Being the princess of all werewolves is not easy, but finding a mate is harder. Annabeth's royal life is turned upside down when she meets her mate, Kate.
Soon, she finds herself stuck between two choices: her duties to her family, and her love for...
Ουπς! Αυτή η εικόνα δεν ακολουθεί τους κανόνες περιεχομένου. Για να συνεχίσεις με την δημοσίευση, παρακαλώ αφαίρεσε την ή ανέβασε διαφορετική εικόνα.
„Miss Evans?"
„I don't like what we are doing."
"Miss Evans?"
"I am not going to crawl back to her because you are struggling with separation anxiety," I answer Delta bluntly but silently.
"Miss Evans?"
With a hiss, Delta replies, offended, "Nobody said anything about crawling."
"Miss Evans!"
Something tugs on my arm, "For the love of-; Kate." I tear my lost gaze from the hollow and meaningless life that lingers behind the window. I spin my head around, and my eyes need a second before they can focus on Charlie's hand, warm and gentle, still placed on my elbow, his upper body leaning halfway onto my seat.
"Hm?" I hum in surprise. It wasn't something tugging; it was someone.
"Welcome back, Miss Evans," Professor Albury says, his tone displeased, tongue sharp, and eyes narrowed, "Did you see anything interesting?"
"Erm," I clear my throat and roam the room, noticing that everybody is openly staring at me and feel the heat creep up my neck and face. "I-"
"Well?" His stern look and the impatient tapping of his foot on the tiled floor make my blood run cold and my palms sweat. I hate being the center of attention now more than ever.
Shaking my head, I stutter a low "N- No."
"I see. Now that you've returned from your trip to Wonderland, you may want to answer my question?" Professor Albury's lips curl up in an unpleasant smile.
"Q- Question?" I breathe.
"Yes, the question I asked you."
From the corner of my eye, I can see Charlie trying to signal something to me, but I can't quite make it out without obviously turning to him.
"We are all waiting, Miss Evans." Professor Albury reminds me kindly.
I interpret Charlie's open palm as a number and cautiously say, "Five?" Earning a vigorous nod from him. The next 'thing' is harder to decipher, and after a few moments of silence, he tries a different approach and draws a stop sign on his notes, making me frown.
Five stops? Five stop signs? That doesn't make any sense; why would Professor Albury ask about stop signs in a class named Immune responses and their relation to field medicine?
"Miss Ev-"
But then it clicks, "The five cardinal signs of Inflammation," I almost yell the words.
"Indeed, that was the question. Would it bother you to give me the correct answer too?"
Triumphant, I fold my hands on my notes. Of course, I know the answer, and relief never felt so soothing. "Pain, heat-"
"In Latin," he bellows and smirks at my flinching reaction.
