❝She kills without second thought.❞
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Micajah's PoV:
"Ah!" I shout out in pain, unable to hold it in any longer. I clutch my hand to my injured leg and cry out desperately when another blow is landed to my other leg. Tears of pain gather in the cor...
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Chapter 34 - "Make The Damn Move, Micajah."
It's Sunday.
The day after the disastrous ceremony.
I throw my pencil down with a sigh, looking up at the ceiling in frustration. I pull off my glasses and place them on the table, wiping my hands across my eyes.
How the hell does Mr. Devon expect us to complete the entire chapter in the weekend?!
'I bet our Mate would've completed it all,' My Wolf sighs, he too, feeling my pain in doing Maths.
'I know.'
I push the chair back as I stand up, stretching my limbs. Might as well take a break and do these sums afterward; with a fresh mind and renewed energy.
Okay, okay, I'll admit it. I don't think I'll ever have the 'fresh mind' or 'renewed energy' to do these problems.
I let the huge text book fall close and arrange it and my notebook on the corner of the table, making my way to the living room.
Last night, when Seneca had returned to the room with fresh bruises on her arms, I'd panicked. But, she'd assured me that it was just "friendly sparring" and that Beta Ezra is just "angry at the world". She'd also added that "he'll come around soon". I'd been sad, but her repeated assurance had forced me to accept it, and we'd finally gone to bed.
To sleep.
Get your minds out of the gutter, people!
And today morning Seneca had gone to take care of whatever it is she does every day, and I'd decided to catch up with some homework.
As I enter the living room, the smell of roasted meat wafts through the air, assaulting my senses. My tastebuds jump up at the smell and salivate, getting ready for a delicious meal. Since it's Sunday, everybody had awoke a little later than their normal routine, and we're yet to have breakfast.
Smells like Maggie is making something awesome.
Without thinking, I round the couches and cross the dining room, my nose leading me in the direction of the kitchen.
Only to halt in the doorway in surprise.
Because Seneca is the one doing the cooking.
She's chopping at some vegetables with expert precision, while the oven is on, with the most mouth-watering aroma emanating off it. Her back is to me, and she's so immersed in the cutting, I think she hasn't sensed my presence yet. So, like the hormonal Wolf I am, I take a moment to admire the view.
