Chapter 11
“Well, not yet, obviously. But we plan to mate and mark each
other once she is of age,” Deacon adds, and Zayn’s gaze flicks to
- me. His eyes flicker, and I take a step back from him, bumping
into Deacon at the feral look he gives me.
“Is that so?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.
I suddenly don’t know how to answer the question. Was it a
question? Why is he so angry?
The interaction is thankfully interrupted by the sound of my
name being called again. “Cleo!”
This time, it’s Dad. “I thought I told you to get in the car!” he
commands. “Deacon, hands off!” my father snaps at him as he
approaches us. I pull on the handle to show him the car is
locked.
“I wasn’t disobeying, but last I checked, Dad. I’m a werewolf, not
a ghost; I can’t walk through solid objects,” I retort.
He glares at me but then hits the button on the fob. “We’ll see if
you’re so smart when we get home and you find yourself
grounded.”
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“I’m nineteen!” I growl at him. I was so excited the first time I
growled. I remember it fondly. Roughly a year ago, Lydia and I
were fighting (what else is new?). I startled both of us when I did
- it. However, Dad seems unimpressed with me using it against
him right now.
“Under my roof, it doesn’t matter if you’re five or fifty. What I
say goes!” he snaps, opening his door and climbing in. I see Lydia
smirking as she walks to her mother’s car, and Deacon quickly
hugs me.
“New club opens up tomorrow,” he whispers.
“I’m grounded, didn’t you hear?” I ask him.
“Never stopped you before.” He pecks me on the lips, but I push
him away, worried Dad may have seen. Deacon gives me a
wink. He holds up two hands, indicating with his fingers to
meet him at 7 p.m. I nod before turning to climb in the car, only
to spot Zayn storming away, and I climb in the car to endure my
father’s wrath.
The entire drive home, I have to listen to my father rant about
how the rogue attack was all Alpha Zayn’s fault, and that the
Alpha meeting should never have been held in the same place
every month.
Yet, this brings my thoughts back to border patrols: if my father
Chapter 11
isn’t allowing Alpha Zayn’s men near our borders, we’ll be
sitting ducks.
“Are you really not going to allow Alpha Zayn’s men to patrol
our borders?” I ask him, and he glances at me.
“He is not coming near our pack,” he growls, and I shake my
head.
“We don’t have enough people to watch the borders, especially
near the forest edge. We need him!” I snap. The house lights
reflect in the windshield of my father’s SUV as he drives us
home. It’s a large two–story house on the outskirts of the city,
yet the suburb it is in is huge.
My father’s eyes narrow. “We don’t need him, and you will not
tell me what I can and cannot do, Cleo.”
My father’s face is scarlet red, his eyes are bulging, and his fists
are balled.
“Yes, we do,” I mutter as I watch the trees pass by as we drive
down the road, my eyes glazing over, making each tree run
together like a mass of brown, green,
“No, we don’t. And you do not question me on this. You are not
alpha, and you do not make decisions for our pack!”
Chapter 11
I press my lips in a line. He is being ridiculous. All this because
his ego is hurt over god knows what. Apparently, that is reason
enough to put the entire pack at risk.
I climb out of the car and quickly make my way to the front door, wanting to get away from my father. I was so close to getting a chance to voice my opinion, but he just shut me down
as usual. I take a deep breath in and out, trying not to let his
words get to me.
But when I reached the door, I stopped in surprise. It’s not just
my father here; the pack doctor is waiting for us, too.
“Cleo dear, your Father, he mindlinked me. He said you’re
hurt?” He looks me over, and his eyes widen at my leg before he
pushes me into the house.
“It’s stopped bleeding now. I’m fine,” I tell him, but Doc shakes
his head, leading me into the kitchen.
“Sit!” he tells me, and I move toward the table, pulling out a chair
obligingly. Doc grabs scissors, cutting my pants to get to my leg
when my father walks in. He glances at my leg, his face paling
with worry.
“Seriously, Joseph, you should have taken her straight to the hospital; if she were human, she would be dead with how much
blood she has lost.”
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My father fumbles for a response. “I didn’t realize it was that
bad. She never said anything,” he blubbers out, and Doc shakes
his head.
“How is the pain?” he asks, and I shrug, not wanting to give Dad
more reason to be angry, yet his temper seems to dim a little. A
few moments later, Lydia and Linda arrive home. Lydia is
talking excitedly about the ball next door. I roll my eyes.
Seriously? How much more selfish could she get? We have
more pressing issues, and she is gushing about some poor soul
she’ll use until she has no use for him.
My father cuts them both a glare when they enter the kitchen.
Linda looks at me, and her eyes take in my injured leg before the
fake blubbering waterworks start. Linda’s high–pitched squeal
of horror sounds like that of a dying cat. She rushes over,
pretending not to be the conniving bitch I know she is. I swat
her fussing hands away as she tries to embrace me.
“I’m fine,” I tell her, not interested in putting up with her
theatrics and her crocodile tears.
“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
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done. He then moves onto my arm where there is another cut
that needs stitches, too. Even though they were painful for a
moment–Doc’s experienced hands work fast enough to get
them done quickly so that it’s not too bad.
