Caught Between Them

My whole body felt like it had been rearranged by a particularly enthusiastic toddler. Every muscle screamed in protest, and the metallic tang of blood filled my nose like a bad roommate. Gross.

Brock materialized out of nowhere, looking like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. Typical. Super soldiers never get a scratch, do they?

“Hey,” he rasped, his voice rougher than sandpaper. “You okay?”

I managed a weak smile. “Yeah, just peachy. You know, the usual a few bumps, bruises, the lingering fear of rogue-induced death…”Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

He snorted, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He scanned me up and down, probably looking for any hidden injuries that might spontaneously combust later. Finally, he seemed to accept my lie.

“Good,” he said, his voice still gruff. “We gotta go patch everyone up. Feels like Portland’s single-handedly running a MASH unit over at the pack house.”

We joined the procession of walking wounded towards the pack house. The once-cheerful clearing now resembled a warzone dead silence, the lingering scent of death, and enough fallen comrades to make you want to cry. Maybe later. Right now, I just wanted a shower and a bed that didn’t feel like it was actively trying to dislocate my spine.

As we walked, a thought gnawed at me, sharp and persistent like a mosquito that wouldn’t take the hint. Sage. There was something… off about her. The way she fought, that glint in her eyes it was more like a predator toying with its prey than someone desperately defending themselves.

I wanted to tell Brock, spill the weird Sage vibes all over him. But the words wouldn’t come. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe a tiny voice in my head was whispering that he wouldn’t believe me. Dude seemed to have a bit of a soft spot for the newcomer, which wasn’t exactly helping my case.

We reached the pack house, and the familiar scent of healing herbs and woodsmoke greeted us like a long-lost friend. Portland, despite looking like he’d been through a meat grinder himself, was a tireless ball of helpfulness, patching up everyone and keeping the panic at bay.

I did my part, fetching supplies, cleaning wounds, and offering words of encouragement that mostly sounded like grunts. All the while, my brain was stuck on a loop who was Sage? Why the fake rogue story? And what the heck did she mean by “flushing them out”?

It was like a puzzle with a missing piece, and that missing piece was seriously bugging me. There was more to this attack than rogue wolves and a convenient new arrival. Sage was in the thick of it, and I had a feeling she wasn’t there to sell us Girl Scout cookies.

Later that night, as I tossed and turned in bed, replaying the battle like a gruesome movie, it hit me. I couldn’t just let this go. Sage was a mystery wrapped in an enigma, and that enigma needed unwrapping. Now. Sleep could wait. I had a truth to uncover, and a feeling this wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. Buckle up, buttercup, because Operation: Unmask Sage was about to commence.

Tonight was not for sleeping. Every time I squeezed my eyelids shut, I saw flashes of silver fur and heard Sage’s creepy whisper replaying on a loop in my head. The rogue attack was over, the wounded were patched up, but the disquiet in my gut felt like a bad burrito gone rogue. I needed answers, stat.

The full moon cast an eerie glow as I tiptoed out of the pack house, my bare feet whispering secrets against the cool grass. The attack had been a chaotic mess, but one detail stuck out like a sore thumb Sage’s creepy little cabin on the edge of our territory. Perfect for someone with secrets to hide, like a rogue sock collection or, you know, a hidden werewolf army.

Reaching the cabin, I found it dark and silent. Score. My heart thumped like a bass drum solo in my chest as I crept closer, a low growl rumbling in my throat just in case. The wooden door creaked open with a sigh, revealing a dusty interior that looked like it hadn’t seen daylight since, well, ever. Moonlight streamed through one window, illuminating a simple bed, a beat-up desk, and a scattering of random stuff.

Curiosity wrestling with caution, I stepped inside. Nothing seemed out of place, but the air felt thick with a weird energy, like someone had just microwaved a fish. I ran my hand along the rough wooden table, the cool texture sending a shiver down my spine.

Then, movement. A flicker in the corner of my eye. I whipped around, adrenaline pumping like a fire hose, only to find… nothing. Was I losing it? Maybe the fight had messed with me more than I thought. Like, seriously messed with me.

Suddenly, a voice filled the room, making me jump a mile high. “Looking for something, Amelia?”

Sage stood in the doorway, the moonlight casting long shadows across her face. But it wasn’t the darkness that made me take a step back. It was the glint in her eyes, cool and calculating, like she’d been waiting for me with a plate of cookies and a side of suspicion.

“S-Sage?” I stammered, my voice barely above a squeak. “What are you doing?”

She sauntered into the room, her steps silent despite the creaky floorboards. “Let’s just say your little visit has confirmed what I already knew.”

Heat flooded my cheeks. “Confirmed what? That I have a serious case of nosiness?” I tried to sound tough, but my voice cracked like a teenager hitting puberty.

“Don’t play dumb, Amelia,” she said, her voice sharp as a broken nail. “You don’t trust me. You think my story about being a rogue on the run is a bunch of hooey.”

I stood my ground, meeting her gaze head-on. “Maybe it is. The way you fought, the way you talked… it just doesn’t add up. It’s like you were, I don’t know, enjoying the whole rogue-killing thing a little too much.”

Sage’s smile was about as warm as a glacier. “Paranoid much?” she scoffed. “Look, I get it. New girl in town, mysterious past. But maybe, just maybe, you should consider the possibility that not everyone is out to steal your alpha boyfriend or whatever.”

“And maybe,” I countered, my voice finding its backbone, “you should stick to your story instead of creeping around in the dead of night.”

The air crackled with unspoken tension, thicker than a bowl of oatmeal. Silence stretched between us, long and awkward. Finally, Sage sighed, a hint of weariness in her voice.

“Look, Amelia,” she said, her voice softer now. “I’m not here to cause trouble. I just… I need your pack’s help. But if you won’t trust me, then fine. Go crawl back to your pack gossip sessions and leave me alone.”

She turned to leave, and the way she said “pack gossip sessions” made me want to roll my eyes. But before I could fire back a witty retort, she stopped, her voice laced with a not-so-subtle threat.

“One more thing, Amelia,” she said, turning back with a cold stare that could curdle milk. “If you breathe a word of tonight to anyone, even your precious Alpha McDreamy, you’ll regret it.”

The threat hung heavy in the air, a silent promise of payback. Fear prickled my skin, but a stubborn defiance held me ground. I wouldn’t be bullied by a newcomer with a shady past.

“We’ll see about that,” I muttered, my voice barely a whisper.

Sage’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then she walked past me and entered another room slamming the door shut, leaving me alone in the dusty cabin parlor with my racing heart and a head full