I turn over again, the mattress squeaking, and I worry I woke up Eliza for a third time. What is he doing? Sleeping, idiot. Unless he's in pain. I brush my arm over the claw marks he gave me. Mates are supposed to be the perfect match for you—if you can make it work. I haven't seen the basement, but what is it like? Eliza told me that's where the wolves get chained up. Is it a torture chamber? If he was being tortured, I'd hear him screaming. At least that's what always happens in movies. This isn't a movie, but werewolves. . . it sure feels like one. Marks and mates are real, but they're different.
Marks from regular werewolves mean the same thing, but alphas and rogues have poison. If there was even a chance that one day he and I ended up together, I don't think I could let him mark me. I'm not becoming werewolf. Travis seems to think it's swell. All that anger and tension that builds up to the full moon though. It's not worth it, losing control to the point where you'll attack and kill whatever you see.
It's best to forget about him then I'll never have to worry about that, but he's the perfect person for me (apparently), and I'd be stupid to pass up seeing what it's like getting to know that person.
I hear a wolf howl followed by another and another.
I don't even know his name or age. He doesn't know mine either. Is he wondering about that? He's focusing on himself, not me.
What if I do get out of here, never see them again, and never know his name? Is that easier? I'll always wonder if I don't. Fine. I'll figure out how to see him when the sun rises.
I pull the covers snugger around me and let out a deep breath, my shoulders relaxing.
Sixty sheep later I flip onto my stomach. Making the decision to see him should have eased my conscience and wandering mind.
It's made it worse.