sam evans ( werewolf ) . (tamest) wrote in light_of_may, |
The sound of knuckles rapping against the door had him freezing in place on his perch at the window and with eyes slightly wider than they were normally Sam stared at the room's entrance before he realised he was being rude, he was being disrespectful, this wasn't his house and no one needed his permission to do anything. With those panic-laced thoughts in mind he called out, albeit quieter than intended, to say, "Come in," and even then his voice trembled because it sounded so much like he was allowing someone else to do something or even commanding them and neither of those things were okay coming from him. That wasn't his place in the grand scheme of things, he didn't allow anyone to do anything, he didn't issue commands. That was wrong, all wrong.
In the days since whatever magic had affected them all had worn off Sam had secretly hoped things would become clearer but it was quite the opposite, if anything things had only gotten more complicated and convoluted, the waters had muddied like someone had stirred up the dirt and the silt at the bottom and now he could barely even see where he was going. As the door opened and the suspicions of his senses were confirmed he felt his stomach flip and he immediately dropped his gaze, suddenly wishing he was wearing the hat hanging on the back of the desk chair across the room so he would have something to hide behind. His hair was a poor substitute, it hung in front of his eyes a little but it didn't conceal him from view the way he wanted it to.
Finding his voice when August was around wasn't easy, no matter how many times he was reassured that the Summers Pack Alpha meant him no harm and was someone to be trusted he couldn't help but fear him. Alphas in Sam's world were fearsome and formidable, they snapped with strong jaws and disciplined those beneath them, establish their dominance with feats of prowess and unbridled aggression. August didn't strike him as that type but at the same time he did, very much so, and that kind of conflict of perspective only made things so much worse, impossible to grasp like so much smoke slipping through his fingers.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice little more than a whisper because he'd been rude in not coming downstairs when he was called. That kind of behaviour would have earned him a very straightforward but severe punishment back in Montana and there was a part of him now that wondered if that time had finally come here in Scarlet Oak. "I should have come."