Chapter 105

Almara’s POV

I offer to drive, but Bess insists I really ought to be in bedrest. I did just give birth after all. I don’t tell her I offered to drive not out of kindness, but because the adrenaline of seeing Arthur is making me jitter with nerves, and I don’t think I can sit still in the passenger seat.

Still, there’s no arguing with Bess once her mind is made up. We buckle into her RX061924 model car, which for Bess’s homely and modest appearance for where she lives, this car is wildly out of place. This is the newest sports model car with the fastest werewolf engine.

I strap on the seatbelt, which seems like a very pathetic defense against the speed and power of this car. I see Bess give an amused look out of the corner of my eye.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

I can’t help but laugh. “Bess, why do you have a car like this?” I ask letting my hands lazily swipe over the dashboard.

“Reminds me of my faster days.” Bess tells me and puts the car in drive roars through the engine. I place my back flat against the seat cushion, suddenly thankful that Bess is driving. We take off with a powerful start and don’t ease up until we near our destination.

The scenery drastically changes from elegant suburban, to the lively city, and then a sudden change in view makes my stomach drop. It’s clear we’re passing through the vampire territory not just because of the sudden drop in physical beauty of infrastructure and landscape, but the mood and atmosphere become eerie and cold.

I clear my throat, surprised to be choked with a twinge of fear. My mind replays the image of Noah laying in the pool of his own blood. Looking out at the depressing and neglected vampire town, I can’t help but wonder if Noah’s darkness was a product of environment, or something innate with him. Perhaps both.

“You all right, dear?” Bess voice cuts through my thoughts.

“Yeah.” I say, forcing myself to believe it. “I just hate this part of town.”

Bess nods in agreement. “Yeah, me too.” She presses harder on the gas and we take off, leaving behind the walking decay.

We come to breathtaking views of lush rural rolling hills. The once cracked and fading charcoal pavements have been replaced by dark green plants. The smell of pine is overwhelming and I can sense Lily drooling.

“It’s wonderful, I love it out here. So peaceful and vast.” Bess says as if reading my thoughts. It makes sense why Arthur would come here. This is every werewolf’s dream. I’m sure the stars and moon shine so clearly at night, there’s miles of land to be marked and wandered.

“Aside from the beauty of the great outdoors, what else is out here? Why is Arthur here?”

Bess smiles as if recalling a fond memory. “Year ago, well before Arthur was even born, his father and brother bought a plot of land out here.”

I wouldn’t mind living out here. Lily purrs. I look back out the window and take in the beauty. There are mountains in the distance, big hawks soar the sky. I’ve never been so far away from civilization.

“Why wouldn’t Arthur tell me about this place?” I wonder aloud as I think about all the beautiful escapes we could have. I think of bringing Grace here and how together as a family we could connect to our ancestral roots, live as werewolves hundreds of years ago did.

“Don’t take it personally, dear. I don’t even think Roman knew Arthur had any idea about this place. Roman kept it very private.”

“But, why? I can’t imagine why anyone would own land out here and not share it with the ones you love.”

Bess laughs, “Not everyone is as generous as you. Think about it, the more people that know about it, the less secluded it becomes.”

We drive in silence for a bit more. Taking in the serenity of it all as we go deeper into the wilderness.

The beautiful scene comes to an unsettling end as we approach more cars park along the road. Some I recognize as belonging to Roman, Elenor, and some of the other searchers. Unfortunately, I recognize a news van as well.

I sink low in my seat and let out an annoyed groan. Bess doesn’t say a word, but her silence is ringing in my ears. She turns the car into an unmarked trail and drives up until the trees become too challenging to navigate through.

“We’ll walk the rest of the way by foot.” Bess says and begins to unbuckle.

I step outside, greeting by the sound of birds in trees and the dirt crunching underneath my shoe. All my sense heighten as if initially listening for predators or prey. I get this rush that causes the fur just beneath my skin to stand up. I fight the urge to let out a long howl.

I’ve never felt my animalistic instincts become more alive than they are right now. I look at Bess to see if she’s experiencing the same sensations, but she marches on with a mission on her mind and I’m quickly reminded I need to do the same.

I follow her pace and after about half a mile my ears pick up chatter off others. I can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but there seems to be a frenzy impatience stirring about. I quicken my steps, driven by the thought that maybe Arthur has been found.

Unfortunately, when I reach the campsite there’s no sign of Arthur. Only cameras, journalists, and artificial light- as if the wonderful outdoors needs anymore brilliance and the idea of it irritates me.

“Almara.” I hear Roman say and then see him squirm his way past a crowd of reporters. They follow behind him, microphones outstretched. As soon as Roman reaches me, the news crew encircles me and budges Roman out of the way.

“Where did you last see Arthur?” one reporter asks.

“Is it true he was bit by a vampire?” I hear another question.

“What does this mean for your relationship? Will you stay with him?” Someone else asks.

Microphones are shoved in my face and I’m stunned to silence. Eventually the dozens of questions come to a stop as they all eagerly wait for me to answer at least one.

“No comment.” Is all I can say, which causes every reporter to speak at once with demands for more information.

A fierce and threatened growl overrides the insatiable curiosity spewing from the journalists. They all turn heads to see where the vicious growl came from, myself included.

Eventually, everyone’s eyes settle on Bess who stands firm and holds her hard stare on the throng of cameramen and news anchors. One brave reporter dares to approach her and present his microphone to her.

“Ma’am, what is your name?” The reporter asks, though there’s a hidden agenda behind a seemingly basic question. It’s as if the reporter can sense she’s someone important, if not just by her growl then by her warrior posture ready to attack in a fight.

More and more reporters gather around. One my one leaving me to have room to breathe as they now try and get information from the petite old woman who just scared the birds from the trees.