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Someone bangs on the bedroom door, jarring me awake. My first thought is Dad. He finally learned to knock instead of storming into my room and shouting for me to wake up.
I bolt upright. It it takes me a few seconds before I realize I'm not at home and a few more before I remember I'm at the pack house. The events from the last few days finally register, and I remember that Zara—my roommate of a whopping day and a half—found her mate, so I've been moved to a room on the fourth floor.
The banging on the door continues and I quickly climb out of bed, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. "Who is it?" I call.
The door swings open and POW steps inside and flips on the lights. I have to squint for a few seconds before my eyes adjust. When they do, I look around in surprise.
Instead of the double beds, like in the rooms on the second floor, this room has the one giant bed in the middle. I guess I should have noticed that, considering I slept in it, but I was so exhausted I didn't even have the energy to roll over, let alone stretch out and discover the bed's massive size.
There are empty nightstands on both sides of the bed and a large window overlooking what I assume is the back of the house. It has to be, since this room is on the opposite side of the hall than the one I shared with Zara, and that room looked out over the front drive. Not that I can see anything out the window, other than darkness, since it's the middle of the night.
"It's almost five thirty," POW says, as if reading my mind. "You should have been downstairs half an hour ago."
"Sorry, Sir," I say, though what I really want to tell him is to go away. It's the middle of the night! I should be in bed, catching up on sleep, not being woken by a Pissed Off Wolf. Does he even realize that I don't have a phone or alarm clock or anything? How does he expect me to know what time it is? Plus, yesterday, Zara woke me up at five thirty for kitchen duty. There's no way I can be thirty minutes late.
"Sorry isn't going to make breakfast," POW snaps. "Now put some normal clothes on and go downstairs." He slams the door closed, and I hear his footsteps retreat down the hall.
"Wait," I cry, throwing the door open and peering out after him.
"What is it now?" POW demands, turning back to glare at me.
"I don't have any other clothes with me. They're still in—"
"Then go make breakfast in your pyjamas." POW growls and storms off toward his office. He disappears inside and slams the door shut, the noise echoing down the empty hall. For a second, I debate going downstairs and waking Jasper and Zara so I can get some clothes. If I wasn't so embarrassed by what I walked in on last night, I might, but I'm not sure I can face Zasper right now.
I look down at the way I'm dressed. It's basically just sweats and a long-sleeve shirt. I can go downstairs and make breakfast and change later. Then there's no chance chance of seeing or hearing anything I can't un-remember.
As I head downstairs, I think about the last time I cooked breakfast for the pack. It was only yesterday, but somehow it feels like it was a lifetime ago. In the span of one day, I've gone from planning to run away alone, to planning to run away with Zara and Jess, to—oh, no! Jess!
Did she wait for us at the car like we planned? Maybe Zara remembered to call or text her the change of plans. I probably have nothing to worry abo—oh, shit! I pause mid-step and reach inside my pant pocket. My fingers graze Zara's phone, where it must have been the entire night while I slept. I take it out and check the lock screen. There are five missed calls and seventeen texts, probably all from Jess. Double shit!
Since the stupid phone is locked, clicking on the notifications doesn't get me anywhere. I want to rush to Jess's room, apologize, and explain everything, but it's not like I even know where to find it. There are dozens of rooms on the second floor. Plus, she's probably still asleep—unless she just ran away last night without us. There's probably nothing I can do about it now. I just have to wait until breakfast and apologize then.
I get downstairs, cross the empty dining room and enter the kitchen. Today, instead of the Jacobses, Luna's in the kitchen with two very nicely dressed men. They look like they're in their early 30s and could easily be models. One is wearing a form-fitting pink v-neck, and the other an equally tight gray long-sleeve shirt. Both of them have hair that's on the long side, though the first man's is light with bleach-blond highlights, while the second has spiked black hair. Like the Jacobses had yesterday, the two men are grabbing plates from the cupboards and setting them on the counter. A young boy of around nine peeks out from behind the pile they've already set out and smiles shyly at me.
"Saffron," Luna smiles when she spots me.
"Good morning, Luna," I greet her, trying to sound perky despite being half-asleep.
"Why don't you go upstairs and get some sleep?" She smiles warmly.
"P—Alpha said—" I catch myself before I can say POW aloud, but it ends up coming out sounding like Palpha.
"I know what Alpha said," Luna interrupts. For a second, I think she's annoyed at me because I called him Palpha, and is correcting me, but then I realize I'm not the one she's mad at. "He shouldn't have sent you down. I'm ordering you to go back to bed and get some rest."
I shake my head. I can't go back to bed and sleep. I'm supposed to cook and clean for the pack. I'm already doing so little to earn my keep. Now that POW's cut my sentence down to two weeks, I have to give it one hundred percent. I don't want to give him any reason to change his mind and extend my sentence.
"Sweetie, you look exhausted," Luna says sympathetically.
"I'm fine, really." I've been through worse.
Did you like this chapter?
Should Saff stay and cook or go back to bed? What would you do?
And do you think Jess ran away?
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If you're looking for something else to read before Friday, check out my COMPLETE story #PokeDiet. It's a humorous fictional Young Adult story. Here's the description: "If you think this is a story about how I miraculously lost a hundred pounds, think again. The #PokeDiet is just Mom's latest lame summer diet fad. I've already done the #YogaDiet, #NinjaDiet and #ZumbaDiet, not to mention a gazillion other diets. None of those worked, so why would this one be any different?"
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Sold to a Wolf PackRomance
"My dad sold me to a pack of werewolves to settle his gambling debt." ❀ "I'm going to count to three," Logan growls. He doesn't have to say the rest. If I haven't come to him by then, he'll come to me... and I'll regret it. I know this game, and I...