A/N: This will become a heavy story later on and is not meant to be a light read.

"Hello?" I kicked the door to my apartment closed, re-locking two of the five locks adorning the door.

"Reagan?" a raspy voice questioned through the phone. My cheeks lit up with a smile. I dropped my bag on the floor and kicked off my rainboots.

"Scoot! How's Atlanta?"

"Shit without you," he replied. "How's Oregon?"

"Cold, wet, and miserable." I pouted as I collapsed on my bed. I'd been complaining about my new home for the past three months, ever since I moved into a crumbling studio apartment just outside the University of Oregon campus. October was only just starting to come to a close.

"You thought it was beautiful when you moved there. What happened to that?" His voice was deep and rough and played like a gentle melody. A familiar homesick ache spread through my chest.

"I thought it was beautiful in August, when the sun was shining and the trees were singing. As it turns out, I hate the cold. And I hate wearing sweaters. And I hate wearing boots and carrying umbrellas around with me. The only way it could get worse was if I'd moved to Seattle. "I have three pairs of socks on and my toes are still cold."

"But you're not coming home anytime soon, I presume."

"Hell no," I replied with an accompanying chuckle. "I may hate Oregon, but I've got a cushy scholarship, a clean, dry lab, and I don't have to worry about pack politics."

"Pack life isn't so bad. I'm starting to like it." Scott had never felt as outcast in our pack as I had.

"You say after you've been promoted to Deputy Lieutenant of Council Enforcement."

I could hear the smile in his voice. "You heard about that, did you?"

"Fuck you Scotty! How did Anna know about this before me? I'm your partner in crime, no, your other half. You're supposed to tell me everything."

"It's not a big deal. It's only a step above common folk. Plus, I've been really busy lately. They increased my workload. I'm starting to think they promoted to justify the hours they make me work."

I sighed and fell onto my back. "I miss you so much, Scotty."

"I miss you too, baby girl. It's been tough without you." My heart broke as I heard his words. I put my arm over my eyes as I took a shaky breath.

"It's kind of lonely being a lone wolf, you know." My voice cracked on the last word.

"You aren't a lone wolf. You've found a new pack. You left me with the Piedmont pack and moved on to a bigger, better, richer pack."

I sat up, mildly offended. "I've been conditionally accepted. The Blue Mountain Pack is seven hours away by bus. It's practically in Idaho. I made a pit stop there to pick up some papers on my way to the university."

"So you haven't taken to them?"

"They haven't quite taken to me. I guess they were expecting me to wear a feather war bonnet and moccasins. The lady who greeted me asked me what my 'Indian name' was."

"You're kidding."

"Not one bit."

"What did you tell her?"

"'Runs with Wolves.' She thought it was poetic." I smiled softly as Scott's thick, deep laugh sounded from my phone.

"There are hundreds of Native packs out west past the Rockies, though."

"The Native packs are super inclusive. They don't even live on marked roads. Most buy up a healthy chunk of woods, build a commune, and close the gates to outsiders. Most of the Celts have never seen a Native wolf, let alone met one."

"Are there any perks at least?"

"The University is fantastic." I'd just moved to a university town under a special scholarship to complete my Master's degree a semester early. I only had to finish my current semester and two more after that.

"You're still a huge nerd then."

"My professor doesn't mind that I'm a first year grad student, a woman, or a Native American."

"So no rain dances in the lab?"

"Afraid not. All the pow-wow might break a few test tubes."

"Have you been able to work your magic in the Oregon wild?"

"I went out for a run the first new moon I was here, but there's so much new plant life that my wolf didn't know how to tune out the new smells. I barely made it home the next morning." I rubbed a twinge of pain in my forehead brought on by the memory.

"Was it that painful? I thought you'd managed to control it."

"Control is a really trick word. It wasn't so much painful as it was exhausting. My supersonic senses can't really be controlled. My wolf had to sniff everything she had never seen before. The earth out here is much nicer than the clay in Georgia, though."

"I'm going to assume you haven't told your new pack about your senses?"

"Did I tell them that I was a moderately useful werewolf? That I could be beneficial at all? That they should pay any attention to me? Hell no. Under a conditional acceptance, they are able to establish a permanent acceptance at any time, whether I allow it or not. I'm not okay with that type of commitment."

"I take it that you're going to put even less effort into fitting in there than you did here."

"I'll put a little effort in, I guess. I'm going back this weekend. They're holding an attendance-mandatory Run for their newest generation of Alpha males."

"I didn't think Celts held Runs. Isn't that a Native pack thing?"

"They aren't *really* Runs. They call them Hunts and they're incredibly sexist. This pack treats their women like prey if their men are hunters. It's disgusting."

"So what are these 'Hunts' then?"

"They release any and all unmated and eligible females into the woods an hour before dusk, then let a handful of Alpha males that have come of age out after them as soon as darkness settles. The Alpha males prowl for their mate, if they choose one, and then force the shewolves to submit them by tearing into their throats."

"So you'll be of the hunted?" I cringed at that term.

"Yeah, but I'm safe. Most of these Alphas go into the Hunt knowing who their mate will be or knowing that they won't end up with a mate. It's a prerequisite to mating outside the pack. Plus, I'm an omega. Most Alphas find it beneath themselves to fuck an omega."

"Are the unions blessed at all?"

"You forget that the Goddess only blesses consensual unions. This pack barely has a connection to the Goddess. They only seek Her solace for tradition or when they are expecting a new litter."

Seeking the Goddess' comfort by shifting into wolf form, a lycan's natural form, was a sacred, holy bond. Native packs, like the one I was born into, considered it a great honor to have the ability to shift upon whim as I could, and sought the Goddess' refuge in times of trouble or confusion. This new pack didn't bother. They lived their lives as humans and died as humans.

"Our pack doesn't even hold Runs. They're 'savage traditions' to the Anglicans." Scott's laugh was bitter. Since we'd been accepted as refugees to the Piedmont pack, we'd been ostracized for our heritage a midst a drastically different English pack.

"Scoot, tell me the truth. Do they still call you a savage?" I twisted the ends of my hair between my fingers.

"Unfortunately. The entire Piedmont commune could use a conference on workplace and community sensitivity. I had to cut my braids so they'd stop yanking them."

"You what?" I seethed through the phone.

"Reagan, sometimes you have to make compromises."

"So you're compromising your identity?" My voice broke and rose an octave.

"Reagan, our pack was killed when I was seven. You were one. We're barely even Cherokee."

"Fuck you, Scott," I spat.

"Whatever, Reagan. I have to go."

I let out a deep sigh and ran my hand through my hair. "I'm sorry, Scoot. Call me more than every couple of months, hey?"

"I'll try."

"Scott, I love you."

The line went dead. I laid back and fell asleep, coat and all.

I'm using this story to try and explore my voice, so I'd appreciate any feedback I receive. Thank you so much! - Claire

V2