Tish POV
Cold rain pelts against my skin, and I shiver alongside the road. I keep one arm wrapped around me, trying to keep warm, while I use my thumb to try and hitch a ride from passing vehicles. No one stops. Cars fly past me at a ridiculous speed, splashing me with the water standing on the edge of the road. If I don't get a ride soon, I am likely to die of hypothermia.
I keep walking South. My teeth are chattering, and my feet are numb, but I have to get as far away from the North Pack as I can. I don't know if Kieran is looking for me. I assume that he is. I betrayed him and Mae. I try not to let my feelings of guilt get in the way of my mission to escape, but my heart is breaking.
Headlights come up from behind me, and I stick my arm out into the road, trying to flag them down. The car skids to a stop behind me, and I jump out of the way. Landing in the muddy grass beside the highway, I look back at the car that stopped. My hands sink into the mud as I try to get back to my feet.
A man gets out of the car with an umbrella. He rests his hand on his hip and looks down at me. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
"Maybe," I yell back at him.
"Where are you headed?" He asks.
"South," I respond simply.
"The South is a pretty big region," he laughs. "Can you narrow it down?"
"It doesn't matter where I end up," I respond, getting back to my feet. "As long as it is far away from here."
"You can't run from your problems," he says as I approach him.
"I don't need a father," I snap at him. "I just need a ride."
The man looks me up and down. I can see the pity in his eyes. I don't need his pity, so I start walking down the road.
"Wait!" He calls out after me. "Get in the car."
I glance over my shoulder and see him holding the car door open for me. This could end really poorly for me. Taking rides from strangers is always a gamble.
"What's the catch?" I ask him.
"No catch," he responds. "I have been away on business, and I am heading home to see my wife. I can take you as far as Texas. If you want to cross over into Mexico, you will have to find another ride."
"Texas is fine," I say as I get in the car.
Once I am inside the car, I realize my mistake. This car is fancy and clean. I have tracked mud and water all over the passenger side of the car. My legs are sticking to the leather as I shift awkwardly on the seat.
The man gets in the driver's seat and looks over at the mess I have made. I can see the frustration building behind his eyes, but he doesn't say anything. He turns up the heat and pulls back onto the highway.
For an hour or so, we ride in silence. He flips through the radio stations until he finds something he likes and hums along with the songs. I don't take my eyes off him. I am still wary of why someone of his wealth would stop for me.
He appears to be in his forties, maybe older. It is hard to tell in the dim light of the car. His dark hair is peppered with gray and there is stubble along his chin. His eyes are dark as he keeps his eyes on the road. He is pretty good-looking for his age, but he mentioned a wife and I am done being in the middle of couple drama.
"I am sorry for dragging mud into your car," I whisper.
I don't expect him to hear me over the radio, but he glances in my direction. "It can be cleaned."
I press my lips together in a hard line and look away from him. I can see the questions building behind his eyes.
"How old are you?" He finally asks.
"Twenty-three," I answer shortly.
"What are you running from?" He asks.
"Nope," I groan. "That is too personal. Plus. I doubt that you would understand."
"We have a long trip ahead of us," the man chuckles. "Try me."
I narrow my eyes at him. Two can play this game. "How will your wife feel about you picking up a strange woman alongside the road?"
He shrugs his shoulders. "She is used to me bringing home strays."
"Strays?" I ask curiously.
"Just a little term my wife uses for all of the young kids I have brought home over the years. I never fail to find one when I am on my way home from a business trip," he explains. "What is your name?"
I freeze. I don't know if it is safe to tell him my name, but I cannot think of a fake one off the top of my head. "Tish," I respond.
The man raises an eyebrow at me. "That's an interesting name."
"What's yours?" I ask in return.
"You can call me Fred," he says calmly. "How long have you been a familiar?"
A lump forms in the back of my throat and it is impossible to swallow it down. Out of all the people to pick me up, of course, it would be another werewolf. I keep my eyes focused on the road ahead of us.
"I don't know what that is?" I lie.
Fred chuckles loudly. "You reek of rogues," he informs me. "So much so that I thought you might be one."
"How do you know that I'm not one?" I snap back at him.
Tapping the side of his nose, Fred smiles in my direction. "My nose is never wrong. So, what is your story? Why is a nice human like you hanging out with monsters like us?"
"You aren't all monsters," I say through gritted teeth.
"So, you admit you are a familiar," he laughs.
"I think this was a mistake," I say as I reach for the door handle.
"I know who you are," Fred says cooly.
I freeze. He knows who I am, so he must know what I have done. "Are you going to take me back to the North Pack?" I choke out.
"Why would I?" Fred asks.
"Because I aligned myself with the wrong kind," I say through my tears.
"Everyone makes mistakes," Fred replies, but I see his hands gripping the steering wheel.
"You can let me out here," I tell him. "I can find my own way."
"Nonsense," Fred replies. "You can stay with me until you get back on your feet."
"I am not interested in being a pet," I tell him.
"Things work differently in the South Pack," he tells me. "We accept everyone."
"Even humans?" I raise an eyebrow.
"You would be the first," Fred tells me. "But it won't be a problem. You should get some sleep. You look like hell."
I shift awkwardly in the seat. I am afraid if I close my eyes, he will turn the car around and take me back to the North Pack. The thought makes my heart race, and I begin to feel queasy.
"Pull over," I say in a panic.
Fred glances at me and shakes his head. "No."
"Then roll the window down or something," I scream. "I need air."
Fred rolls down the window, and I quickly unbuckle myself. I stick my head out of the window and vomit. It splatters against the outside of the car, and Fred groans loudly. He pulls off to the side of the road, and I fling the door open. I race to the grass and continue to empty my stomach.
When there is nothing left but bile, I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand and turn back to Fred. He is waiting by the car with a bottle of water in his hand.
"Come on," he says gently. "I suspect you are sick."
"Promise you won't take me back there," I whimper. "I can't spend another day in the cells or in the trunk of someone's car."
Fred looks at me curiously, but he doesn't respond. I get in the opened car door, and Fred closes it gently behind me. I rest my head against the window and let myself drift off to sleep.
