Werewolf Compilations
Chapter 60

My mother calls for me, so I pick up the bags and shuffle down the hall to the top of the stairs. I can see the guard down below, the guy from the night before, so I lazily shove the bags down the steps, watching as they slide and fumble down each one before anticlimactically landing on the floor. My mother glares at me, embarrassed by such childish actions. Why did I do it? Because I don't want to go, and I might as well let this guard know as well.

Following the bags, I reach the bottom and pick them up. "Are we leaving?"

He must think I am a psychopath, but he doesn't know what I am walking into. He doesn't know how sad my life is about to become, more so than it already is.

The guard nods. "Yes, the car is just outside." He takes the bags from me and I don't stop him, might as well take advantage of this pampering before being shoved into the attic. "You can sit in the back." I hug my mother and promise to call her as soon as I get there. She holds onto me for a minute or two before releasing me from the nest, a baby bird falling, about to be touched by humans and rejected. I smile, though. Something too happy to be real, and she knows this. I want to tell her that I'll be back soon once this Alpha realizes that he doesn't really need me, but I stay quiet and get into the large car.

I don't expect the Alpha to be in here, and he's not. The guard then gets into the driver's seat and does whatever he has to do. I don't bother watching my house shrink, or watching the trees swim by, I just close my eyes and lay back. Hoping to sleep through the drive since I spent all of last night in the woods, I get as comfortable as I can and drift off.

It was sudden. One day he was alive then the next he was dead. He told me good morning, told me to have a good day, then he was off to the borders. My mother stayed home while he was a guard for our Alpha and as I was a child learning about the creature I am supposed to be. They said it was an accident. A few rogues appeared, seemed to be friendly then suddenly weren't.

They accidentally trusted these strangers, I suppose. I don't think my father did, though. He would be the one to doubt them, to believe that until proven innocent every man is guilty.

Our Alpha came to our door to tell us that our Mate and father was dead. He seemed to feel guilty. Maybe that's why he would remember my face. Not my face now, but that child's face, the big eyes flooded with tears, hands grasping for her father who would never come home. Whenever I see him, I think of that day.

I thought he would come and congratulate me on finding my mate as he does for every other man or woman who discovers theirs. My mother expected this too-hoping to replace our old, sad memory of him at our doorstep with a new one-but he never came. Alpha Grant must not have told him, and I know that I repeatedly tell myself that I don't care, that I expect this from him, but there will always be that part of me that aches no matter how many times I try. There is that part in everyone, the last piece that nothing or no one can convert.

The door beside me is yanked open, and the abrupt sound shocks me awake. Having to remember where I am, I peer around the car and sigh. The car is no longer in motion, which tells me one thing. "You're free to get out," the guard tells me as he appears with my bags in hand. "I'm supposed to bring these up to your room, so just follow me."

Still foggy-headed from sleep, I nod and slide out of the car, slipping off the seat and landing unsteadily on the ground. I shut the car door behind me and walk near the guard as he heads towards the doors of a large house. I clench my jaw and power on.

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"No, he's not here yet," the guard interrupts as if I am his annoying, younger sister, "we arrived before him. He'll be here soon."

Somewhat insulted, I cross my arms and follow him into the house, my thoughts babbling on and on about how I am leaving here anyways and how he can leave because I don't need his help.

Not wanting to grow attached to the place, I ignore my surroundings and focus on the guards back. Up a staircase and down a hall is the door he stops in front of, and I know this is supposedly my room. He waits for me to open it, so I reach forward and swing the door open, pretending not to care when I am actually quite curious. Before stepping inside, I peer down the hall. Two large doors stand at the end, tormenting me, haunting me, acting like the gates of hell.

His scent seeps from there.

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