Rejected Mate and Following Fate

Chapter 49: You're safe

"Alora, I believe that may be our escort. This is route ten." The doctor nudges me lightly, snapping me out of my long weird daydream in which I bludgeoned Carmen to death with Colton's running shoes, before handing them back to him and walking off into the sunset with a flip of my finger, and I sit upright startled to reality. Heart missing a beat and full on nerves smacking me in the stomach.

There's a convoy of headlights heading our way in the now pitch-dark, long road, stretching ahead, dazzling us slightly as they approach, along what seems to be a long empty highway, lined with dense trees on either side of us. I hadn't even noticed the change in terrain when we got off the dirt track and got onto an actual road. My insides tighten, tense, and painfully pray it is who it is.

I lift the veil and link him, in case we're not at where they are yet, and this is someone I should be worried about. I don't see any other vehicles on the road.

Colton please tell me that's you, the convoy heading towards the military truck on route ten?

I hold my breath, pausing as nervous energy overtakes and straining to see beyond the blinding lights, but it's too dark to make out if the trucks are Santo at all. All I can tell is there is a succession of them as they weave slightly, and headlights peek out on the route ahead.

It's us. You're safe. Pull over.

That husky warm flow of assurance as I hear him inside my mind and I relax a little, letting out the breath I was holding in anticipation. He sounds weird, tense, and maybe still a little annoyed, probably from obsessing over my 'boyfriend' in the last half hour, or however long we've been driving. I've been silently staring out the window, lost in my own head, and the doc just kept ploughing on heading north. No concept of time.

Shouldn't we just follow you?

I query, confused that with the possibility of a pack on our tail that he should want us to stop and not keep moving. I don't understand why he would expect us to.

PULL. OVER!

It's a sharp command, not a request. No hint of polite, or even trying to explain. In that bossy, arrogant, snarly, I am pissed tone, that verges on his alpha gift and I wonder what the hell is eating him. From seemingly calm, and logical, to idiot in a millisecond, all because I questioned him. Maybe he is like his father after all, and that gives me the unyielding urge to tell him where to get off. It brings back my rage from earlier and I spin my head to the doctor with attitude.