CHAPTER 5

Krey hovered outside the dining hall, hearing the chatter and laughter among his people. If he stepped into the room, every person would stand and bow, then try to talk to him. Krey wished he could slip in unrecognised.

Not anymore.

He quickly turned and headed back to his bedroom. He was good at avoiding people, except for his mother. As soon as Krey's head touched his pillow, his mother knocked, waited ten seconds, then popped her head into his room.

Krey felt her eyes on him as he pretended to be asleep.

"I've just watched you come in here. You're fooling nobody," Krey's mother, Makena said.

"Well I am," Krey muttered, hearing his door shut and steps approach his bed.

"Are you resting for a little while, or is this you for the day?"

Krey didn't move or make a sound, giving her the answer. The bed dipped next to him, and Krey

turned around to face the wall.

"You can't hide from your duties forever."

"I can, and I will." Krey scowled into his cushion.

"Get out." The duvet ruffled next to him as his mother snuggled close. Krey felt her arms around him and was pleased she couldn't see his frown softening.

"Your cousin Victoria had the dream last night. I spoke with her on the phone before breakfast. She dreamt of a young man, tall, dark, mysterious," his mother said, changing the subject and finding any excuse to talk. "She said, in their dream, they were at some sort of meeting or party or gathering. I think they'll meet at the annual gathering next week." Makena waited to see if Krey would respond. He didn't, so she asked, "When do you think you'll have the dream?"

"Never." Krey could feel her brown eyes burning into the back of his head.

"Every wolf has the dream about their mate. That day will come for you too, no matter how unlovable and heartless you seem to be."

"Thanks," Krey muttered, just looking for a reason to argue. His heart of coal was no secret. Krey didn't care for a mate because they would only make his life harder. Krey targeted the mates of his

enemies because mates were their weakness, every time.

"Well, it's true. You're only nineteen. You have four more years to find your mate." All werewolves between the age of eighteen and twenty-three eventually dream of their mate. Werewolves never dream at night, so the mate dream was a big deal.

"Gosh. I remember the first time I saw your father.

He walked up behind me and whispered in my ear that he had dreamt of me. Still to this day, I remember his smile when I turned around."

The colour drained from Krey's world. He uncoiled his mother's arms and threw his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up. Every time, he thought, every damn time.

His mother sat up too, sighing. "The human got escorted off the premises this morning. Didn't he? I don't smell him here anymore. That omega- what's her name? Francis, right? She seemed very sympathetic for him."

"The human broke in," Krey muttered. "What did he expect? A cup of tea and a phone call to his parents?"

Makena scoffed. "I watched the CCTV footage with Francis this morning. The human was chased.

Francis liked to think that he broke in for a reason.

The fence tripped for the first time in years,

moments before he climbed over. Someone was looking out for him last night."

"And where were they when his fingers were broken?" Being negative about everything was one of Krey's strong points.

His mother said no more about the subject and clasped her hands together. Holding a conversation with Krey was as infuriating as getting him to do as he was told. "Right, get up. The enemies you've collected over the years are on the move. You can't ignore them, or they'll be at your throat before you can fall asleep.

********

Pip jogged for miles, only stopping to go to the toilet against some poor tree. Nobody was out so early in the morning.

Pip continued running until he reached Crescent Town. The first sign of buildings after hundreds of trees sent his heart racing. Pip ached for his bed and a warm cup of tea.

The closer he got to home, the more he expected police officers to jump out of every corner and ask where the hell he had been all night.

Barely anyone was awake as Pip jogged down the uneven paths made of cobblestones. He sped down

barely anyone was awake as rip jogged down the uneven paths made of cobblestones. He sped down narrow streets and along the outside of the woods until the back of his house broke through the gaps between walls. Pip stopped and stared up at the six-foot-tall fence. He would usually jump and haul himself up, but not with his throbbing fingers.

Pip knew the backdoor was never locked and looked around for something to step on. Someone had dumped a few car tires by the path. Pip rolled them to the fence, stepped on the rubber, then tried not to whimper as he swung a leg over the fence and slipped into his garden.

He hurried through the plant pots full of dead flowers and hopped over the empty pond. Pip couldn't get in the house quick enough, startling his aunt as she dished out breakfast.

"Jesus, Pip, what's the rush?" she asked as Pip looked around. His uncle sat at the able, watching with his usual bored eyes. Their kids cared more about their eggs being dippy than him standing there, muddy, out of breath, and exhausted.

"You're up early."

"I-what? No, I was out all night!"

"You were what?" his uncle shouted, coughing on his toast.

"Yeah, I was... I was..." Pip couldn't say he was in the institute. All he could see was Jordan's evil

smile. "I was in the woods. I-"

"You were in the woods all night long? Pip! You know we don't like you being out there when it's dark."

Pip looked around at the faces again. "You didn't notice I was gone?"

"Why would we? You're always in your room." His aunt sat him down at the table and put food in front of him. "Eat. You're at work soon."

"Oh, um- about that. I think I've broken something." Pip lifted his hand with three swollen and badly bruised fingers.

His uncle leant across the table, scrunching his nose. The light above bounced off his bald head

"Na, they're not broken. Suck it up kid and wrap something around them. You'll be fine."

Pip looked down to his hand. He couldn't bend his fingers. The thought of touching them made him sick. The way they swelled was enough to churn his stomach, and they throbbed to the beat of his heart.

"How did you do that?" his aunt complained. "Pip, you can't be running around all night in the woods, hurting yourself when you have a job and college.

Be more responsible, please." She ruffled his hair

and took his plate before Pip even managed to take a bite. "You'll be late for work if you don't get a shower soon. Look at the state of you, all muddy. I washed those clothes yesterday! That'll be the last time. Wash your own things from now on."

Pip left the kitchen, and his Aunt's voice echoed down the corridor about how he never helped around the house. "Because I never have the time," he mumbled and climbed the stairs. Tiredness tumbled down on Pip like a ton of bricks, but he pressed on to the bathroom. He had to keep going.

Rest could wait.

*******

Krey made it to 1 in the afternoon before he just had to lie down. His fingers still bugged him, and he felt like he had slept rough, despite him sleeping enough hours the night before.

His room was a beautiful view after many meetings with the pack that still didn't feel like his. Krey's bed was an even better sight. He didn't bother taking off his shoes and stormed across the wooden floor, flopping onto the duvet, crashing his face into his cushion.

Krey groaned and curled into a ball. His head throbbed suddenly, and a heaviness to his bones pinned him down. His body screamed at him to sleep when all Krey wanted to do was lie down for half an hour.

He never napped. Krey had pushed through many sleepless nights without even a thought of resting his eyes. He tried to sit up and laid back down immediately. When he blinked, he struggled to open his eyes again. They were weighted in his sockets and stinging from the exhaustion.

Something was willing for Krey to sleep. His head pushed further into his pillow when his lids closed and refused to open again. He began to drift quickly, the darkness intensifying all around him, misting his sight, clouding his thoughts.

Krey made one last attempt to peel open his eyes, but he had already fallen far into his sleep and couldn't surface.

Soon, Krey's head wasn't blank and empty like it usually was when he slept.

Krey's head was full of blue eyes reflecting a page of a book, brown hair curling around the rim of a burgundy bobble hat, and dimples deepening as the person pursed his lips.

Krey, for the first time in his life, was dreaming.