Chapter 39 39
ARIELLE'S POV
I sighed, almost rolling my eyes. Sheila could be so presumptuous at times.
“No, not eager. But first, I have to personally submit this tomorrow at the college admin office. They need the original.”
“I see.” There was a brief, heavy silence. She fiddled with the edge of my comforter. “So… where are you actually going to stay? You know it’s a brutal commute from here. You’ll be exhausted.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “Mandy said almost the same thing.”
“Mandy?” Sheila’s voice took on a familiar, sharp edge. “Right. But I’m sure she gave no actual helpful suggestions. How noble of a friend.” She rolled her eyes, the sarcasm so thick it was almost a physical presence in the room.
I bit my lip, then decided to just say it. “Actually, she did give a suggestion.” I paused for effect. “She offered that I could move to the Dead Moon Pack. Start living right under the same roof with her.” I scowled. “And her damn uncle.”
Sheila’s head snapped up. “What? Stay under the same roof as the… as Alpha Aeson?”
“Shh!” I hissed, glancing nervously at the door. “Bring it down!”
She leaned in, lowering her voice to a dramatic whisper. “I’m trying to hear if there are any distant approaching footsteps, but don’t be so worried. No one is close by. I can only hear little noises from downstairs. My hearing is better than yours, remember?”
I gave her a doubting look. She could be so dramatic.
“Seriously,” she insisted, her expression turning mock-offended. “Don’t hurt your fragile human hearing trying to be skeptical of my superior wolf senses.”
I just gave her a look.
She waved a dismissive hand. “That wasn’t sarcasm, trust me.” She rolled her eyes again, then leaned so close our foreheads were almost touching. “So. She gave you that offer. Let me guess, umm, you accepted it.”
“Heck, no,” I said, twitching my nose in disgust. “I refused immediately. I will never want to stay anywhere close to her uncle.”
Sheila looked at me with her eyes wide, her mouth hanging slightly open. It was the expression she usually reserved for truly unbelievable gossip or a particularly stunning piece of designer clothing she couldn’t afford. It was like I’d just told her I’d rejected a gift from the Moon Goddess herself.
“You rejected what?”
“You heard me right, Sheila,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “I want to maintain as much distance as humanly—or wolf-ly—possible between me and him. I honestly don’t wish to ever see his face again.”
“You talk about him like he’s some kind of jerk,” she said, shaking her head as if I were a deeply confused child.
“Well, maybe because he’s insufferable. Cold, arrogant, judgmental…”
“Girl, you need to chill,” she cut in, her voice taking on a dreamy, far-off quality that made my skin crawl. “Alpha Aeson is… cool. Mysterious. Any girl in this city would die to get a second of his acceptance. He’s got that killer look, even in those grainy old magazine photos from summits. I’m telling you, I’m wishing I could see him just once. I wouldn’t even mind going on a date with the man.” She actually purred the last word. “Daddy.”
I stared at her, my jaw practically on the floor. I couldn’t believe she was swooning. Over him.
“He’s nothing close to hot,” I insisted, my nose wrinkling. “He’s just… ew. Older and creepy.”
“Nah,” she said, wagging a finger at me. “If he was all ‘ew,’ you wouldn’t have grabbed him and kissed him in that bar to get back at Logan. There were probably other guys there. Guys your own age, or at least not way older. But you went straight for him.” She leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m sure you probably didn’t just kiss him briefly, either. He’d taste… powerful. Rich. I bet you got a little swept up in it. Admit it.”
“Sheila!” My cheeks were on fire.
She just giggled, pleased with herself. “What? I’m just saying—”
Her phone rang, cutting her off with a blaring pop song. “Goodness,” she sighed, digging it out of her pocket. “James is probably calling to beg for another date, like some pathetic little…”
She trailed off as she saw the caller ID. Her playful expression vanished, replaced by pure, undiluted fury. Her eyes widened, but not with surprise—with rage. “Geez. This fucker is calling.”
“Who…?” I started to ask, but she was already jabbing the answer button and putting it on speaker before I could finish.
“How dare you, you douchebag!” she snarled into the phone, her voice vibrating with anger as she jerked up. “Don’t you have the decency to stay away after your atrocity? To just crawl back into the hole you came from?”
A familiar male voice echoed out of the speaker, tinny but clear. It was calm, trying for reasonableness. It made my stomach twist into an instant, painful knot. “Hey, Sheila. Take it easy. I’m sure you’re with Arielle right now.”
My lips parted. Logan.
“Give her the phone,” his voice continued, smooth as silk. “I want to talk to her.”
“The nerve! You bloody, entitled sucker—”
“Arielle!” His voice raised, cutting through Sheila’s tirade, calling out as if I were just in the next room. “If you can hear me, speak up! I’m sorry about what happened, but I can’t take your silence and this attitude anymore! Let’s talk this out like adults!”
Rage, white-hot and clean, shot through me. It overrode the hurt, the humiliation. I lunged across the bed, snatched the phone from Sheila’s stunned hand, and yelled right into the receiver, “Shut up, you prick!”
I stabbed the ‘end call’ button with my thumb so hard I thought the screen might crack. Then I shoved the phone back at Sheila, my whole body trembling.
She took it, staring at me with an incredulous, boiling expression. “What the heck? He actually thinks he can just…”
Her phone beeped again—a sharp, intrusive sound. A new message notification lit up the screen. She glanced down at it, and her furious expression morphed into one of pure, shocked disbelief. She looked from the phone to me, her eyes huge. “This guy is nuts…”
“What does it say?” I demanded, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Wordlessly, she handed the phone back to me. I looked at the screen.
The message was from Logan.
‘Let Arielle know I’m standing right in front of her house.’
The words didn’t make sense at first. They just sat there, black and white on the glowing screen, not computing. Front of her house. My house. The Fang Storm Packhouse.
Then, as if on cue, the deep, resonant chime of the front doorbell echoed through the quiet halls of the packhouse.
Ding-dong.
The sound was so normal, so utterly domestic, and so completely, terrifyingly wrong.
Sheila’s head whipped toward my bedroom door as if she could see straight through it and down the stairs.
“He’s really here?!” she whispered, her voice a mixture of horror and a strange, grudging awe at his audacity.