Page 93 of Howl You Doin?
Excitement floods me at the thought that I can actually be a help, but pain killers and heating pads were also brought up. I stare at the table in my study with all manner of period help at my disposal, more than a little thrilled to have more ways to help Whitley through this. The way her forehead wrinkles in pain makes me wish I could take it for her, and all the ladies of Reddit seem to agree at least on one thing.
Periods are a straight cunt.
And my girl is about to have her first as a shifter. I breathe in heavily through my nose and exhale out my mouth. Any way that I can help Whitley through this, I am willing. The idea of comforting her brings peace and a sense of calm I’ve never experienced.
Vlad:
Hello?
Why do you ask?
Oh, for fuck’s sake. He’s using emojis now?I smirk and swipe to the internet app, intent on looking up what dosage of pain killers could reasonably work for our kind.
The phone pings again.
Vlad:
OMGGGGGG who is it? Is it Whitley? OMG I knew it!!!
My brow furrows a moment before I realize Aubrey has most likely taken his phone, effectively interrupting my attempt to fuck with him a little longer. Grinning at the knowledge that Vlad is more than likely sulking like a toddler right now makes my lips twitch. I shoot a quick text back to his mobile.
Me:
Hello Aubrey.
Vlad:
Hey Doyle! Is Whitley okay?
Oh men are freaking hopeless. It’s R for regular and L for light btw.
I grin down at my phone. I haven’t really thought on the ramifications of Vlad and her mating, but my gut tells me that I have accepted her as a sort of packmate, or whatever would have the same significance, I suppose.
Me:
She’s fine. We have mated.
Vlad:
What??!
The phone rings just as a wounded howl rings out that sends chills up my spine.Whitley.
Thank fuck no one else in the castle could have heard her. Odette might be a witch, but she doesn’t have supernatural hearing, and everyone else is human. I thank my lucky stars that she’s in our wing and not below stairs. Gods, I’m already thinking of it as ours and not just mine.
I run from the study and speed down the hall to the foyer, leaping into the air, adrenaline surging through my veins just as another cry begins.
Allan has the guests downstairs for the rest of the evening playing charades and Clue in the library, so the odds of me meeting anyone are slim at least.
My claws extend as I grab for purchase two floors above me and take hold of a wooden balustrade as I vault myself up another floor, being as quiet as I can. Hurtling over the final railing, I land in the hall of the north wing, scrambling for her bedroom door, not caring now that I’m sure no one below can hear.
“What’s wrong?” I yell, as another keening wail from her has my stomach dropping with worry. I have no idea why she has suddenly become so distressed, and it has my hackles rising.
I find her in her bathroom after practically tearing the door from the hinges to get to her.
“Whitley?”
“I can’t have chocolate! I can’t have coffee! These fucking painkillers aren’t doing shit, and it feels like my insides are beingripped apart!” Her voice is a half-wail, half-roar, and I blink, unsure of what to do. “Ugh! This is just torture.”
