Hey guys! It's been a while! I'm so glad to be writing the third story in this trilogy. I hope you enjoy!
Solomon worried about his wife. Elora hasn't been affectionate lately. It's been almost a month since their last kiss. It's been just as long since they haven't made love. Kail was sleeping the day away, oblivious of the fact that her mother had too much on her mind and spent the majority of the day in the basement. The basement was what Elora called her sanctuary to relieve stress. Solomon had taught her how to paint just after they got married. With practice, Elora painted like a pro, but not as good as Solomon. Whom has had centuries to learn new techniques to improve. Sometimes he wishes he hadn't taught her, because she spends all day in the basement, painting the her stress away. Elora has been painting a lot of portraits containing one thing: the woods. Solomon trotted down the basement stairs, finding his wife - who was dressed in paint-splattered shorts and a black tank top - painting yet another picture of the woods. But this one was the woods behind the corral in their massive backyard. He admired his wife, and watched as her wrist bent in every which way to paint the trunks of the trees. She was too concentrated in her painting, he knew that. Because she would've heard him come down the stairs if she wasn't.
"Nice painting," Solomon mentioned, walking up to his wife and kissing the back of her head. Elora cringed a little. "Painting the woods behind the corral?"
"Yep."
His eyebrows furrowed. The tone of Elora's voice sounded too different, too cold to belong to her. Solomon cleared his throat. "I need to you ask you a few things, honey. Why haven't you been affectionate lately? You haven't kissed me or said 'I love you' or done any of those things in a while. Did I do something wrong? And our daughter, she needs you. You barely spend time with her anymore. And if you do, it's to change her diaper or to give her food." Elora stopped painting to listen to her husband, but when he stopped talking, she slowly went back to painting. She felt a lump forming in her throat, she swallowed hard. "Elora, look at me when I'm talking to you!" Solomon took the paint brush from her. She turned around, and looked at him with eyes of fury.
"Give it back!"
"Not until you tell me what's wrong! It's like you don't give a shit about me anymore. About our daughter. About our family. Why won't you tell me what's wrong?"
"I'm just stressed, okay? I needed time to think about things. Yeah, you want to know the exact reason why I've been acting weird, but I really can't tell you! I just need to be left alone."
"Left alone? Left alone? I've been 'leaving you alone' for almost a month now. I've been worried sick about you and what's been going on in your mind!"
She extended her hand, opened her palm so it would face the ceiling, and said, "That was all I needed to say. Now, can I have my paint brush back?" Solomon, unconvinced with her answer, plopped the paintbrush on Elora's hand. Her expression showed seriousness but her eyes reflected sorrow. He was still furious with his wife.
"There," he hissed. "I gave your paintbrush back." Elora turned around, facing her canvas. "Now, when you decide to be love your family again, come upstairs and join me for dinner. " Solomon marched upstairs, shutting the door hard enough to make Elora's canvases shake. Elora, torn and upset, let the lump in her throat form again, and she couldn't hold back her tears. She let the tears fall down her face as she painted a single bat perched on a branch. Elora wiped her tears, and looked at her lap, she paint thighs dotted with her tears. She didn't know what to do. All she knew was that she couldn't stop thinking about Jonah.
The four men met at The Ruins, where large totem poles stood, scattered around the estate. The grass was too high, but was healthy and green. There were no trees there, just a wide field of totem poles, and a single, circular platform wider than a house. The four men were young adults, the youngest was twenty-seven. They gathered, standing stiff-straight and looking at each other, waiting for someone to start to meeting. The oldest one of them - which was thirty-two - cleared his throat.
"I'm guessing that all of you have heard the rumors?" he started. His voice was deep and stern. "Solomon has moved back to Romania with his family. We need to prepare ourselves. In the next full moon, we're going to take the one person Solomon loves the most. With her out of the way, Solomon will have no choice but to search for her."
"His daughter?" one pack member, with green eyes and brown hair, asked.
The pack leader shook his head. "His wife."
As he finished his sentence, the pack nodded, agreeing to their leader's plan. The night was chilly, and the moon was full, hidden behind clouds. Slowly, slowly, the clouds moved, and the four men looked up at the moon, no longer trying to fight the urge. One by one, they let their humanity slip away, as they shifted from human to werewolf, and they howled at the moon in unison. The alpha male was bigger than the rest of them, and the wolves follow their leader, running in to the woods. Hiding under the shadows that the moon casted upon the trees.
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