Grey's Tribute

Day 2

Meela's POV

The edge of the bed dips low with the weight of a body. The dim light of the early morning greets me when I peel my swollen, red eyes open. The Northerner's hands are folded on his lap as he waits patiently.

His hands are tanned, large and strong. The closer I looked at him, I notice the whites of his knuckles are showing and the muscles in his forearms twitch from restraint. The grip increases in his hold like he is trying to hold himself back from me.

His maleness...the scent of him is suddenly saturating the room, making it uncomfortable to breathe that sweet smell of lust.

He moves forward, taking my wrist, holding my arms down. Slowly, he presses his lips to mine. I feel tingling heat spread across my body that shocks me fully awake. I think he's just as shocked as me with what he's just done.

Coldness settles inside me instantly with the retreat of his mouth.

"It's time to get up. We're leaving soon. I want you packed and ready in thirty." Letting go of my wrists, he backs away from me.

"What...what about the funerals? I have to say goodbye to my friends, my family. I can't be ready so fast." Jumping out of bed, panicked, tears once again springing in my eyes, threatening to fall.

Again I feel the strength of his hand, how he grips the back of my neck, bringing my face towards his. So very close I can feel his hot tickling breath. "We leave in thirty minutes. Ready or not." His voice is so stern, there's no room left for argument. "My pack needs me. I need to be back for them. Please understand."

"But what about my pack?" My voice comes out choked.

"This isn't your pack anymore. Your new one needs me back."

No words escape my mouth as I watch him exit. Quickly, packing together my life, eighteen years of stuff I'd gathered, no reduced to a few suitcases.

Pictures, the blanket I still sleep with, my favorite pillow, my clothes, shoes, all thrown together haphazardly in several suitcases. Picking up my phone where it lays, screen shattered, I put it in my purse. After getting dressed, I lug my stuff down the steps and place it at the front door.

It's like a dream thinking while closing my eyes. All my hopes, my dreams, all shattered because of that Northerner. I try to lock my emotions away, tie them up tight, but I can't. Sobs start to once again erupt out of my chest.

My brother's standing at the end of the hall, looking down at his feet. He knows this isn't right. Deep down, he knows I should be allowed to stay longer, mourn the death of my fellow pack mates. He looks smaller to me, a weakness I have never seen in him has appeared and it makes me think him pathetic.

There's not much to say. "Goodbye, Meela," is all he manages out of a cracking voice, wrapping me in his embrace.

Crying again, Bryon just holds me for a while until I calm down, rubbing my back, whispering how thankful he is of me, how truly unselfish I am.

Unable to speak, too much emotion. Turning away from my brother, taking the first step out the front door....I meet the stare of my future. He stands by a large black truck, dressed black on black for mourning.

Light silver eyes gaze directly at me, never leaving mine. Raising his hand, and beckoning with a single finger, he summons me to him. Quickly, without hesitation, I do as I'm told.

"Good girl," he whispers as I take my seat in the truck leaving behind everything I've ever known.

Trees pass by the window and the blue, clear and bright sky is in contrast with my mood. The sleeve of my arm is soaked by my tears and little hiccups still escape every now and then. I haven't even bothered to glance at him, or even to speak. I have nothing to say.

Putting my headphones on, I find the saddest music possible and drift into my own little world. Letting myself sink deeper in self-pity, I start to cry again.

"Stop!" He yells out to me, visibly angry.

It only makes me cry more as I try to make myself small against the door. I curl up into a ball with my head on my knees, silently cursing him to death.

"You have to stop crying. I can't handle this." He sighs, exasperated. "Please, try and understand that my pack needs me. I have to get back to them. We lost many good wolves." His voice tightens up slightly. "Just try and make the best of it. You're a Luna. Start acting like one."

That stuns me to just sit there with my head resting on my knees, looking out the window. My long brown hair covers most of my face, like a curtain of privacy.

We've been in the truck for hours, stopping only for gas. When he asks if I needed anything, I don't even respond or look in his direction.

Finally, after ten hours in that cursed truck with him and his smell, we make it to his territory. Beautiful pine, birch, and cedar trees populate the old growth forest. Taking in a deep breath through the open window, my senses come to life.

It smells so clean and fresh, much more than where I'm from.

Perking up slightly. He notices and starts rambling on about his boundaries, how many lakes he has, how the hunting and fishing is up this far north.

His voice is filled with passion as he talks about his land, about his territory, about his people. It's hard to concentrate on anything else but the silkiness of his voice. I watch the way his mouth moves as he speaks, the way his tongue darts out licking his chapped lips in between sentences, his eyes turning a deep grey colour. I found something out about him...The colour his eyes change when he's excited about something. I'm mesmerized by him. My eyes scan down his body.

His legs are slightly spread, drawing my attention to his muscular thighs. Oh, how he must look naked. Despite all else, deep down, I am very attracted to this male.

Feeling heat spreading deep down to my core, I wiggle slightly in my seat. He smells the air and his knuckles turn white on the wheel. I turn my face away, mortified with my smell.

An awkward silence descends on us as he rolls his side of the window down, taking in big lungfuls of air.

We pull up to the den house. It's a giant, magnificent old world home. Its thick dark wooden doors greet us as we park in front of it. An intricate design of a wolf's head is beautifully carved in the middle of the double doors. The wolf's eyes are silver like my northerner's.

I get a shiver down my spine. This is nothing like where I'm from. It's more feral, wild, rugged...not my home.

The Northerner turns to me, placing a hand on my knee, the heat of him seeping into my muscles.

"We're going to be meeting my people. My family." He takes this opportunity to stare at me, intimidate me. "Please try not to embarrass yourself or me."