Page 138 of Moon Cursed

“In this Alpha’s house. Castle. Mansion. Whatever.”

She gets up. “Okay fine. Just don’t go wandering off. I’m supposed to be watching over you.”

“I’m locked in. I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Right. Back in a bit.”

She fades out in front of me.

I get up and pace around the room.

I should stay here, wait for her to get back.

I try to stay where I am, but my feet itch to move.

The room feels empty and wrong without Bianca in it.

I come here because of her. I can’t stay here.

I move toward the door, hoping she’ll come find me once she’s snooped around.

Chapter Eighty-Five

Everett

Staringattheceilingall night isn’t the smartest choice I’ve ever made, but my senses are on high alert, and I can’t shut them off. Cheryl needs to sleep, and that’s made obvious by how quickly she passes out when we get into bed. Noah gets home within the hour. He comes to bed and curls up at Cheryl’s other side. He crashes almost as quickly as she did.

If I was anxious because he wasn’t back yet, I might have crashed too.

It’s more than that, and I know it. My pack isn’t whole. It isn’t what it should be.

I can’t rest until I’ve fixed that, put us back together.

There are a few almost silent hours where I hear every creaky noise the house has in it to make. Then it gets lighter outside, and I start to hear Ivy moving about at the other end of the hall. It should be too far away to hear a thing, but the truth is it’s not. My wolf-enhanced senses are on overdrive. I can’t tune a damned thing out.

So, I get up and leave the room as quietly as possible.

I grab a clean set of clothes out of the dresser, and I go take a shower in one of the spare rooms down the hall. I don’t want to wake Cheryl or Noah. It’s better if they sleep for as long as possible. Especially Cheryl. I’m not sure she’s fully recovered from draining her magic and replenishing it without resting first.

I come out of the spare room to find the kid in the hallway.

He rubs his eye as he looks up at me. “Is it breakfast time yet?”

“Sure,” I tell him. “What do you want for breakfast?”

He starts to shrug, and then his eyes seem to pop wide open suddenly.

“Is there cake?”

A responsible adult might say no, or maybe later. Something along those lines.

Considering the kid’s mom ditched him here, I don’t see the problem with giving him whatever he asks for, whenever he asks for it.

“There sure is,” I tell him, watching him do an excited little foot-stomping dance on the spot.

He puts a fist in the air. “Yes! Cake.”

“Let’s go find it,” I say, holding out my hand.

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