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  “I don’t know if he’s thinking at all,” I say. “He might have finally lost it. But anyway, there’s something else too. We can’t hide anymore. Even if we’re not living under the same roof, we’re still close enough together that our families will notice us sneaking out at the same time. We have to tell them before they find out on their own.”

  “Yeah, I know,” she sighs. “But… I still haven’t talked to John. I would much rather we get that out of the way first. Just to know what to say to them when we come clean. Maybe we won’t even have to mention John.”

  “So you’ll see set up a meeting as soon as possible?” I ask eagerly.

  “Well, I mean he lives a bit far,” she reminds me. “We’d need a day, or at least a big chunk of one, to meet him halfway and spend a couple hours with him. We might need a while to come up with a good excuse as to why we’re gone that long, and we have to make sure they don’t connect the dots and find out we went somewhere together.”

  “Tomorrow,” I decide for the two of us. “Tonight, we don’t have to think about it. I could use some rest. But we have to figure it out tomorrow. We could meet him in the evening, or at most on Sunday. That’s all I can take, right now.”

  Zoey looks into my eyes. She reads the turmoil behind them, and understands that I’m not going to be fine delaying this any longer.

  “Okay,” she agrees. “Tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Michael

  Maybe this is bad idea. Maybe being in the same house as so many werewolves is dangerous, especially when one of them happens to be the mate who rejected me. But I’m beyond caring about anything right now.

  I don’t care if my family and I stay at the pack house for longer than three weeks, and I end up going through that time of the month again when everyone will immediately know my secret. I don’t care that I’m alienating everyone around me. I’ll give them all the same ‘f*ck off’ look. I don’t even care that my dad agreed too quickly to move in with the pack when I said I was okay with it.

  Hell has actually frozen over, and that’s exactly how I feel. There’s no life in me, and I’m past the point to care about bringing it back. The frustrating part is that I know this is not me. I’m not someone who gets discouraged so easily. I’ve certainly had much better reasons for depression during my life than being rejected. I’m overreacting, and I know it.

  Yet, my wolf side has taken over, and it is completely consumed by grief and despair. I can’t block it, although I want to very badly. But now that I’ll be living under the same roof as him, the ache is going to be even harder to fight.

  I don’t know why I said yes. On some level, I think it must be because of the urge to be near him. But I can’t be that self-destructive, can I? I don’t know anything about my emotions anymore, other than the darkness and ice that have surrounded every part of me that used to be alive, and I don’t care enough to find out. I hate that I’ve sunk so deep over something I know I can overcome. If I wasn’t a werewolf controlled by her emotions, of course.

  The whole idea of having a werewolf mate is so foreign to me that I don’t know how to deal with it. There’s no manual to help me understand why I’m experiencing these emotions or what I might feel in a given situation. For all I know, seeing Logan in wolf form is turning me into the soft-hearted girl I don’t want to be.

  No one alive has any experience with true mates, so it’s not like I can find someone to ask for advice. Plus, there’s the fact that I don’t want anyone to know. If it’s foreign for me, the one living it, how is someone who doesn’t know what I’m feeling supposed to help me?

  This doesn’t change anything in my plans. My birthday is still in four weeks, and I’m still going to move out and live on my own when that day comes. Or I could leave earlier if my time of the month has already started by then, which is probably what’s going to happen. What does it matter if I will be leaving this house or the pack house?

  “Dylan, honey,” I hear Mom call me from my bedroom door.

  She’s taken the habit of calling me that all the time. A couple weeks ago, I may have found solace in the fact that I’m a daughter in her eyes now. But given the state I’m in, it’s just another reminder that I’m weak.

  I face her. “Yeah?” I ask.

  She looks at me sideways as if she’s hesitating. I can see the worry in her eyes. I really hope she won’t make me talk about what’s bothering me. I don’t want to do that right now, or at all, to be honest.

  “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” is what she mercifully asks.

  “Yeah,” I say again.

  “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” she is quick to assure me. “I don’t know if we’ll be staying for more than a couple of weeks. But I want you to know that we can leave whenever you say so. It’s all up to you.”

  I blink at her. “I know,” I reply. “I’m fine with it.”

  Other than the morning she and Dad cornered me in the kitchen, this is more than I’ve spoken to her all week. It pains me to see that my behavior is hurting her, but I can’t do anything about it. When I don’t say anything else, she nods, but stays rooted in place. I pretend she’s not there and go back to packing. A few minutes pass this way. I can still feel her presence, but I don’t acknowledge it.

  That is, until she walks over and hugs me from behind, her arms closing around me and leaning her head against the back of my shoulder. I stiffen in shock. Mom and I have never had a touchy-feely sort of relationship. I find it surprising that she suddenly wants to comfort me.

  However, when I feel something wet go through my shirt and touch my skin, I realize this is not entirely for me, but also for her.

  “Please, baby, don’t shut me out, not now,” she cries. “Not when you need me so much.”

  I tremble slightly as a clawing sensation wraps around my throat and clogs my airway. Tears start pooling in my eyes.

  No, I berate myself. No more crying. I’m done with that. I’m done being weak.

  Resolutely, I take a deep but shaky breath and untangle my mother’s arms. She tries to protest and hug me again, but I’m much stronger than she is. It’s easy for me to get her off me.

  I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, nor do I want to leave her there, hurting over me. But I need to calm myself down, so I walk to the bathroom and lock the door. Leaning against the sink, I stare at myself in the mirror and take deep breaths to drown out my mother’s sobs behind the door.

  In that moment, I can’t even recognize myself. My brown hair has grown quite a bit since I last remember, and it’s almost at my ears now. It’s completely wild and disheveled, though, and not even remotely girly-looking. My cheeks have slightly hollowed out, since I haven’t eaten much during the past week. My skin is pale and has taken on a glistening, oily texture that I immediately wash off, though it doesn’t make me look any better. My eyes are the worst though, and it’s not just because of the dark bags underneath them. It’s because they’re glazed over and empty, even though I try to get them to focus.

  When I leave the bathroom two minutes later, I’ve calmed down enough. Mom is still in my room. She stopped crying, but I can see the signs on her face suggesting that she did a lot of that. Her eyes are puffy and still have a few tears in them. Her nose and cheeks are red, and there are tear tracks going in every direction on her face. She’s sitting on my bed clutching my pillow to her chest and staring at the ground.

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. She needs something I can’t give her, but I can’t just leave her hanging there. So I sit next to her and put my head on her shoulder. That’s all I can do right now without feeling awkward about it. I’ve never properly hugged anyone, nor have I tried to comfort anyone with anything other than words. I don’t know how to do it, and frankly, I’m not sure I want to be doing this right now.

  My mom also seems to find it surprising that I’m even trying to make her feel better. Regardless of the fact th
at I’m failing miserably at it, she gasps. I don’t say anything, but I don’t give any indication that I want to move, either. She stays quiet too, thankfully, and doesn’t try to hug me again. After a moment of sitting there, I think she smiles a bit, although I can’t be sure because I’m basing that on the fact that I heard her let out some air sharply.

  I imagine myself letting her in my head and my heart and sharing my torment with her. I see myself pouring out to her all my frustration over my secret and my heartbreak over Logan. I pretend she’s taking some of it off me, the way a mother should do for her daughter. I hope she feels what I’m trying to say without speaking.

  The moment is broken after a while.

  “Brooke?” Dad’s voice calls from downstairs. “Are we all set?”

  She doesn’t reply, so I take the lead and stand up facing her. “We should go,” I say.

  She looks up at me for a moment, the worry in her eyes diminished and the sadness disappearing completely from them. In their place, there’s understanding and acceptance. And something else, too, something much more important. It takes me by surprise for a moment, and makes me think she heard my thoughts when I was trying to share them with her.

  She gives me a smile that’s so bright, it takes away part of the darkness in my heart.

  I understand, it says. You don’t need to tell me. But I’m still here for you. Always.

  For a second, I actually do feel a bit better. I’ve never felt my mother’s love for me before. I always knew that she loves me, of course, but this is different. Right now, she’s willing to give me space if only I let her be in just a small part of my life. Even in the depressing state I’m in, it’s a beautiful thing to be able to touch. I want to do the same for her, but I can’t force myself to return her smile. Instead, I hold out my hand for her to take.

  “Let’s go, Mom,” I say.

  I ride in the back with Connor and Mason, while Nathan and Daniel go with our parents in their car. When we pull up in front of the pack house, I wordlessly go around to open the trunk of the car. I’ve barely gotten my suitcase out when I hear someone calling my name from the front door.

  “Michael!”

  I look up and find Cade and Sadie standing there.

  “Logan wants to see you in his study,” Cade tells me. “I’ll take your suitcase to your room.”

  My heart gives an involuntary jump at the mention of Logan’s name. Wordlessly, I nod and drop my luggage on the granite road. Then I walk up the steps while he walks down. He gives me a questioning look when we cross paths, but I pretend not to see him. I know that he, like everybody else who’s got eyes, has noticed my sulkiness.

  When I try to go through the front door, Sadie grabs my arm. I don’t know why, but I stop and stare at her. Her expression is all confusion with no amount of worry to spare.

  “What’s going on, Dylan?” she whispers. “It’s been a whole week since we talked. I find you crying and you don’t even explain why, but I waited because I thought you would come to me yourself when you were ready. I know you couldn’t come this week because of…” –she glances around her quickly, surveying those close enough to hear– “you know. But you didn’t even say hello today. What happened?”

  For once, I don’t feel guilty about not telling her. I’m too numb from the darkness for that. “Nothing, Sadie,” I say.

  “Don’t give me that ‘nothing’ nonsense,” she protests in hushed tones. “I know something is up, and I just don’t get why–”

  “Sadie,” I snap, getting kind of angry with her pushiness. “Would you just leave it alone? For once in your life, keep your nose out of my business.”

  Her eyes widen with hurt and surprise at the harshness of my tone. She lets go of me without noticing it. I take advantage of the moment and walk away to face a worse situation.

  Logan’s study is on the third floor, the very last door of the corridor. I don’t knock when I get there, but I do stand outside the door for a second to breathe. I’m grateful that this study has been soundproofed for conversations to happen in there in private. It means he can’t hear me trying to calm my nerves. Then I open the door slowly and walk in, closing it behind me without looking at him first.

  When I turn to face him, the sight of him sitting behind his desk is enough to catch me off guard. Although it’s barely been a few hours since I last saw him, it’s just as overwhelming to be this close to him. It’s like there’s a bubble that enfolds only the two of us.

  I would have been relieved, if not for the fact that the pull is again spreading through me that need to touch him. There’s also an ache at my inability to fulfill that need.

  I’m almost glad he’s sitting down, that way he won’t be able to come near me. I hope he doesn’t stand. With his arms crossed over his table, Logan looks gravely at me, a hint of the same anxiousness floating around everybody’s eyes also in his. Great. I’m going to get a lecture.

  “Take a seat,” he tells me, gesturing to one of the two chairs sitting in front of his desk.

  Too close, I object.

  “I’m better standing here, thanks,” I reply dryly. I don’t mean to sound rude, but that’s how it comes out.

  He eyes me for a moment, trying to decipher what is wrong with me. Then he just comes out and says it. “Michael, what’s gotten into you?” he asks desperately. “If I did something to offend you, please just tell me so I can fix it.”

  The ache intensifies when his words pierce right through me. I’m paralyzed, and I can’t answer him. All I can do is stare at him passively and blink.

  “Is this because of what I said the other day?” he finally asks when a long silence has passed. “About your mate, and backing off?”

  My heart jumps again when he says mate, and this time, there’s no soundproofed door to protect me from his hearing. He must have been listening for some cues, and he knows he’s got it right, by the expression on his face.

  “Michael, I never wanted you to torture yourself over this,” he assures me, and he almost sounds desperate for me to believe it. “I wouldn’t have said anything if I knew you felt this strongly.”

  Again, I don’t say anything. Honestly, I don’t know what I can say. I can’t straight up tell him the truth, it’s too late for that. He’d already made up with Reena that day, and I’m not going to tear him away from his happiness.

  There it is; the big revelation that I care more about his happiness than my own, and would rather let myself wallow in depression and let him be happy than take that away from him.

  He sighs tiredly, and looks at me pleadingly. “You hate me, don’t you?”

  Astonishment floods through my entire body, my entire being. He thinks I hate him?! How can he possibly believe that?

  Because you’ve been rude and distant, dumbass, I snap at myself.

  Still, the concept is so surreal! If anything, it’s the opposite. Not that I can tell what my feelings are, with so many of them juggling around inside of me.

  “Of course I don’t,” I finally speak, disbelief coloring my tone.

  Hope flashes across his face for a brief second when he sees that he got a response out of me. “Then, what? What did I do?”

  His question almost breaks me. Half of me can’t stand to see my mate so racked with guilt. It wants nothing more than to reassure him that he didn’t do anything wrong, that it’s all me. And I almost do, I almost spill everything to him. But I stop myself when I remember the sight of him and Reena giggling at each other on the armchair.

  “You didn’t do anything,” I tell him.

  “Then what is going on with you?” he questions.

  Like a switch, I flip back into defensive mode. “Nothing,” I outright lie. “It’s my business alone.”

  He senses that he’s losing, and tries again to make me talk. “Michael, I don’t–”

  “Stop, just stop,” I finally snap. His jaw hangs open silently, stunned. “If I wanted to tell you, I would have done so by now. I’m so
rry you thought I hated you, but everyone needs to just let this go! You’re all suffocating me with your constant probing. I need space!”

  My outburst surprises him into silence. I can’t read what he’s feeling right now, and I really don’t like it. But at least he’s not pressuring me to talk anymore. There’s a long pause before he replies.

  “Okay, if that’s what you want,” he agrees, albeit reluctantly.

  My eyebrows shoot up, surprised to see him giving up so easily. “So I can go to sleep now?” I ask kind of rudely to cover up what I’m feeling inside.

  He ignores the disrespect and nods. “Cade will show you where you’re staying,” he says, resigned and sad.

  Before I could really lose whatever streak of nerve is running through me right now, I turn around and leave his study to look for Cade.

  CHAPTER 5

  Daniel

  “I’m really scared right now,” Zoey says in a voice that echoes her emotions.

  I take her hand in mine. “I’m right here,” I reassure her. “We’ll be fine. No matter how dangerous John turns out to be – which I don’t think he is, but I’m prepared just in case – I can handle him just fine.”

  Initially, I was worried about giving my parents an excuse for my absence. But it turns out that I really didn’t need to. With everything going on, all I had to tell them is that I am going to watch an out-of-state game with some teammates, and that we’re going out after, with a possibility of sleeping over. They didn’t even question who is playing or who is going with me. I guess they’re more concerned with Mickey right now than anyone else.

  Zoey’s excuse was a bit trickier. She told her parents she was going shopping with a friend and that she would be spending the night at her place afterwards. Not having anything distracting them like my folks, the Creeds had to know everything about this new friend who just sprouted out of nowhere. And that’s how we invented Daniella Nooker, a contractor’s daughter who lives an hour away and has her own car. Zoey said she would meet her at a café and that they would continue from there.