Lone Wolf's End (McKayla Series Book 1)

Chapter 14~Light in me

Mckayla

My eyes fluttered open as my head pounded like drums from a bad marching band. This was the weakest I'd ever felt. My muscles ached and the stiffness didn't help. I needed a long stretch or massage.

   I yawned. My mouth was severely dry. I looked around checking out my ambiance. I was back in the room. My old room. I laid motionless a moment remembering my time in this room before chaos presented itself like a timer detonating from a bomb.

I grumbled, telling myself not to feel anything. I still felt disconnected to human expression or feelings but something changed. The feeling wasn't so foreign anymore.

My father told me once 'every emotion has feelings. We feel when we're angry, depressed, and sexually aroused. It is in us to also feel love, passion, elation, and regret. We are meant to feel all, though we may not want to at times. It's up to us, what we feel...always in our hearts.'

I felt peaceful knowing I remembered his exact words. The words of a man I once adored. Who lost the privilege of being my father. I closed my eyes, inhaling like this was my first breath taken as a newborn.

A tear slid down my eye, a signature of my rebirth to the thoughts I was developing. Something was different. I held back the rest of my tears as I realized I had thought of Gentry as my father for the first time in years. I grimaced, resisting this tug in my chest. He was undeserving of my love.

The pack had done something to me. Forced their affection on me. I wanted to snarl my disapproval. Ruffling the covers off, fingers too numb to grab the blanket correctly, I sighed giving up.

It was like this pack tried to cleansed away the grief and vexed anger that took residents inside me and this packs bites draining out the rest of the darkness inside me. But, it did not matter. No darkness could ever be fully erased from me. I was still hurting and angry.

I lifted forward shifting out of bed. My stance was wobbly but I could hold my own. I reached over for my dresser that my father carved me when I was a child, shuffling through the drawer for clothes.

I pulled clothes out that was once mines and put them on. They were a little tight but not far off. I gazed around the room and noticed everything. He never changed anything in my room. Everything was in its exact place. From my posters to my clothes. And it was like everything stayed well kept. Nothing was molded or dusty.

I walked over to the door opening it. I slammed my toe hard against the corner side of the wall. "Shit," I bellowed in a muttering grimace. "Shit." I grabbed at my toe.

"You always did rush out the room and slam your foot into that exact spot," my grandmother said smiling. "And watch your language."

I arched a brow at her, an uncooperative smile not fully reaching my eyes. "My mouth belongs to me," I told her casually. I wasn't angry; only stating a fact. I needed to figure out these new feelings. Doesn't mean I would allow for anyone to play therapist on me.

"Does it now?" My grandmother said dryly. She pursed her lips before smiling. I could smell the salt of her tears before her eyes swelled with them. "There's a light in you that wasn't there before," she said. Her voice was raw blissful emotion.

I shrugged. "Don't exaggerate." I rubbed my hand over my shoulder. My expression skewed, dismayed by my unruffled response. The pack had done something to me. Healed a piece of my heart. I still felt darkness and fractured inside, but not broken.

My grandmother tears started sprinting out. "Please."

Hesitating, the look in my grandmother's eyes was desperation. Something inside tugged at my chest. She wanted to hold me. I looked around uncomfortable. It been years since I touched my grandmother. Since being here I had yet to do so. I didn't trust the hope that I could get her back.