Werewolf Compilations

Chapter 61

The guard leaves and I stay in my room, dreading the moment when Alpha Grant comes home. He

said that he'll be here soon, which makes me restless, speaking that I'm in his pack house with my own

room. So much for a separate building. I can't lie to myself, the house is beautiful, my bedroom is a

dream, and all of these feelings are making my head explode. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I was

supposed to hate it here, I was supposed to want to leave.

The bedding smells like roses; my nose stuffed into the pillows as I lay here trying to collect myself.

The soothing scent helps keep my mind off of his at the end of the hall, trickling through my door. It's

going to wrap around my ankles and drag me down the hall, locking me in his bedroom for him to find

me as a wild animal. His scent is not my friend, but an enemy.

My bags are set off to the side, and I refuse to unpack them, convinced that I won't be here for long. I

push the promise to my mother to the back of my head, in no mood to search this place for a phone.

Some girls at the pack have one, but I personally had no need for one. Everyone I know is within a

three-mile radius of me, and yet that number is even lower than expected. I could call my mother. © 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

Maybe the dark-haired girl from the gathering—she seems to know me.

Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling just as I hear sounds coming from downstairs. My heart

hurdles forward, pulling me up, causing my throat to swell closed. In a sudden panic, I look for a place

to hide before I realize how stupid that is. I'm sure sooner or later he would find me under the bed.

Instead, I switch between sitting and standing before deciding to act as if I am unpacking my things. I

snatch up a bag and drop it onto the bed, zipping it open and digging for my books first, moving past

clothing.

Casually, I place them on the partially-filled bookshelf beside the door, across from the bed, sliding

them into their own little spot. I do this very slowly, waiting for someone to come in, checking if I am

here.

When the door opens, I shoot into position and slide the second book into place, holding my breath. His

scent floods the room, a tsunami washing through, drenching everything. I look to my side to find him

entering, and his eyes connect with mine. I swallow and grip the books in my hand tightly.

"You're unpacking?" He questions and I nod. "Alright. I assume Theodore showed you around, where

everything is?"

I nod again, lying.

"You're comfortable in this room?"

I nod. Goddess, Rae, say something!

There are a few seconds of silence between us, and my chest feels as if it is going to cave in. He

speaks so smoothly, acts collected but reckless at the same time, seems to have everything under

control in his life as he is the one in control. This man makes me look like a fool—pretending to put

books on a shelf—for what? I can't remember the reason anymore.

"I'll leave you to it," he says.

I manage a weak, "Okay," and then he leaves, closing the door behind him.

With nothing else to do, and being too scared to leave my room, I unpack the rest of my things and find

myself listening to music afterward. I was reading for a good hour or two, and then my stomach started

grumbling like a distant earthquake. Trying to ignore my hunger, I blast alternative songs and lay back

on the bed as if this will feed me.

After another hour goes by I find myself pacing back and forth, trying to make a decision. Is eating

really worth the possibility of running into my mate? The majority of my head says no, the majority of

my body says yes, and a few minutes later I am creeping down the hall, heading for the stairs.

It is almost dinner time—the drive taking up most of the day—and I realize I haven't eaten at all. He

must know that I require food, right? Even a pet fish has to eat, though I am sure my inevitable hunger

is the last thing on his mind.

Holding my breath, I carefully make my way down the stairs, listening for any voices. When I hear two

people talking off to the side, I freeze. Once I realize that the voices aren't growing any louder or softer,

I predict them to be still and I carry on.

Thanks to Theodore's nonexistent tour skills, I have no idea where the kitchen is. In result, I wander

around like a mouse, watching for traps or luring pieces of cheese. Not wanting to go near the voices, I

pray that the kitchen is on the other side of the house, and I search there. Suddenly, I hear different

voices, feminine ones. Not knowing what to do, I swiftly slip past the open archway of the room they're

in. As I hurry past—hoping they don't see me—I notice the room they're in to be the kitchen. From the

quick flash of their features, they look to be a bit older, but not elderly.

Not thinking that they are some sort of mistresses, I peek for a second glance. Unfortunately, when I

do, they catch me red-handed. "Can we help you, dear?"

Red in the face and embarrassed, I shyly wander in with an apologetic smile. "I was just, well, looking

for the kitchen."

The more plump woman stands up from her seat at the small table set off to the side, where they were

both sitting. "Can I get you anything?"

I act surprised, or confused, it's a mix of both. "I'm sure I can get my own food if that's alright?"

I know that in the pack house there are people that help run everything. There are ones who clean,

ones who cook, and well, that's all I can think of. I don't know much about a pack house, but at least I

know this.

"You don't have to do—"

I smile again, and it's a weird feeling. "No, it's alright. I really don't mind. It's what I'm used to, anyway."

I seem to have caught their attention. "Sorry, but are you not—I don't mean to sound rude—but didn't

you live in the pack house, at your old pack?"