I catch up with Mark in the woods after everything settles down, jogging to keep up with his long strides.

He had stormed off after his father left, and I decided to follow him to try and calm him down.

He has his hands at the back of his head, his fingers pulling at his dark hair in frustration.

I swallow, not knowing what to say, or if I should even say anything at all, so I stay silent.

He leans back on his heels and stares up at the tree tops, and sighs heavily after several moments. "My father," He starts, then pauses, maybe not sure if he should go on, before he continues. "He used to hit me when I was little. But not until my mother... Passed. He was very hostile to every one after that, but seemed more angry at me than anyone. Like it was my fault."

I stay quiet, and watch his back as he keeps talking.

"When I was five, my mom would get hit and screamed at a lot, and then she slowly started to slip away. She was so depressed all the time... Even I couldn't make her happy anymore. I found her one morning when I was eight, she was in a bathtub full of her own blood. He pushed her so hard that she broke, she couldn't handle the abuse anymore."

A hand flies up to my mouth, and my wolf cringes. A wolf can be killed if an artery like in the neck or wrists is severed or cut, because we can only heal quickly if the bleeding is slowed or stopped all together.

His stance is ridged as he lowers his hands to his sides. "The beatings got really bad after that. I never fought back, even though I was old enough to. I guess I just figured that I deserved it. "

"You didn't deserve something like that," I say, "No child does."

He gives a dark chuckle, making me shiver. "I liked it. The pain helped me not think about what I saw that day. Until no matter what I did, how much I got beaten or cut or drank, I still saw her there. Crippled in that bathtub, broken and bloody. Annabelle, I..."

I lower my hand and close my mouth and go to him, stepping in front of him so he can see me there for him.

"You're a good man." I whisper, and he closes his eyes, a tear escaping from the corner of one, recalling his mother's image. "None of this was your fault."

I gently reach up to wipe the tear away with my thumb, and he catches my hand, holding it to his cheek and leaning into it like my touch is a drug.

"You're the only thing that feels real to me." He says, voice soft. "After all that, and another woman comes along, and now I'm just so afraid to get hurt again. I couldn't bare to lose you, too." He falls to his knees, and I sink down next to him, pulling him close and hugging him tightly.

"I promise," I whisper to him as he lets out a sob. "I won't be going anywhere." I nearly hurt from his agony and sorrow, and a tear escapes my own eyes.

I hold him for as long as his pride lets me, before he pulls back and wipes at the tears on his face in frustration. "I am so weak." He says, looking away. "And you must be terrified of me now. Now that you know why I'm like this, why I never trust women, or anyone for that matter. Why I'm so ruthless."

I sigh, and look up at him sadly and give a small smile. "You don't scare me."

He looks down at me, his eyes full of love and hope, his hands moving down to my hips, as if on there own. "You aren't afraid?"

I don't pull away, though I'm hyper aware of his touch, and gaze up at him, shaking my head. "No. I'm not."

He leans his forehead on mine, smiling, as If a weight had lifted from his shoulders. "Annabelle," He whispers. "You're my angel."

I think he's going to kiss me, but instead, nuzzles the crook of my neck, and gently brushes his lips against the skin on my jaw.

I momentarily stop breathing, making him chuckle softly, his warm breath tickling my chin.

"I shouldn't be doing this to you." He says, on a serious kind of note, but he leans his head on my shoulder with a sigh. "Not when you aren't even sure if you want this... Want me."

I hold my breath, and am about to respond when something cuts me off, a sound that makes it hard for me to breathe, as if invisible hands clenched my throat, cutting off my air supply.

A scream.

Mark's head flies up, and he instinctively pulls me close to his chest as he looks around, scouting for the sound.

"What was that ?" I whisper, my fingers grabbing onto the front of his shirt.

"Shh," He says, "Hold on." He closes his eyes to listen.

He didn't need to focus that hard, the sound is on our territory, and it's the terrified scream of a small child.