It’s almost a twenty minute drive.
“This is an exception for today. Tomorrow we’ll shift and travel while we are wolfs.”
My eyes widen as I look out the window.
I want to say something.
I’m building up my courage to tell him- that I’ve only shifted when I was 17 and my wolf hated it. Hated me. She wanted to go back and get away and never resurface again.
But I don’t know how to form the words and before I can control the erratic beating of my heart and think of the best words to say- Francis is already pulling into a long dirt drive.
I wasn’t able to hear what he told his father.
I didn’t even know he still had a father.
Soon a lake comes into view. I awe at the sight, the water beautiful in the morning. I want to paint it. To paint the various shades of blue, green and white. There is even a porch overlooking the lake- a place where I can set up my easel and canvas if I wanted to.
We drive past it.
I turn around, wishing we could have stopped, but the truck slowly starts to pull to the side.
Fixing myself back to the front, I feel my mouth hang open just slightly as I take in the cabin house. It’s like a scene from a book.
How peaceful it is- resting next to the lake.
Francis gets out of the truck.
I quickly follow his example and follow close behind him, nervous as to why he’s brought us out here.
He stops at the steps, not venturing up.
The door opens to reveal a man.
I know who he is.
I wonder, as I’m looking at him, if this is what Francis will look like when he is older. If he will look this beautiful with the pepper hair of black that have faint streaks of grey running through. Even still with the fading color, the male before us is a masterpiece. He and his son are the complete image of each other.
There are faint differences.
For starters. His eyes.
This man’s eyes are dark- almost black- instead of blue.
He’s also bigger.
Bulkier in a sense, compared to Francis’s lean, yet muscular frame.
He steps down, each step groaning from his weight and the power under him as he smiles down at me.
“Hey dad,” I look in surprise at Francis.
He is smiling. Really smiling.
It’s a genuine smile that has me wanting to smile also.
“Hey Francis,” they embrace- something that I don’t often see son and father do. At least, dad and Hank never really embraced. It was always pats on the backs. Always smiles and slaps to the shoulders.
The man pulls away and looks down at me.
I’ve never felt so small in my life.
“So this is her?”
Francis’s face changes- a complete 180 as he turns to look at me.
I smile.
“Hello,” I stick out my hand, wincing at the thought of someone else touching me, but I hold back my fear. He takes it firmly, squeezing my hand almost to the point where it could be considered painful.
Francis steps forward and stops the contact.
It surprises me, and his father. I can tell by the way his eyes narrow and mouth lifts up on one side.
There is a small silence before Francis’s father speaks, “You can call me Lori, I’m Francis’s father. It’s nice to finally meet you Layla.”
I nod, not really sure what to say in this moment.
“I hear you haven’t trained in a while?”
More like never, but I don’t want to tell these two males that out loud.
“She needs to start with the basics,” Francis steps closer to his father.
They whisper small words, but I hear glimpses and catches of phrases about what training I should do and how long I may last.
Finally Francis steps back.
“I’ll be back to pick you up around late noon,” and with that he turns around and walks back to his truck.
“Francis.” I don’t know why I call out to him.
He pauses though and looks back at me.
I stare at him, unsure of what to say.
The silence evokes us as he waits for my words.
When they don’t come he slowly shakes his head, before getting in his truck and driving down the road.
“Don’t mind him.”
I turn around to find Lori staring at me.
“He doesn’t like this place. I’m surprise he even came out here at all.”
That catches my attention.
“Why?”
“Oh, because of me.”
The new voice has me gasping and turning to the source of the sound.
A woman is standing on the porch, leaning against the open door as she smiles down.
She is beautiful.
Something about her makes me want to chase Francis’s truck and beg him to take me back to my room for my paints.
Her blond hair and blue eyes capture my attention. Blue eyes like Francis.
“You’re….his mother.”
She smiles and nods, “You can call me Serenity.” I stare briefly at the female, taking in her long skirt, daisy choker necklace that matches her name and t-shirt that reads, ‘part unicorn.’148
I look back up at Lori, questions ringing in my head as to why Francis wouldn’t mention he had parents, why they didn’t come greet me yesterday and why they lived so far out from the main pack.
But Lori just shakes his head.
“Okay,” he puts his hands together, a small gleam in his eye, “Let’s start training.”