Charlie P.O.V

Michael sternly tells me to stay in the truck. I don't protest. After my last encounter with wolves, I'm glad to remain exactly where I am, but that doesn't mean that I want Michael to leave me here.

I lock the doors to the truck and watch him venture into the room. Anxiety immediately wells in my stomach when Michael walks out of my view. I don't like not being able to see him. I hate not knowing what's going on behind those beige walls.

Several moments pass without any sign of what's happening in the room; if anything is happening at all. The anxiety is growing inside me, making me wish that I could see inside. I almost consider getting out of the truck, but if someone was in the room I'd be putting both Michael and myself at risk, not to mention, he told me to stay in the truck. I have to resist the urge to check on him.

"C'mon, Michael," I whisper to myself while bouncing my good leg.

After a couple minutes, Michael emerges from the room with our bags. He's uninjured, which is a relief. I unlock the doors and let him in once I know that it's safe.

"The room is empty, but it's trashed. Someone knew we were here," Michael explains with a sigh.

"We weren't gone very long."

"They were just here. The scent's still fresh. We gotta go, now." Michael starts the truck and we don't look back, it's just us and the open road.

We get back on the highway quickly, leaving the motel behind. We paid for the night when we checked in, although I do feel bad about leaving the room in a state of chaos. Unfortunately, in this situation, I can't let it bother me long.

I stare out the window for what seems like ages. All the scenery blurs together; nothing stands out. I feel the vibration of the glass when I lean my head against the window. The feeling is almost hypnotic. There's something almost peaceful about being on the road, not knowing where to go. It's like the calm before the storm, and this is one raging storm.

I'm startled out of my peaceful trance when my phone rings. Michael looks over at me for a brief moment when I look at the screen. My mom is calling me.

"It's my mom," I say softly.

"You should answer, just don't tell her where we are."

I nod and answer the call. I don't know why my mom is calling me now, but I'm about to find out.

"Hey, Mom, what's going on?"

"Hi, Sweetie, I just wanted to call and check on you. I know you haven't healed yet and I wanted to make sure you were okay," she explains.

"I'm okay, Mom, you don't have to worry about me," I reassure her. "I can handle myself."

"Are you sure? Because you know if you need anything I'll drop everything and hop on the first flight out. Your father can handle things here."

"No!" I say a little too enthusiastically. "No, don't do that. I'm fine. Don't worry about me. I'm sure Dad could use your help," I lie to her, reassuring her that everything is okay when it's quite the opposite.

"Charlie, are you sure everything is alright?" she asks, clearly skeptical of me.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I've got Michael if I need help with anything."

"You know, your father and I are going on a trip in the next couple of days. We'll be in the Carribean for about a week. We could fly you down so you could spend some time with us; get out of the cold for a bit," my mom offers out of the blue.

I remain silent for a couple moments. My mom and dad often travel for work, but they don't normally invite me to go with them. They also rarely take vacation time.

"You're going on vacation? I thought you were busy with work."

Michael glances over at me for a brief moment.

"I know, darling, but your father and I figured we could use a few days off and thought some time in the sun might be good for you. What do you say?"

"Um," I pause, "can I call you back?"

"Oh," she sounds surprised, "sure, Honey, just let me know soon."

"Okay." I end the call and put my phone away.

The truck is quiet for a few moments. The air is heavy with the awkward silence.

"What was that about?" Michael finally asks, breaking the silence.

"My parents are going on vacation for a week and wanted to know if I wanted to tag along."

"You should go," he says unexpectedly.

His response catches me off guard.

"What? Why?"

"You said they'll be on vacation for a week, right? By the time you get back the full moon will have passed and you can be safe," he explains, not taking his eyes off the road.

"But what about you? What will you do while I'm gone?" I question.

"I'll lay low, just like we've been doing. But you'd be much safer with your parents. Wolves can't get to you if you're out of the state," Michael makes a convincing point.

What he says is true; I would be safer if I went with my parents, but there's something deep inside me saying that I shouldn't go. It's a gut feeling that feels like someone just punched me in the stomach.

Michael stops the truck off the road and parks. He turns to me and runs his fingers through my hair before pulling me into a soft kiss.

"Go," he whispers, "I'll be okay."

I rest my hand on top of his as it makes it's way down to my cheek. I don't want to let him go. It feels like I'm losing him if I do.

"You promise?" I ask quietly, my voice barely audible.

"I promise. I'll be here when you get back."

I nod slowly and sigh.

"Okay. . . I'll go."