Chapter 8

• WillowI was startled awake by Zeke slamming open the door. I moved as far away from the raging alpha as possible, feeling very disoriented by the stark difference between my reality and my dream. I was having one of the best dreams I could recall ever having in my life.
• I tried to hold on to the feeling as long as possible or to remember even some small shred of my happiness, but the details were slipping away as the seconds ticked by.
• Zeke stomped into the room, kicking my shelf into the wall in his anger.
• Crack!
• The shelf splintered and pieces went flying. I had already curled up into a ball when Zeke pushed his way into the room, but I ducked my head down just in time. A large chunk of wood hit the wall right where my head had just been.
• Zeke yelled, "This is your fault. What am I supposed to do now?" As he continued stomping around the room, muttering under his breath.
• I remained cowered against the wall, knowing nothing I said or did would help. I did not even know what he was talking about, but that did not matter to him.
• When his pacing brought him a little too close for comfort, I subtlety attempted to move further away; however, my left arm twanged in pain, causing me to cry out. I looked down, shocked to find a large splinter of wood sticking out of my bicep. Unfortunately, my whimper also brought Zeke's attention.
• Zeke reached down, roughly grabbing the same still bruised wrist he had grabbed earlier. He looked at the sliver of wood and pulled it out without any type of warning.
• I cried out again, wincing when I noticed the blood gushing out of the wound. Zeke's eyes looked a little panic-stricken as he took in my blood flowing freely down my arm.
• I gathered my senses and looked around for something to stop the blood flow, though there was nothing useable. Zeke apparently came to the same conclusion, stripping out of his shirt and aggressively wrapping it around my arm.
• "You are always doing stupid shit like this. Why did you have to hurt yourself?” He berated, going on, "You are not getting out of cleaning up that mess downstairs. In fact, I want this whole house cleaned top to bottom tonight and breakfast on the table when I go downstairs. That asshole Jax will be back in the morning, and I do not want him running into your ugly ass while he is here. You had better be locked in this room before he arrives or you won't like the consequences," he threatened.
• With one more menacing glance, Zeke thankfully walked out of the room without another word, leaving the door wide open.
• Okay, so great. Now I get to re-clean the entire pack house, with a new injury to boot, on top of the dinner party I already had to clean up tonight and cook breakfast for more guests. Just great.
• That reminded me, I carefully picked myself up and scurried over to the door to make sure Zeke was truly gone. No sign of him. Good.
• Assured that the coast was clear, I rushed into the dining room, hoping, praying that there would be something left. I was disappointed when the piles of dirty dishes came into view, my heart sinking at the sight.
• At least they liked my food, I thought morosely as I got to work. It would do no good to linger about. Really, it would only serve to keep pushing my bedtime back, and I needed all the rest I could get, especially now that I had a gash in my arm that needed healing.
• It was already quite late when I had started cleaning, the dinner party having been slated to start later in the evening to begin with.
• Nevertheless, I was shocked to find that it was beginning to grow light outside, when I glanced up from dozing on the floor, having fallen asleep scrubbing the smooth surface apparently, after I finished cooking. Shit!
• I gathered the cleaning equipment, stashing it in a cabinet on my way back to my closet. I could already hear Zeke growling at his warriors something about sister, loudmouths, and idiots. Whatever, not my problem.
• I dashed into my room while Zeke continued to berate his men, giving me an evil expression as he did so. Thankfully, he simply banged the door shut and locked it without saying a word to me.
• I sank down onto the mattress, glancing down at my injured arm. It did not look like it had healed at all, but at least the bleeding had stopped.
• I tried to remain awake to see if I could discern what was going on outside my room, but my heavy eyes drifted closed once more and did not reopen.