WOLF BOUND [FATED] novel Chapter 2

Amber sat at the back of the cop's car and stared out the window as they sped toward Ink Stone. She couldn't believe how lucky she and Joshua had been to have been rescued by the cops. Human law enforcement could only serve and protect in a limited capacity. She hadn't been born before the world discovered things like vampires, elves, witches, warlocks, werewolves, and God knows what else was real, but she'd heard about how things used to be. Human governments had changed decades ago after they'd discovered they were pretty much powerless against things much stronger than them. So they made a pact. The day was for us humans, and the night, some nights, was theirs. The supernatural.

It was a smart deal on their part from Amber's point of view because when you couldn't fight an enemy, you acclimated.

Fight the fights you could win. Turn a blind eye to those you'd lose. That was her stepfather's saying.

The cop shifted in his seat and hit the meter, trying to get her attention. "It's not too late to turn back home," he said, the words a throaty whisper. "There are wolves in Cold County, dear. Those bad wolves are going to eat you up the moment I drop you off."

"I'll be fine," she replied, then added, "Moreover, the part of town we are headed to is safe."

"That's not true, dear, and you know it. Your eyes might deceive a human, but they won't deceive a supernatural. They'll smell that you're human from a mile away.

Amber couldn't help but flinch. He had noticed her oddly colored blue-green irises, irises that had started to change recently. Yes, she was different. How? She didn't know. She was only aware of the mark on the back of her neck that had come to life in the last few months - a mark she was desperately trying to cover up. Strange sensations and occurrences soon followed, starting with sensitivity to sight, sharp hearing, then scents. After she'd gotten her nose under control, her sense of taste kicked in.

Gorging on meat? Fine and dandy.

Nibbling on salad and green veggies? No way in hell. Even slathered in dressing, a salad tasted like sandpaper. Her stomach and taste buds rebelled, modifying her food choices.

Then the changes in her body started.

The skin at the back of her neck had started itching without warning, and the mark etched into her flesh sometimes burned horribly. Her aunt and stepdad, who were now married and were now her official parents, had become concerned, noticing the changes in her behavior and the lightening of her irises when she was angry or upset. Their constant staring at her birthmark, whenever she turned, whenever she bent to help with chores, or whenever she was relaxing in the living room, was what prompted her to venture into the wrong part of town in search of a tattoo parlor to remove any trace of the light crescent pattern decorating her pale skin.

As though reminding her of its presence, the damn mark started itching. Despite becoming a recent habit, she managed not to rub the spot. It felt as though the skin heated from the inside when she thought about the inch-long crescent pattern, throbbing in harmony with the drumming of her heart. Since her mother had died when she was only a baby, leaving her in the care of her sister and husband, she was afraid to ask too many questions about the thing.

Greta and George didn't like the reddened skin and told her she could never let anyone see it. To complicate matters, the only person she could talk to was her best friend. Of course, personal conversations only happened when Jade was in the mood to discuss such things. Her childhood confidant seemed as freaked out by the strange mark as her parents were. Not to mention Jade tended to avoid things that made her feel uncomfortable - which are all things supernatural. That was the primary reason Amber made the trip to The Ink Stone alone, without asking Jade to tag along.

Maybe the cop was right about the danger involved with her mission, but he didn't understand her reason, and she was done trying to explain herself. Turning to face him, she stated firmly, "I understand the risk, and I know what I'm doing. I do not want to talk about this anymore."

Giving one last worried look, the Cop nodded in understanding and concentrated on his driving. Five minutes later, they were in front of the Ink Stone. As Amber stepped down from the car, raw autumn air slapped her in the face, taking her breath away. Cold County was a small city nestled on top of a mountain. The temperatures were always lower here, although she didn't believe the rumors it was due to the supernatural residents and not Mother Nature.

As she was about to leave, the Cop handed her a card through the window. "Give this cap company a call if you decide it's too much for you. I have a friend there who is supernatural. They will send him over." Then he reached for the gearshift and put the car into drive. "Good luck, dear. You're going to need it."

She smiled at him and nodded in thanks, then she turned to face the Ink Stone.

A couple of cars were parked out front, next to an intimidating-looking motorcycle. The outline of a howling wolf on top of a stone platform bound in ink was on the sign above the brick building and, INK STONE was written in clear, bold script beside it. The Orange neon sign in the large glass window cast a shadow on the sidewalk next to the door, the word OPEN visible. She couldn't see through the glass, so she didn't know how many people were inside.

She took deep breaths, telling herself to remain calm. Summoning as much courage as she could, she walked toward the door, opened her bag, and removed a few pieces of paper. She wasn't sure how big the tattoo would need to be, so she'd printed the image in several sizes. She'd chosen to go with a simple design, a bleeding heart, that would mask the red hue on her skin. The tattoo would be understated, enough to notice but not draw attention.

To her relief, the shop seemed just like any other as she opened the door and stepped inside. There were framed images along the walls. A couch and several chairs created a sitting area. The large circular counter in front had a cash register and a few portfolios.

See, it's not so bad. You're finally here. You can get some ink and put this all behind you.

Tension drained from her. Although it was chilly inside the building, warmth crept into her skin. She took a look around, searching for people. Voices drifted from a hallway behind the counter, the cadences were deep and masculine. She shook off her worry, remembering the artist who'd booked her appointment. Glancing at the paper in her hand, she saw the information she'd jotted down.

Ink Stone. Friday, September 11th. 7:30.

Callum Ford.

Out of habit, she went to look at her watch and released an annoyed sigh. How she wished her damn mark was on her wrist. It would've been pretty easy to cover with jewelry. That way, she wouldn't have forgotten to put it on on her way here. She glanced around until she found a clock nestled at the top of the wall. Seven thirty. Right on time.

The soft chatter drifting from the hallway stopped. She heard a chair squeak followed by heavy footsteps. Her heart throbbed inside her chest and her palms went clammy. The person she'd spoken with when she'd made her appointment hadn't given her his name, but he'd sounded like a normal man. She'd assumed that maybe the owner hired human help. But what if she was wrong? Perhaps it wasn't easy to pinpoint a werewolf.