Jelousy from The Moon and Back

This isn't any other story about the supernatural, this is also not a story about having a supernatural girl find love with some human boy. Not at all. This story goes deeper than that, and is definitely more realistic than that.

This story is about 1 girl, 1 pack, and 1 mission. That mission not only taking her out of her home land, but also taking her out in a different culture, or should I say cultures as she is forced to move with her pack town to town, city to city, country to country, state to state, and provinces to territories.

She has a small pack and a large plan. And that plan can only become successful if she completes the tasks along the way.

What are these tasks you ask? In the first place, what is that mission? Stop asking and find out your self by brushing by the first chapter, The First Day on the Job



3. ~

   Walking off that centre stage was one thing. Walking out of that room was another. Having Max follow me out was a  whole different  story. This is the first time he has ever followed me to presue a conversation. That is the reason why I keep walking unconsciously though I could feel his presence jogging behind me.

     "Max, meet me in front of my door in five minutes."

    He had jogged in front of me and turned to look my way. I took that moment to acknowledge his request and nod. Right after, he had ran and turned one of the corners that opened out the corridor leading to the meeting room.

     I was about to turn that exact same corner until someone had grabbed my arm, pulling me to walk the opposite direction. I whipped my head around to see the back of a guys head. He had a tattoo crawling up the back of his neck, almost like it was a map to the start of his hair, which was a brown, shiny, and cut neatly. The tattoo was grey, completely, with an indescribable pattern, motion,, curve to it. As I watched as we sped walked down the corridor leading to another room of this floor, the tattoo seemed to walk with us, in the way of pure subtle movement.

     We reached the lower level kitchen, and I couldn't help but close the door behind me as he began to turn, revealing his face, finally. He did, and I have never seen it before, and that is something very unusual as I did have to talk for everyone who couldn't speak for themselves.

     His brow was furrowed and he didn't speak at first, he looked around the room, almost like he had the intention of being secretive, not wanting others to be anywhere near the kitchen, let alone in it. This gave me the chance to analyze the front of his body.

     Unmistakably chiselled, well formed, seemingly teenage body. Eye colour, green, and hold on me, still firm and their. 

     The moment I realized that, he had simultaneously let go. That exact same moment, he looked at me, and began to talk, but when he finally did, it caught me off guard. He didn't speak Russian, nor English. He spoke Swedish...or was it German. I couldn't tell because I simply don't know the language.

     All I caught was, "Talk, help, and new." but again, I was just making inferences.

     "What?" I asked.

     Then he said the exact same thing, but slower.

     "что?" saying what in Russian, hoping he would get the hint.

     He than said a single word sounding like what.

     He stopped all together, still portraying that worried face. He had than grabbed a pen and the note book usually used to take breakfast orders from the table that stood behind us. He than leaned against that very table beginning to draw something. I walked over to the same table, looking over his shoulder as he sketched up an image.

    After something that felt like less than 1 minute, he stopped drawing, and he picked up the pad and pointing at it. It looked like the alpha talking. I then nodded, telling him that I got what e drew. He than pointed at he alpha, made a talking motion with his hand, pointed at himself, than me. An "Oh" escaped from me, as I then understood. He talked to the alpha, the alpha didn't get what he was saying, so he sent him to talk to me. 

     But that still doesn't make sense, I don't know what he is trying to tell me.

     The boy's worried face slightly lightened as he say how I understood his drawing and charade. He than ripped out the page he had already drawn on, and began to draw again. Another minute passed, and he held up the pad again. Its was a picture of me...just me, holding a microphone, with question mark next to my mouth. The question mark didn't face me, what did was the way he drew me. It looked exactly like me, yet he made me glow from the back ground that looked like the centre stage in the meeting room. He knew how to draw, and draw well.

     I nodded as I knew he was wondering what I said that made others worried when I was speaking on stage. I knew at that point that trying to explain what I said would be difficult, more difficult than it would be to not draw what was said, but knowing that I had to do it, and that it would take a while to do so, I pulled a stool from the corner of the room and placed it by that table, seeing me do this, the guy did the same. I took the pen from his hand, not being able to help myself from not feeling the pom of his hand that held another tattoo, it looked like a clock, but again, it was grey, maybe a lighter shade than the grey on his neck tattoo, and it had that unmistakable, indescribable motion to it. He looked and my fingers feel his tattoo, as i could feel the motion when I did, but as soon as I had noticed him staring at me, I stopped. It must have been uncomfortable for him. I took proper hold of the pen and began to draw. I struggled slightly, but I was able to draw something that looking a bit like a parasite. I than said, " Infection."

     He nodded his head in understanding, and I tore out the page and continued to draw, but this, this was something I couldn't draw. I didn't know how to draw "sick packs", I didn't know how to draw "doctor and check up" without drawing something that might make the boy worry even further, without making him not get the picture at all. I got as far as a line, then I stopped moving on my hand. The pen tip still lay on the paper. 15 seconds, just paused. 

     All of sudden, he grabbed my hand, and it was like him just putting his hand on top of mine, made the idea flow. I knew exactly what to draw, and I drew it, quick too, and his hand stayed on mine the whole time. In  under a minute, I was done, both ideas, on two different pages, and without me having to point or speak a word, he nodded his head. He understood.

     He understood, but the worry was still on his face. I stood up off my stool, and he stayed sitting. He had turned to face me though. He said one word, but I had no clue what he had said. I said what is Russian as that seemed to be the only thing he understood when I were to speak.

     He than stood up off his stool, grabbed my hand, and kissed the back of it, flashing me a smile.

     A tad flustered, I smiled too. It was his second way of saying thank you. I nodded. I definitely understood.

     Remembering what Max said, reluctantly, I removed my hand from his grasp, waving side-to-side, meaning to tell him bye. He nodded, looking a bit more calm, and turned around, back in the direction of the table we drew on. I took that moment to look at the tattoo at the back of his neck again. It wasn't grey anymore, it was more of a light grey, like a musty white, nearly blending with his skin tone. I only took a moment to stare, because I noticed him picking up the pieces of paper off the table, and folding them. This all confused to to a deep degree, but I ignored it all, and walked out of the room, taking that one last look at the back of his neck.

:O            :D         :-O          :P          ;-D          ;-(         ;-)

What did you think about this chapter that took long enough to come. Sorry for the wait. Please be very opinion like in the comments and tell me what you liked what you didn't like, because at the end of the chapter, I want you to go through all the emotions I write, and to feel all the feelings I put through your mind.

I might ask for votes on wattpad, but on my home movellas, I ask for the good ol' fashion comment, like, and favorite...or is it a fallow? confused as always.



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