8: You're not leaving

"We can hide things away. But we can't forget."

***

I wake up to the gentle rays of the sun streaming through the window, casting a radiant glow upon the room. Blinking away the sleep from my eyes, I turn my head, only to find Blake's spot on the bed empty. A sense of curiosity tugs at me, and I can't help but wonder where he could have gone. Letting out a yawn, I slip out of bed and make my way towards the bathroom. After a brief search, I locate an extra towel and toothbrush, ready to embark on my shower routine.

Stepping out of the bathroom, feeling refreshed from the warm shower, my gaze falls upon a neatly folded set of clothes resting on the freshly made bed. Did Blake leave these for me? Curiosity piqued, I examined the garments—a pair of sleek black jeans and a sky blue sweater. With a shrug and a hint of gratitude, I decided to don the outfit, feeling a sense of connection to the mysterious person who left it for me.

Exiting the room, I make my way to the expansive living room from the previous night. Now that the fear of being kidnapped has dissipated, I can truly appreciate the grandeur and intricate design of the house.

It's like a magnificent mansion, with a silver staircase leading to an open area, the main entrance facing it and the living room positioned to the left. Cream-coloured walls adorned with famous paintings reflect the golden hour effect created by the sun's gentle rays seeping through the windows. The sight before me is undeniably breathtaking.

Stepping into the living room, a sense of solitude surrounds me. "How am I supposed to navigate this unfamiliar territory without any guidance?" I groan softly, my voice carrying a tinge of frustration. Unexpectedly, a whisper brushes against my ear, causing me to yelp in surprise. I swiftly turn around, only to be met by the gaze of a striking young man who seems to be thoroughly amused.

"Weren't you taught to announce your presence when entering a room?" I retort snarkily, unable to hide my mild irritation.

Yet, despite my irritation, I can't help but notice the undeniable handsomeness of this stranger. His brown hair, accentuated by silver highlights, falls effortlessly around his face, adding to his captivating charm.

Ignoring my remark, he offers me a playful smirk. "I can be of assistance, you know," he whispers, his voice tinged with a hint of mischief. His sparkling eyes meet mine, and I find myself momentarily captivated by their playful allure.

Summoning a fake smile, I muster up the courage to ask him a favour. "Could you please accompany me back home?" I inquired, hoping he would oblige. His gaze lingers on me for a few seconds, an unspoken message passing between us, creating an uncomfortable tension.

"What's in it for me?" he queries, a mischievous grin playing on his lips, as if he's thoroughly enjoying this banter.

With a hint of sarcasm, I reply, "Hmm, how about food?" A genuine offer, but he responds with laughter.

"You must be joking," he scoffs. "Food alone won't suffice." His tone is filled with amusement, as if he's well aware of his own charms.

"Well, I'm open to suggestions then. After all, who in their right mind would refuse a good meal?" I retort, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

A self-assured smirk graces his face as he steps closer to me. "Darling, food is the least of my concerns. However, if you're implying that we share a meal together, like a date, then I must say, that piques my interest," he responds, his voice laced with confidence.

My eyes trail from his head to toe, taking in his undeniable attractiveness. "You're undeniably handsome," I admit, unable to resist flashing a flirtatious smile.

A smug undertone colours his reply. "Well, I've been told," he remarks with a touch of arrogance.

"But..." I pause, teasingly drawing out the moment. His raised eyebrow indicates his curiosity, prompting me to continue. "You're not quite my type," I state with a smugness mirroring his own, the satisfaction evident in my voice.

Unexpectedly, his demeanour shifts, and a confident smile graces his face. "Well, that's perfectly fine," he declares, his words oozing assurance. "Because, my dear, you most definitely are my type," he whispers softly, his confidence unwavering.

Before I can respond with a witty retort, the sound of approaching footsteps captures our attention. I turn my gaze towards the entrance of the living room, where Blake and Nova draw near. Hastily, I distance myself from Mr. Not My Type, not wanting to send any misleading signals.

Blake's voice breaks the silence. "What are you two doing here alone?" he asks, his gaze narrowing as it settles upon Mr. Not My Type. It dawns on me that I still don't know his name, and I hope it's not as cocky as his personality.

"We merely crossed paths, and we were engaged in a rather intriguing conversation," Mr. Cocky responds, a faint smile playing on his face, as if he's reminiscing about our encounter.

I roll my eyes, dismissing his self-assured attitude. Turning towards Nova, I implore her, "Can you please take me home? I need to get ready for work, and I don't even know what time it is."

"Yeah, su--"

"You can't go back home," Blake interrupts casually, halting Nova's response. A surge of shock courses through me, and I can't help but question his statement.

"Why not?" I inquire, my voice laced with disbelief.

"Because we were attacked last night, which means no one is allowed to leave until further notice. Besides, you still need to have a conversation with your dad," he explains matter-of-factly.

The mention of my father evokes memories from the previous night—the secrets that have been kept from me, the tears that stained my cheeks while Blake offered solace. It's overwhelming to think that all of this unfolded in the span of a single day. My life feels like a mess, a web of lies I'm still trying to untangle.

"I don't believe those attackers will harm me if they're still out there. They have nothing to gain by doing so," I mutter, fighting back the tears threatening to spill.

"As for my dad... I'm not ready to face him or say anything right now. I just need some time and space."

Blake's voice carries an air of finality as he asserts, "Regardless, you cannot leave. We have guards stationed outside, and they won't allow any unauthorised departures." Frustration seeps into my being, and I run my hand through my hair in exasperation.

"Can I at least retrieve my phone? I have no idea where it is," I plead, a glimmer of hope shining in my eyes.

"You can have it after breakfast," Blake responds flatly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Tyson, follow me," he commands, directing his attention towards Mr. Not My Type, before exiting the room.

"It's time for me to go as well," Tyson announces, amusement colouring his voice. "I hope we can continue our conversation another time," he adds with a mischievous grin, tracing his steps to join Blake's departure.

Perplexed, Nova turns to me and queries, "What was that all about?"

"Just some cocky and annoying guy, unfortunately possessing a name that matches his personality," I groan in response.

"What? How can a name be cocky?" Nova asks, amusement evident in her voice.

"It's... never mind," I dismiss her curiosity, realising it's not worth explaining.

"Alright, weirdo, let's go have breakfast," Nova declares, seizing my hand and leading me along. This is why I love her—she understands that I'm not ready to discuss everything I learned last night. While I'm still in shock and slightly angered by her revelation about being a werewolf, I trust that she had her reasons for keeping it a secret, just like my dad might have his reasons. I'll address all of that in due time; for now, I simply want to forget.

Nova pushes open a massive white door, revealing a vast dining hall. It strikes me that everything in this house is enormous. The room teems with people, and in its center, numerous tables and chairs accommodate around four hundred individuals. Considering the crowd, it's no wonder the space is so expansive. On the right side, a selection of beverages and extra food is displayed, in case the offerings on the tables fall short.

"Where did all these people come from?" I unintentionally voice my thoughts.

"They're part of Blake's pack, his pack members," Nova explains. "This is the pack house where most of them reside. Some have their own houses on the same property, but that is mainly for the elders," she reveals, her words accompanied by a nod of confirmation.

"But why didn't I see them last night?" I inquire, seeking clarification.

"They had a pack meeting, which is why you couldn't meet them," Nova reveals with a slight smile.

"Anyway, let's go eat," she urges, dragging me towards an available table and seating us down. Though I feel slightly uneasy under the curious gazes directed my way since entering the room, I try not to dwell on it and focus instead on the appetising array of food before me.

The breakfast spread is a feast for the senses, featuring an assortment of morning delicacies. Pancakes, bacon, toast, jam, Nutella, cereal, croissants, sandwiches, sausage, fruit—the options seem endless. It's a culinary paradise.

While I serve myself, the door swings open, ushering in Blake, his brother Brandon, a striking girl with captivating green eyes, black hair, and freckles scattered across her nose (whose name eludes me), and Mr. Not My Type—Tyson. The beautiful girl bears a resemblance to Blake and Brandon, leading me to suspect that she might be their sister. If we were in high school, I'd assume they were the popular kids. As they take their seats, everyone in the room lowers their heads in deference, excluding me.

Feeling somewhat bewildered by the scene unfolding around me, I lock eyes briefly with Blake, his expression betraying no emotion. Hastily, I avert my gaze, focusing instead on the room, which has returned to its lively and cheerful state.

Blake assumes the central seat, with his brother, the mysterious girl, and Tyson occupying seats around him—quite the cliché. We aren't too far away, separated by only five seats. As people settle in and begin savouring their meals, the curious glances persist, though I make an effort to ignore them, focusing on the delectable food laid out before me.