Havenwood, NY

"You weren't there, RJ!" Becca whisper-shouted into the phone so she wouldn't draw attention to herself as she walked down Main Street toward her intended destination, flashing a smile while someone passed by her before her expression quickly changed back to it's annoyed, angry visage. Her footfalls were rushed yet clipped, a physical testament of her rage as she fairly stalked down the sidewalk. A few pedestrians scrambled to get out of her way as the werewolf quietly continued her tirade into the phone.

"She just yawned and rolled over after surveying the damage!" There was a pause before her eyes narrowed and she practically growled into the phone, "They were Jimmy Choo, RJ! Jimmy. Choo." Becca snorted and rolled her eyes in the next moment, "Well, obviously you don't know how much they cost before they end up in a consignment shop, doofus." There was another pause before... "That's not the point! Now I have to replace them and she knows how much I hate that kind of shopping!" Now Becca was just whining, muttering into the phone, "She's so lucky that Swinton woman is good at solving the weird shit that happens around here and that I'm pretty sure Zee would just murder me right back if I tried to murder her." It was at the moment the door to Belle's Boutique opened as the werewolf approached it, disgorging one of it's patrons at an inopportune moment and Becca mentally winced upon seeing Mrs. Weston's double take at the words murder her pouring out of her mouth.

Nervous laughter was quick to fill the awkward pause, "Haha, I'm just kidding, Mrs. Weston!" Louder into the phone the phrase, "You know how siblings can be. ByeRJ!" She said, abruptly ending her conversation with her brother and rushing past the woman and into the shop, breathing a momentary sigh of relief as the door shut behind her.

Her words ripped a laugh from those very lips that hers ghosted before the sound abruptly halted, his ribs protesting the movement. A noise of pain replaced the laugh—Why did she have to make him laugh?!—yet a grin mixed with a pained expression still remained on his face.

"I'm going to hold you to that, Rug Rat," he quipped back as Ben painstakingly settled back upon the bed.

Winded slightly from the effort, he lay there a moment with his eyes closed and once again regretting the events that got him into this situation. Seeing Zee again, though, would never be among those regrets. Opening his eyes, they turned upon the weretiger when he caught his breath, his expression soft and a little anxious.

"Will you stay?" He murmured, "At least until I fall asleep again?"

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It had been a year almost to the day that he escaped the iron fist of the Taiga when a group connected to the clan found him near the Canadian border. In hindsight, Ben had been stupid. The strategy had always been to say no more than two months in a place before moving on. He'd been pushing through nearly three in North Bay when he'd broken up the wrong fight in the bar he worked at. Realizing his blunder too late after the looks he'd gotten by a few members of the group, they caught up with him three days later outside his cabin while he was transferring supplies from his car to the kitchen. Despite getting the drop on him, Ben was able to take out two before the scuffle got serious between him and the remaining three. Fearing that one of them would clip him if he took flight to escape, Ben used everything he had on him to bring down the rest when he was rushed.

Ben had not been known for grandstanding during his fights and in the beginning he was not particularly popular due to his efficiency. That unpopular efficiency, however, had earned him his popularity later because of its brutality. That same brutality echoed through the clearing that made up his front yard as fists thunked against muscled flesh, chased with grunts of pain while fingers curled around limbs and snapped bones. Short-lived screams cut through the muted symphony only to end suddenly as a hand chopped at a throat, cutting off air. The performance came to an abrupt halt when the bark of a gun created a temporary cacophony of noise that ended with Ben's screams scattering through the trees on the frantic beat of startled wings.

As he hit the ground, the shifter could smell and taste the tang of copper on his tongue thanks to the inside of his cheek being cut by his teeth when he'd been punched in the face. But that was nothing compared to the fire that ripped through his shoulder, side, and back when he turned to flee, stumbling briefly from the pain. The sound of tearing fabric could be heard in Ben's scramble to rid himself of his shirt and despite the agony of his shoulder, he threw himself into the sky, shifting into a Barred Owl, and took flight. After that, Ben didn't have much recollection of anything else. It took everything he had to keep his concentration on flying and not lose his form thousands of feet up. He stopped only a few times to rest, digging out the bullets that he could and cursing whoever had been the smart enough to load the mag with silver ones.

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