Page 34 of Lost Girl

Shit, if I could do it sooner, I would, but I’m trying to lay low and go about this rationally. Well, as rationally as possible anyway. My sister already made it clear that Hook caught on to what pulled me away so abruptly, and the boys all seem to agree that my disappearing act has probably left more of a sour taste in his mouth than he already had. If that didn’t sound the alarm once more, it—at the very least—had to have risen a few questions.

Which is why I’m biding my time.

The slightest hint that the pack and I are acting, and that bloodsucker will disperse his faithful leeches all over the island in an attempt to stop us.

So here I am, satchel caught between my snout as I trot briskly across the Woodlands to the East. Phase one—mapping out the escape route—is done and ready, leaving me to sort out phase two; mission essentials.

Number one? Clothes.

Sure would give some comic relief to the tense situation, but I’m not coming to her rescue with my dick swinging around—no matter how much my dick likes the idea. Because believe me,it likes it.A lot. I shouldn’t even have envisioned what Wendy would look like bouncing around on it, but the image came on faster than I could dissolve it.

So yeah, clothes are definitely an essential and that’s exactly what the satchel holds; a black t-shirt, a pair of dark wash jeans, and my claw knife. Soren already hid some shoes out for me, too. I could very well just haul it with me the night of, but Ineedto make sure Wendy’s okay. It’s all I’ve thought about since I left her there and my sleep has been shit because of it.

On the far East side of the island, where the land visibly shifts from the Woodlands to the Fairies domain, also lays the somber entrance to Onyx Hollow. I’ll have to travel through its ashen terrain to get to Hook’s Cascade, but for one, it’s faster, and two, avoiding those bloodsuckers is a sure thing.

They don’t cut through here, no one does. Pan might’ve been Rosewood’s greatest threat, but the Fae don’t sit too far behind in their eyes. They’re another ostracized species beholden to Rosewood, rotting away in their cursed strip of land for all their unthinkable sins.

Like most, I don’t care for them—kid killers—but I don’t fuck with them, either.

And they never fuck with me.

If they happen to see me, they simply turn the other cheek and allow me through. I have no reason to linger here, nor do I want to, and they know it. Hell, if they could scramble out themselves, they would without question.

There’s nothing here for them or anyone else.

Onyx Hollow is a total wasteland. Everything, and I do meaneverything,hassuccumbed to the poison of this particular boundary spell. Grass hasn’t grown in ages, the foliage colorless, crispy, barren of any life. The trunks of the trees, while they still stand tall, appear corroded or covered in ash, and their leaves—much like the grass—have no coloration, either. A permanent mist and glum skies cover the expanse at all times, regardless of whatever blue skies and sunshine carry over the rest of the island.

Like I said, total wasteland.

Satchel still caught between my teeth, I brace myself for the maleficence awaiting my presence and take off in a full sprint, passing dozens upon dozens of dead trees along the way. Warbled, agonized cries of hunger instantly meet my ears amongst a rowdy flock of ravens, almost if they can sense me. I try focusing on the thrum of my pace, the way the shriveled foliage feels beneath my paws, but their misery has a mind of its own.

It wants to taint all it can possess.

Smashing my eyes together, I banish its claws from my mind and force myself to push harder. I’m literally at my limit, dodging trees, fallen limbs, and the odd ashen boulder every so often until I’ve crossed the border and begin the small climb up the cliffy, palm-riddled plains on the North-Eastern part of the island.

Once Hook’s castle comes into distant view, I slow my pace, crouching low to the ground as I maneuver my way around the darkness, taking full advantage of my ebony coat. Soon, the scent of salt water hits my senses from one second to the next, adding to the high that’s kept me going.

Wendy.

Almost there.

I don’t know how she’s going to react to seeing me in my wolf form, but I have to see her with my own two eyes. The current silence of the grounds means nothing to me, for it could mean so many things. Her safety isn’t guaranteed, just as much as my sister’s wasn’t either.

Right before the terrain peaks, I find a spot beneath one of the thickest palms, one with plentiful bushes surrounding its trunk, and make quick work of digging up a small hole.

The satchel goes inside.

The hole is resealed.

And then I’m off again, racing down the carved path in the cliff’s edge toward the barely concealed entrance that leads to Wendy.

It’s kind of pathetic—the fact they thought stacking a few boulders would deter one from seeking out what lay behind them. An amusing concept when Siren’s Cove is now sealed so tightly. My guess is, this part of the beach is technically private to Hook. Clearly, they didn’t assume anyone would be ballsy enough to be roaming its expanse.

Surprise, motherfuckers—I do what I want.

This was my island first.

Climbing up the rocky barrier, I jump down to the other side with ease and bolt through the darkened tunnel in another sprint. Only two or three feet in and it’s already pitch black, the white glow from the moon fading behind me until I’m surrounded by darkness. Luckily for me, I can still see.

---