Werewolf Compilations

Chapter 64

It has been a lonely week, but what did I expect? My day consists of eating breakfast, chatting with Gail

and Theresa—the plump woman and her friend—eating lunch, listening to music or reading a book,

hardly eating dinner, and going to bed. Throughout the day I become more and more depressed, and

by dinner, I barely have enough fight in myself to eat. I call my mother every day and lie to her. I go on

and on about how lovely everything is, and how I was wrong about not wanting a mate—it gives me

something to do, to conjure up some fairytale.

"Today we went on a walk around the pack, he showed me around and introduced me to people," I say

to my mother, the phone up against my ear as I lie on my bed. I've stolen the phone from the living

room and put it in my room, knowing Alpha Grant won't come in to take it. "It was nice. The people here

are nice."

"That's great, Rae. I'm so happy things are going so well. I'll have to come and visit someday. You'll

have to come and visit me when you're not so busy with Luna duties and such."

I frown. "Yeah, definitely." Before she can carry on with something else, like how our Luna had another

baby, or how she helped a guard handle a rogue, I mutter, "You know, he's waiting for me now. I should

probably go."

"Oh, of course, go, go," she says, sounding excited. "We'll talk more tomorrow."

"Okay."

"Alright, bye dear." And just like that, I am alone again.

I let the phone slip from my grasp, falling onto the bed beside me. Part of me wants to cry and part of

me wants to drink, but Gail found the half-empty bottle of Vodka in the porch the morning after, so I

thought it best to stop there. Being drunk won't help me for long, soon enough it will lose its spark.

Though, what do I have to lose? I have nothing anymore, and that's terrifying me. People who have

nothing are dangerous.

At least I had myself at home. I don't know where the old Rae has gone—she's slipped away after one

too many nights of her mate having sex with someone else. It's the same girl, and that only makes me

more insane. Whenever I hear her come over, which is most nights, I creep away into the backyard and

fight my urges to sprint to that odd cabinet and snatch myself a bottle of whatever looks numbing. I

simply sit on the porch, feet dangling, and I cry a bit. They are quiet sobs because I am paranoid that

someone will hear and come ask me what's wrong. What would I say? I've lost everything? That I have

nothing anymore?

I sigh and get up, leaving the phone behind. I've learned my way around the house now. With nothing

to do all day, I've decided to familiarize myself with the place, looking for good places to hide or places

that seem to be forgotten about. It's a large house, too big for its own good, and yesterday I discovered

something wonderful.

It's a library, small and abandoned towards the back of the house. The door to it was blocked off by a

bookshelf filled with decorations and family pictures, something to just be there, to distract people from

the handle behind the picture of an older man in black and white. It would have been better hidden if

the tall shelf had a back to it, but only my desperate eyes can find such weird details. I was studying

the pictures, picking them up and putting them down when I found the handle. It was tricky, though,

because the door was one of those fancy ones that blend seamlessly into the wall, like in an old castle.

It took me a while to move the shelf. Luckily Gail and Theresa were out at the garden and Alpha Grant

was off doing who knows what or God knows who. I managed to inch it forward just enough to fit

myself through. Thankfully I grew into my chubby legs a few years ago.

Planning to go back, I left the shelf sticking out a bit, doubting anyone would notice. So today I only

have to pull it out a bit further. Once inside, I relax and sit down in one of the old chairs off to the side,

nestled between a tall lamp and a small wooden table. This belongs © NôvelDra/ma.Org.

I plan on cleaning it up as dust coats everything, but for now, it will do. There are two walls cluttered

with books from top to bottom beside each other. The wall across from the door has a tiny window—the

shelves built around it—and I push back the dark curtain to let the sunlight filter through the dusty

glass. It is a beam of light slicing through the center of the room, and I sit in the chair, watching the dust

particles dance around in it.

To make sure no one knows I'm here, I yank the bookshelf back in place and close the door behind me,

like I had never touched any of it in the first place.

Today I stand and sift through the books, picking up a few, flipping through the pages, then placing

them back. There isn't enough room in here for the shelves, the chair, and a desk, so I know it wasn't

someone's study, which is great because the books are actually interesting and not full of Pack

nonsense. On the shelf below the window, I discover something else quite interesting. Diaries. They

are all in a row, lined up by year.

I run my fingers over them and yank out the oldest one. I might as well start from the beginning. This

one has a name on the inside: Julianna Grant. My eyes widen and I swiftly sit back down in the living

chair, this must be Alpha Grant's mother or grandmother. The book isn't ancient, so I don't go any

further. I can't help but read the first entry.