This is my first attempt at a romance story. I haven't really read a romance story before (other than a peice or two on this site), but I just got the inspiration to try it. So, for those who know romance, be patient with me. I'd like to learn how to improve, so if I'm missing something important, let me know. This is part 1 of 4, at least that's the planned breakdown, which may change in the future. Thank you.
EDIT: Okay, I've made a few changes and a few minor additions. Hopefully, this will make this opener a bit clearer, or at least more believable and easier to understand.
The night was clear, the moon was nearly full, and the forest was all but silent. The hunters of the night roamed freely, searching for their quarry in a never ending hunt. Hunger drove them. It drove much of their life, and there was rarely a moment when that hunger abated.
For one of the forest’s hunters, there were two hunts, each with an overpowering drive. One was the hunt for food. That hunt he always succeeded in, only to start it again when the hunger returned to his belly. The other was a hunt that had lasted for as long as his memory would care. A hunt possibly more ravenous than the hunt for food. His search for a mate.
Nearly every night he searched the forest. He had searched the forest in its entirety. But still he searched. Wolves occasionally roamed alone, most often to start a new pack. He too wanted to roam farther, but something told him not to. Something in the very depths of his mind told him not to stray far from his territory. Though he did not understand why, he knew that it was wise.
Time passed, the moon made its way through the sky, and still he ran. He stopped to eat, hardly even leaving the bones of the deer he had killed, to keep his hunger at bay. He quickly washed himself in a river before continuing. It seemed each night he grew more focused on a mate. He searched endlessly, eating, searching, eating, searching. Every now and then he would stop for a moment, throw his head back, spread his arms wide, stand erect and howl to the night sky. He called for her. One night he would find her. He did not know what would happen then, he spared no thought for it. His mind was only on the fact that he needed a mate, for reasons he knew, but could not put in thoughts, or even words.
As every night before, he could feel through his body the fading of the night and the approach of day. He knew he would soon need to rest. As quickly as his two legs could run, he made his way back to his other home. He did not fully understand why he made this shelter of wood his home, only that it was his home, and that it was where he belonged when the sun rose.
Entering through an open window, the dawn fast approaching, he made his way through the home. His mind became hazy and confused, as the dawning of the sun always did to him. He entered his windowless bedroom, instinct bringing him there. Slowly, he lay atop the sheets of the bed. His mind was quickly fading, and he closed his eyes for slumber.
Chris Ternen awoke atop his sheets, crying. He cried nearly every morning; a slow, painful cry that consumed him for several minutes. He wanted to love, longed for it, yet knew that he could never truly find it. So he cried.
Stacy Lens tore down the nearly empty road on her motorcycle, the sole front headlight illuminating the coarse pavement. The road wasn’t likely truly empty, but she had neither passed anybody nor heard anything but the roar of her engine in a long time. She had been driving for several days now, resting at hotels and motels when she could, camping out off the road when she couldn’t. Camping had become her preference, as the last two places she had stayed at had both been far unhealthier than anything she had found in the outdoors.
She also didn’t want to be around people. Any people. Even in the places she had stayed, she had felt too close. What she wanted was a life of exile, to never be seen or heard from again.
Her friends, and more so her parents, would worry terribly over her. But to them, and hopefully to those she escaped from, she had not simply run away. To them, she was dead. With any luck, they would believe she was dead, the case would go cold, and she would have vanished.
She felt guilty about the deception. Not even the gently rolling hills with trees illuminated by the near full moon, a scene she would have found peace and complicity from in her youth, could begin to dispel the grief. Those she loved thought her dead. She didn’t even care anymore the fact that she had stolen the motorcycle from a friend of hers. If she could have told him, she knew he would understand.
Even though it hurt her, she knew it had to be done. Back home, her life would have ended for real had she not faked it. One mistake in her life was all it took, leading her to this. She had to get away, to disappear. They would kill her if they ever found her. Pushing those thoughts to the back of her mind, she focused on driving.
She was a long ways from her home in Maine. At the moment, she thought she was in New Mexico, but she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t remembered seeing a welcome sign in a while. By now, she had to be far enough away. All she needed to do was find a small town where no one would look for her.
A few hours later, she found it: Solitude, population 53. Solitude, how appropriate.
Chris paced the house for a time after breakfast, unsure of what to do with himself. There wasn’t exactly much to do in the little town he called home, especially in his house. From the way he saw it, the town of Solitude seemed to be a place that hardly even existed. There must be records of it somewhere, at both the state and federal levels, but the town was so small that people likely hadn’t seen any of those files in years. Just about everything was run locally, even the police. The town was self sufficient, and to some it was like its own little world.
Growing restless and unable to stand still, he left his isolated little cabin and walked through the woods to the town. At an easy jog, it was only a few minutes before he could see the entire town in front of him. The town consisted of a restaurant, a gas station, a general store, the police station, a post office, and the homes of those who lived there. The postal service was about all the contact people had with the outside world, but as far as Chris could tell from living there all his life, no one really cared.
The sun was not even mid-sky when he entered town. Despite his desire for isolation, he found that he wanted to talk to someone. No matter how he tried to deny it, it was simply a part of human nature and he could not put it aside. It was even deeply imbedded into his wolf self, making denial all the more impossible. He quickly gave up the brief fight with himself and entered Larry’s Tavern. If he was going to talk to someone, he might as well get something to eat.
There were few people at the tables, as it was a little early for lunch, but there were always a few people there. Chris sat at the front counter on a stool, instead of at a window side table. He still didn’t want to be close to too many people.
He looked around the place. It had been a while since he had last stopped by here. The cushioned stools were still comfortable; the cushions still the same faded red he remembered. Just about everything was made of wood, giving it a very old feel. All kinds of things hung from the walls, like hunting trophies and old enlarged photographs. Though he loved the outdoors, he always felt comfortable here, almost at ease. He’d all but forgotten the feeling.
“Sleep well last night Chris?” Larry asked from behind the counter, bringing Chris to attention.
“Like a log. No pun intended” he added quickly as he casually leaned on the counter. Chris couldn’t remember how many times he had used that joke about sleeping in his cabin, intentional or not.
Larry laughed as he always did. “Yeah, I know, you’re a deep sleeper. Someone pounding at the door with a battering ram wouldn’t wake you. Still, those wolf cries were louder than usual. You sure they didn’t wake you?” he asked with an odd tone of voice.
Chris gave him a look, trying to keep his expression even. Larry believed that Chris was a werewolf. He had heard Larry mention it before to others, but it seemed no one else shared his sentiment. For whatever reason, Larry either just accepted him, or didn’t want to do anything unless he knew. Chris had known Larry for quite some time, back when he was just a teen, and he wasn’t sure just what Larry would do.
“I woke at daybreak, as always. So, what do you mean by louder? You think they’re getting closer?”
“No, just louder” he said, fidgeting with his apron. “If you ask me, I don’t like the sound of those cries. There’s something in them that gets to you. Something deep, it’s hard to explain.”
Chris was relieved a bit. At least his wolf self hadn’t been advancing on the town. He doubted that would ever happen, but still the worry stayed at the back of his mind.
“Can I get something to eat?” Chris finally asked in the following silence.
“The usual?” Larry replied, arching his eyebrow a bit.
For some reason, Chris couldn’t help but grin a little. “Yeah.”
A few minutes later his steak arrived, cooked rare, and he started cutting it up. It filled up most of the plate and he cut up what would likely be considered rather large pieces for each bite.
“So, Chris” Larry started, “have you heard about the new arrival yet?”
That stopped Chris instantly. It was the first time he had paused during a meal in a long time. “No, when did they arrive?”
“Early this morning. Called herself Lindsey and said little else as she ate her breakfast. Near as I could tell, all she had was her motorcycle, her helmet, whatever was in her wallet and the clothes on her back. Found that a bit odd.”
“She’s not the first.” Still, her story interested him, though he couldn’t put a finger on why. Maybe because no one had ever arrived with quite so few possessions.
“True. Anyway, last I saw she was headed for the general store. Don’t know where from there.”
Chris had an idea. “Hmm, well, thanks for sharing with me.”
“Sure thing, thought you’d be interested” he replied, then greeted the customer that Chris had heard walk in.
Chris finished his steak in silence, eating it faster than he knew he should, and left the money by the plate. He pushed open the light wood door and walked out, making his way to where this Lindsey surely was. He knew everyone in this small town, and this new arrival had his interest.
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