Page 92 of Brutal Alpha Beast
But if my recent experiences with Danielle have taught me anything, I need to be patient. Especially when I don’t understand what’s going on.
“Sure,” I say. “If that’s what you want. Lead the way.”
I follow Danielle as she leads me to a cabin. Once we step inside, I expect Monroe to be there—but she’s not.
“What do you think?” She asks.
“It’s cozy,” I respond.
Something’s definitely weird, but I can’t put my finger on it.
Usually, Danielle would have made a joke by now, or at least some sort of snarky response—she does this even when she’s in a bad mood.
I look around the place carefully. Is coming here a clue? Something she wants me to look at that relates to her strange mood?
But I don’t notice anything that wouldn’t usually be found in a witch’s cabin.
I walk around.
“So, what did you get up to?” I ask. I have my back to her as I inspect.
“Well,” she says. “I was with Penelope, and then I wanted to find Monroe. We were in the forest, talking, girl stuff. It was good.”
“How is Monroe?” I ask.
“Why?” She says quickly.
I turn, she’s close to me and takes a couple of steps back.
Does she think I don’t trust her? Is she trying to suss me out?
“You said you hadn’t spoken to her in a while, and you were concerned.”
Danielle makes a face, like something about Monroe, or the situation is pissing her off.
Is that why she’s acting so strange?
“Right,” she says, leading me through to the kitchen. Again, I’m not sure if there’s something here that I should be looking out for. “Well, Monroe was fine,” she snaps. “I think she’s just been going through some stuff. I think we all have. No one's pain is worse than any other's.”
“No,” I agree, looking around at the cabinets. “Of course, not.”
The place is clean. Not a dish out of place, shiny fruits stacked accordingly in their bowls. I notice a few bottles of what looks like potions on the kitchen table.
There are five of them, all different shapes and sizes. Some are long and pink, some short and green, and others are circular and blue.
Out of the five, one of them has been opened, and I can see that the liquid in that one is only half full.
“Have you been doing research?” I ask, gazing at the bottles.
She doesn’t respond.
I glance over my shoulder and freeze.
Danielle is standing dead-still, her hands by her side as her eyes lock onto me with a strange intensity.
She looks too emotionless. Too still.
My instincts tell me something is very wrong.
