she got farther away from him, she felt a surprising stab of loneliness and a strange urge to hurry back to him. He’d made her feel safe in the brief time she’d been with him. She was so alone out here, far away from everything and everyone she knew. But then, she didn’t know him either. And given how utterly she’d been betrayed by those who were closest to her, she sure as hell wasn’t going to put her trust in a perfect stranger.
She kept walking, and the streets were so empty and quiet it was eerie. The sound of her feet slapping on the pavement echoed in her ears.
As she got farther and farther away, the last working streetlights disappeared and the only illumination came from the ghostly moon and the tiny white splotches of stars. Flora slunk through the shadows, clutching her purse to her, her senses on high alert.
In addition to good night vision, she also had an excellent sense of smell, although not as powerful as a wolf’s or bear’s. Right now, she was wishing her sense of smell was not so acute. The odors that were drifting her way made her nose wrinkle. Rotting garbage and urine splashed on concrete. Stale, unwashed B.O., some of it days old, some of it fresher. Ugh.
So this was what freedom smelled like.
The smell of urine and B.O. grew stronger and fresher as she walked. She heard something rattle in a doorway as she passed it, and she stifled a cry of fear. Looking down, she saw an old, grizzled bear shifter curled up there, sleeping off a drunk.
She didn’t feel comfortable being human here.
She hurried down a side street, stripped out of her clothes, stuffed her clothing in her purse, and shifted, sinking to all fours. Ugh. Now her sense of smell was even better.
Then she prowled the dark, lonely streets, purse in her mouth, looking for a place to sleep. She’d lied to Finn about the hotel. She didn’t have money for a hotel, or a cell phone to call and make a reservation.
She’d never owned a cell phone. The Wilkinsons had made sure of that.
And she’d spent almost all her money on the bus that had brought her to the Badlands border station, where she’d handed in her identity card and listened to various dire warnings before they’d let her through a big metal gate. She’d had to shift and run twenty miles to get to Darwin.
Up ahead she saw a row of old buildings that seemed abandoned. She sniffed at the air. She was alone; no other shifters anywhere within scenting distance.
Well, she’d sleep here for the night and figure out what to do in the morning. She slunk through the doorway of what appeared to be an old warehouse, and began pacing through the moldy, damp rooms, heading towards the back of the building.
Had she made a mistake coming here? She’d fled to the Badlands in a state of pure panic. She had found out that her cousin Krystle was here, living in Darwin.
She hadn’t wanted to tell Finn that Krystle was related to her, in case the people who were chasing after her were looking for Krystle too. She needed to warn Krystle what might be coming her way, though. She just prayed that her cousin would be back soon and could give her some kind of guidance on how to survive this strange, terrifying new world.
Flora finally came to a room near the back of the building, with a pile of flattened cardboard boxes in the corner.
She settled down cross-legged on the floor, stared at the pile of boxes, and concentrated hard.
Burn,she thought.
Nothing happened. Of course.
She pinched her arm, even though she’d tried that already. Pain didn’t seem to work. She’d jabbed herself with a pin the day before just to be sure.
Fear didn’t work either. If it had, those wolves who had just attacked her in the alley would be barbecued wolf-kabob. She was glad she hadn’t set the wolves on fire; she didn’t want them dead. She just wanted them to behave themselves.
She thought back to that summer six years ago, when her cousin Krystle had been staying with her family for the summer after a stint in juvie. Flora’s thuggish older brother Howie had attempted to fondle Krystle. She’d kicked him in the nards and run off through the field behind their house. Howie had tried to chase Krystle, and Flora had jumped on him – and the shed near the house had burst into flames, as if a bomb had gone off. Right before the fire, Flora thought she’d felt something – an odd buzz inside her, something she’d never felt before.
When Flora had looked across the field, she’d seen Krystle standing there, fists clenched, staring at the shed.
Flora had rushed off to tell her parents that she had been the one who’d set the fire, to keep Krystle out of trouble. It hadn’t helped much; her parents had shipped Krystle off to stay with another relative a few days later anyway.
With a heavy sigh, she slid behind the boxes and curled up to sleep.
