“Linda, I need to stitch her up,” Doc says as I hiss in pain when the needle pierces my skin.
He presses gauze against the wound while pulling the thread through, stitching me back together again until, finally, it’s done. He then moves onto my arm where there is another cut that needs stitches, too. Even though they are painful for a moment, Doc’s experienced hands work fast enough to get them done quickly so that it’s not too bad. “Take these, and they’ll help with the pain. Try to stay off your leg for a few days.” “Thanks, Doc,” I say, standing and accepting the medication.
“Bring her by next week, and I will remove the stitches provided she doesn’t reopen it. No training, and she needs to try not to tear them open again,” Doc tells my father. I take that as my excuse to head to the bathroom.
Climbing the stairs, I hiss with every step, feeling the stitches tugging slightly. Once on the landing, I retrieve a towel from the linen cupboard and move toward the bathroom.
Once inside, I strip off and hobble to the shower. As I wash, the soap burns my skin, yet it feels good to get all the gunk and grime off me. As soon as I am clean, I grab the pill box Doc gave me and read the instructions. Popping two pills in my mouth, I swallow them down with water before heading to my bedroom.
I gingerly crawl into bed, and my stitches tug at my skin as I move about. I pull the blanket over myself and grimace as a sharp pain shoots up my leg. The pain is almost unbearable. I remember the talk with my father and his refusal to allow Alpha Zayn’s men near our borders.
Despite the pain medication, I toss and turn. My mind revolves around rogue attacks, specifically the day I found my mother dead in the kitchen. It makes me wonder why my father would risk us again like that, knowing the damage more attacks can cause.
Restless, I stare at the ceiling, which seems to be oscillating, the drugs finally kicking in.
My eyelids droop, and my thoughts float away.
Maybe it’s time to take things into my own hands. As the room fades, I remind myself to speak with Alpha Zayn; I have to try to convince him to keep his men along our borders somehow, but what can I offer him in return? Before I can decide, the pain meds take hold completely. Despite tonight’s events and the worry that is plaguing me, I drift off into a deep sleep where nothing can touch me, not even my father’s orders or Linda’s plotting schemes. She may make out I’m hers, but I remember the way she treated my mother. Sometimes I get a smug satisfaction knowing that no matter how long my mother has been gone, every day she still has to see her face through me.
The next day
I wake early the following morning to find my leg throbbing in pain. I’m sweating, no doubt from a fever. Pulling the blankets away, I hiss when the sheet sticks to my leg. The wound must have leaked while I was asleep. With a groan, I rise from my bed and take a few moments to gather myself, welcoming the cool air.
My thoughts immediately turn to Alpha Zayn, and an idea begins to form about how I can get to his pack. Hopefully, he’ll speak with me. Despite our bickering, it seemed like he cared about me enough.
I look over to check the time on my alarm clock. The red numbers on it shine dimly into the dark room. The barely rising sun through the blinds shows the room in an eerie, bloodied-like glow. The digital numbers blink, 6:18 AM. I lay back down, trying to get back to sleep, knowing it is far too early to catch a bus into the city. If only I had a car.
I should have my car. But Lydia backed into it the other day.
Cursing Lydia and my legs, I rise and grab the pain medication and my robe hanging on the door. Wrapping it around myself, I move toward the door and open it.
The house is dark, so I descend the stairs quietly, heading for the kitchen.
I grab a glass of water and take two of my pills when I spot my father’s car keys sitting next to the fruit bowl. I chew my lip, debating whether I should. I am grounded, after all. Yet, Deacon’s words flit through my mind. ‘Since when has that stopped you?’ I know this is my chance. If I can make it to Alpha Zayn’s pack before anyone notices I’m gone, then maybe he will meet with me and listen to what I have to say before more people get hurt.
Snatching the keys, I pull my robe off before glancing down at my pajamas. Great, I curse, I’m sure this will be a really convincing outfit. Moving as quickly as possible, I move toward the door, where I spot Lydia’s jacket. I pull it on. I know climbing the stairs back to my room will risk waking my father when the stairs creak. This is my only chance, so I take it, wearing my fuzzy hot pink shorts with bunnies on them. On the bright side, I probably won’t have to get out of the car; I just need to ask the patrols to get Alpha Zayn.
The drive is long, my leg is throbbing painfully, and I’ve broken out in another sweat. It takes twenty minutes to reach the city and another twenty before I eventually arrive at Alpha Zayn’s Pack on the outskirts of the city, which is a massive gated community. As soon as I pull up out front, the car is surrounded by several wolves, their eyes sharp and suspicious. I wind the window down when one of them taps on it.
“What are you doing here?” one of them demands.
I take a deep breath before speaking up. “I’m Cleo, Alpha Joseph’s daughter,” I explain. “I need to speak with Alpha Zayn.”He glances at one of the other men, who shrugs, and I watch his eyes glaze over as he uses the mindlink.
After waiting a few moments, he tells me Alpha Zayn is on his way down. I nod, leaning back in the chair and resting. My skin is hot, and I feel sweat beading and rolling down the back of my neck. My hands are clammy, and I groan, feeling the pain meds kick in.
Shit, and I have to try to drive home like this. Now, this entire thing doesn’t feel like such a good idea anymore. How could I be so stupid? I don’t know how long I am waiting, but I jump when I hear my name.
“Cleo!” comes a husky, deep voice. I turn to find Zayn leaning in the window. He presses a hand to my forehead. “What are you doing here?”I shake myself, wondering if I’m dreaming.
“Cleo?” Alpha Zayn growls before opening my door. “You have a fever. Did your father not take you to a pack doctor?” he asks.
“I’m fine. It’s just the pain meds,” I tell him, coming to my senses.
“Slide over into the other seat,” he says, motioning toward the car. I stare at him. “It wasn’t a question. Slide over, now!” he orders, and I press my lips in a line. I am here for his help. I won’t get it if I start arguing with him.
Alpha Zayn starts my father’s car, and I briefly wonder how I will explain his scent to my father. Oh well, that is the least of my worries. The glow of the dash illuminates the Alpha’s face, his face a picture of confusion as he stares at me with his steely gaze. He’s handsome and as clean as ever, quite the contrast to my sick, sweaty, bleeding self. His scent envelops me, vanilla and sandalwood. It’s intoxicating, and my racing heart slows a little as his scent calms me.
The huge gates open, and Zayn drives me through the gated community to his pack house, which is huge. He pulls upnear the front door on the circular driveway. “You live here?” I ask, peering out in awe.
