Traded To The Lycan King

I can feel the weight of Hayes' stare at my back. No matter how much I try to shake it off, it is steady, like a nagging or an itch that I just can't reach or satisfy. It's damn annoying, really. Not a single person says a thing, everyone keeping to themselves as we walk along in silence. It feels weird, like they have been instructed to ignore me.

It's never easy doing something new, going somewhere new. I get it. I am an outsider, someone they don't think they need. But I know the rumors of this crew, why they are here and how they were recruited. And I meet every damn requirement and then some. Whether they want me here or not, I deserve this chance to avenge Tyler and our baby.

We walk for hours, everyone seemingly knowing where to go before we finally reach a cliff and Dean stops, staring out over the ledge in the moonlight. He looks sadder in the darker, deeper lines of pain and loneliness highlighted by the shadows, and I realize maybe they are silent because they are lost in their mourning.

Though, it is more likely that the shell of a beta I once knew is the real source. Lonely people can only stand the silence for so long. We all crave that connection just as much as we hate it. We can't help it. Without it, we sink into the chaotic noise of our heartache and pain. It is so easy to drown in it when there is no one to bring you back to reality.

"We should camp here," Dean says, making his way back to our group of five.

"I'll take the first watch," Hayes says in a grumbling tone that makes my skin goose bump. A flutter skips through my chest and I close my eyes, forcing the feeling away. If I don't acknowledge it, will it just go away?

"I'll take the third watch," Dean says.

"You take the second watch, Tracker." Hayes says, a glimmer of indifference on his face as his eyes scan me from top to bottom and his lip curls in disgust.

"Sure." I say, feigning to not want to slap him.

I remove my bag, walking toward a tree further from the group and the cliff's edge. I lay my bag up against it and lay down, pulling my hood over my head. After Hayes leaves, I watch the others as they chuckle and start a fire. They are suddenly very chatty for a group of people so silent. Perhaps it is because I have removed myself from their immediate vicinity.

But then I look around and realize that maybe it has nothing to do with me and more to do with the absence of Hayes. Does everyone avoid talking to him in general or around him? Has he lived like this for the past two years? It had seemed like at least he and Dean were somewhat friendly.

"Hey there," a voice calls out from the group, walking their way over with a mug.

"Hi," I mutter, not removing my hood as the fire grows brighter and flickers across the distance between us.

"I am Marcos." He walks up next to me, taking a seat before he hands over the hot mug. I take it curiously from him, sniffing it as he chuckles.

he has a pleasant smile. Marcos looks younger than me, though maybe not by much. His dark eyes match his

tea?" I ask him with a

that is good for the

kind Hayes avoids. Noted." I mutter, and he laughs. His laugh

other well." He says, pulling his knees up to

him with a snort before taking a hasty sip. The tea stings my tongue in a delightful way as I smile down at the cup. My thumb rubbing over the

him and he looks out at the rest of the

Dean is my best friend. His sister was my mate." He says softly, a

next. The last thing I should do is ask how she died. We all know how. The real meaning behind that question is 'what's

two more minutes to get to her, and she only had one minute left in her." He shakes his head. "It's not as gruesome as others, but I tend to think pain is pain no matter where it's felt. It feels different for everyone."

you can when you are mourning for the mate you

do you mean

he met her as she was dying. The bond snapped into place. He got to hold her, so she wasn't alone,

stomach feels tight, and I exhale a sad

can't tell if that is

to death," he frowns. "The void is the same size regardless of

their own grief and remember there are others out there living with it, too. Honestly, he reminded me so much of the Hayes I used to

know." I whisper,

a poetry loving fool." He

know?" I scoff, rolling my eyes.

and he motions for Marcos to

closer to Marcos, who puts his hands up in a

myself scooching down