Gaze (✔)

Chapter Twenty-Six: Rupture

Clara woke up with a groan, rolling over on the bed and stretching her limbs out. She felt sore, especially in her feet, probably from all the walking...

Her eyes darted open and she sat up quickly, head spinning. Her hangover wasn't bad, thank god, but a headache was quickly building in her skull as she looked around. She was in her bedroom, tucked under the covers and even in one of Wyatt's large shirts. She looked to the window and saw him sitting there.

He caught her gaze, alerted by her movements, and she was met with a stony glare. She cringed slightly. He was pissed.

"Where were you last night?" he demanded. She ran a hand through her hair and down her face, swinging her legs off of the bed.

"I just went for a walk." she muttered quietly, standing up slowly and scrunching her eyes shut for a moment. "What time is it?"

She heard Wyatt scoff behind her as she walked into the bathroom, leaving the door open. Her footsteps were slow.

"Last time I checked taking a walk doesn't include getting wasted and coming home at two in the morning." He snapped. She knew he wasn't really mad – she could hear it in his voice. He was worried, concerned for her, and there was an undertone of panic. He didn't know what was wrong, he couldn't understand why she had done this, and that scared him. She felt a rush of guilt – he would do anything for her, she was sure.

"I was stressed," she said, glancing at him through the reflection of the mirror as he followed her into the bathroom. She turned on the faucet and let the icy cold water run over her fingertips for a moment before splashing some gently in her face, closing her eyes as she was shocked awake. "I thought you'd be asleep when I got back."

This only seemed to anger him further. "So you were going to lie." He stated. She didn't deny it, and he was silent for a moment. "Have you done this before?"

She let out a long sigh, opening her eyes and staring at him. "No, I haven't. Things have been good, Wyatt." She moved closer to him, automatically sliding her arms around his waist. He leaned back a bit, away from her. She couldn't help but flinch at the rejection. "I like it here. It's peaceful. I...I want to -" stay, she would have said.

But she was interrupted - by a knock on the front door downstairs. A normal human wouldn't have been able to hear it from such a distance, but Wyatt was an Alpha werewolf, and Clara was...well she wasn't sure.

"Does anyone know we're here?" she asked him, dropping her hands from his body and starting for the door. Wyatt followed and they both treaded lightly down the stairs. He shook his head at her question.

"Only Dylan knows the address." He said lowly, eyeing the front door as they reached the bottom of the steps, their argument forgotten in the face of a threat. They were both fighters, warriors, and knew how to focus at a moment's notice.

Clara reached for the dagger she kept in an old boot by the door, ignoring Wyatt's look of surprise. She moved to open the door, but he stopped her, stepping in front of her and opening it himself. The white light of early morning pushed its way through the open space and into the house, momentarily blinding her as she stepped beside Wyatt to see who it was. His shoulders were tense, but not prepared to fight.

Her eyes fell on the young man at their doorstep – his familiar blonde hair had grown, some, and was lazily pushed back to reveal his piercing blue eyes, so much like her own. His gaze was steady, but desperate, meeting hers with certainty. It was Luke, and she didn't care if he was here to kill her or forgive her.

"Luke," she breathed, pushing past Wyatt and falling into the arms of her brother. She let out a careless laugh as she wrapped her arms around him, knocking him back a step or two. All thoughts of a hangover were gone out of her mind, everything bad, everything dark, until she was basking in the happiness of being with her family. She wasn't sure she would ever see him again – she knew he hadn't wanted to see her.