Her abandoned Beta

Sneaking out (10 years ago)

*Summer*

Misty isn't dead. I can hardly believe it, I want to see for myself. I am probably a fool to trust someone who has broken into my residence, into my bedchamber, but if he was going to take advantage, he could have done it while I had been asleep.

He could have conked me on the head and made off with me. He is tall, fairly broad, and I had felt the firmness of his muscles when I punched him.

He would have no trouble at all hauling me away.

As I change quickly into a simple frock that doesn’t require any assistance from my maid in dressing, I feel both a measure of excitement and terror. Never before have I done anything so risky.

Not that I haven’t thought about it, but whenever I have fantasized about going off with a man alone at night, I have always pictured myself with Thor … or at least I had tried to picture myself with him. In truth, in my dreams the man's features had never been very clear, but to imagine my escort being anyone other than the man who will be my mate me fills me with shame.

Guilt pricks at my conscience now, because without a chaperone attending me, I would be alone in the company of a man I do not intend to marry.

But with a great deal of effort, I ignore the nagging doubts. It isn't as though we are going to get up to no good. He is simply going to prove to me that Misty is safe.

It isn't that I don’t believe his words, but I am in the mood for a lark, a bit of adventure. And I am still rather put out with my father, which makes me want to do something rebellious, even if he will never find out about it. I can sit at the dining table with a cat-that-lapped-up-all-the-cream smile on my face, knowing I have a delicious secret. I have never had any secrets.

I am the most boring of all my friends, never gaining any juicy tidbits of gossip to share. I can’t share tonight's excursion but I can wear the very same smile at the balls I will attend in the future and that will lead people to wonder what sort of mischief I might be up to. It will give me an air of mystique, make me more alluring, perhaps even to the point that Thor will finally take proper notice of me.

As I open my door, I realized it doesn’t hurt that my escort is a handsome devil. He stands there with his lantern in one hand, his cap in the other. His shirt isn't wrinkled like the one he had worn this afternoon, and I realize now that when he had been so close to me earlier in my bedchamber, he hadn't smelled of horses, dirt, and manure. He had clearly bathed before coming to me, possibly taken a razor to his face. His hair doesn’t seem quite as long either. Surely a young man who has gone to such a bother doesn’t have any nefarious plans in store for me.

He settles his cap into place. “We need to be very quiet”. He whispers.

I nod my understanding. Then he does a very odd thing indeed. He takes my hand, as though by doing so he can transfer his skill at stealth into me. He wears no gloves, but I have donned black leather ones, because a she-Wolf of rank does not leave the residence with bare hands exposed. Still, I can feel the warmth from his skin penetrating through the covering to heat mine.

He doesn’t make a sound. Although I traverse on the tips of my toes, I am not quite as accomplished as he is at sneaking about, which becomes evident when we hit the marble staircase. Each of my steps sounds like someone hitting a nail into wood.

After half a dozen clicks, he halts and holds the lantern toward me. “Hold this”.

I take it, then nearly screech when he lifts me into his arms. Such strong arms, so powerful.

Thor holding me pales in comparison to being cradled by this strapping young man as he hurries down the stairs. The comparison is unfair to Thor though, who had held me as a gentleman would, with a certain amount of distance because it is the proper way to do it, and in our world doing things properly is of the utmost importance.

Once we have again reached a carpeted hallway, he lowers my feet to the floor, takes the lantern from me, grabs my hand, and leads me in a mad dash to the kitchens.

Before I have time to ponder that no servants are about, he opens a door and escorts me outside. After quietly closing the door, he picks up a satchel and heads toward the path that leads to the back road.

Glancing over my shoulder, I note no light coming to life in any windows. We have done it ! We have made a successful escape. Funny how the realization fills me with such joy that I want to leap in the air and kick my heels together, as though I have accomplished something truly remarkable. I have never before thought about doing something I shouldn't, and here I am, about to make an entire night of it.

In the alleyway is the ugly car, the one that had taken Misty from me. After slinging his bag into the back, he turns out the flashlight and places it inside.

Taking my hand again, he leads me to the front, placing his hands on my waist, and hefts me with ease onto the hard, lumpy seat.

Then he climbs inside the car, apologizing that the other door binds, scrambles over me, takes the wheel, and turns on the engine.