Werewolf Compilations
Chapter 76

I must look like something straight out of a nightmare, because when I attempt to open the door, I realize it is locked, and suddenly Gail peeks through the drawn curtains and shrieks. The curtains slip closed and I knock again. "Gail! It's me! Rae?" I call to her, "I'm fine, just let me in."

She comes through the sliver in the curtains again, shouting through the glass of the window. "Rae? Dear Goddess! What on earth happened—"

"Will you please open the door?" I interrupt and wait the few seconds until the lock clicks and Gail swings the door open, her eyes wider than I've ever seen them-and I've held a knife to my neck. "I should explain," I say, attempting to get inside, but she blocks me.

"Is that your blood?"

"No," I say, wanting to get inside, but she blocks me again.

"You'll track blood in the house," she says wearily before lighting up with more questions. "Were you out there at that rogue incident? Is that why you're covered in blood? I'll call the doctor. Alpha Grant is by the border post, but I'll send someone to get him. Come in. Come in. Where are you hurt? It looks like everywhere."

I follow her into the living room where the phone is. "I'm not, well I was under a dead wolf, but I'm not actually hurt. It's just rogue blood."

She stops and looks back at me. "You were what?"

"I'll explain if you'll let me."

She nods. "Just let me get the Alpha."

I grab the phone before she can. "No. Don't. I said I'm not hurt."

"You're soaked in another man's blood. You look like Carrie. You said something about being stuck. Now give me the phone."

"Gail, please. Let me explain first?"

She groans. "Alright." Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ (F)indNƟvᴇl.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I sit down at the small table in the kitchen while Gail grabs a dish towel and runs it under the sink, ringing it out, then sitting down beside me. She brings the cloth to my face and rubs at the blood smeared on me. "Goddess, Rae. It's dried on you."

I explain and she rubs. "I went to go ask a guard about the unclaimed land and it just happened to be during this whole attack thing. Long story short rogues were all around me and I didn't know what to do. I saw this dead wolf just laying there so," Gail cringes, "I hid under it. It was so heavy. Plus, I took them hours until they found me! I was going insane. I couldn't feel my legs-even now they feel weird." "Why were you out so late at night?"

I shrug. "I couldn't sleep. Thought I would go for a walk and got curious about unclaimed land," I say, my excuse already planned out. I had enough time to do so while under that beast. "Then that happened. I swear, I'm always in the middle of trouble. Always in the wrong place at the wrong time." My mind wanders to the moment when I first met James. How I stumbled out of the trees when he was passing by with my Alpha and Luna. I embarrassed myself that day.

As Gail continues to scrub my face-my skin feeling red-we hear the front door open and I immediately give her a look. "I didn't call him. You had the phone," she says, returning to the sink again to rinse what she got off with the towel.

I peer down at my horror state and sigh. It takes him three seconds to get to the kitchen, and when James appears he stops suddenly, his eyes examining me. "It's not my blood," I say calmly, "it's rogue blood.' This doesn't seem to satisfy him because he nears and has a look on his face. "You were at the borders during the middle of the night? You laid under a dead rogue?"

When he says it, it all sounds quite funny to me. I nod. "That's pretty much it. You can go now, you don't have to waste your time here. I'm sure there's a lot to deal with." I leave him in the kitchen, but he follows me to the stairs. I turn around. "What?"

He struggles to find words. "Are... Are you alright?"

My heart squeezes and not in a good way. I look up at him, trying to keep my face straight. "No. I was under a dead wolf for hours, laying in his blood. I'm not okay, but you don't get to care. It's too late to care. You don't get to pick and choose when to be nice to me and when to be an ass. You told me that you don't want me. You made it very clear." You also kissed me. You grabbed me and kissed me like you had the right to when you didn't, and I couldn't help but love it. "You don't get to care. You still don't know what you've done to me what you're still doing to me. How you're treating me... I have to go wash this blood off of my body. You better get back to your duties."

I head up the stairs before he can respond, and the entire way to my bedroom I'm thinking, why did he ask me that? He doesn't say things like that. He's never asked me how I am. I said too much. I can't tell him how I feel, he'd use it against me.

I lock the door and take off my clothes, placing them in the sink for now so the floor doesn't get bloody. Light from the small window above the toilet trickles in and I step into the shower, letting the water wash the red from my skin. The white floor of the shower is coated in a dull mix of warm colors and I watch it drain until the water runs clear. Gail has given me toiletries and they sit on the floor, so I reach down and squeeze out too much shampoo onto my palm then scrub the dried blood from my scalp.

The heat from the water fogs the glass walls of the shower and I slid down the tiles until I hit the ground. The shower beats down on my legs as I curl up. Shampoo foam drips down my face and down my shoulders and I can't help my cry softly to myself.

I can still taste the blood on my lips.

Time is nonexistent as I sit in the shower. The shampoo has mostly washed from my hair, little patches of foam trapped underneath. I pick under my nails, scratching out dirt and blood until they look clean, my fingertips wrinkled. Knowing that I'll have to get out sometime, I squeeze out some conditioner and lather my hair, eventually standing up to rinse it out. The bathroom is clouded with steam, making it hard to breathe, so I open the bathroom door and air it out. I can't help but see things on my bed.

I grab a towel and head out, finding my books and my iPod set neatly on the edge of the bed, waiting for me. I take the small device in my wrinkled hand and squeeze it to make sure it is really there. The phone is set on the desk, hooked back up. I take it and call my mother.

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