Chapter 5

Dior

From the first moment I laid my eyes upon Patricia, I understood she was different. I spotted her on my first day in kindergarten. My skin under my clothes was blue and yellow from the abuse I had to endure the night before. I was in tremendous pain, and she smiled at me like a princess from one of those Disney tales.

And while a typical kid would have gladly made friends with the cute girl, I stood frozen. It was as if my feet had grown their gnarled roots and stuck them in the ground. I had never faced kindness, and my initial instinct was to run, but then I clenched my fists and fought to steal the spade and bucket from her.

I lost, not that I'm bitter about it. The event marked us as enemies, and although I will never admit it out loud, Patricia has saved my life plenty of times. My parents weren't kind when I grew up—they are still assholes, but I'm strong enough to fight back these days.

When I was younger, I didn't possess enough strength. I was weak and ugly as a duckling, and my father beat me for being the family's laughingstock. I was born rich, but my father deemed me a freak since I was more playful than interested in becoming alpha.

When I cried, smiled, or played with my toys, my father beat me to a pulp and called me names. The worst part was that the nicknames, pimple-face, short, and ugly duckling, followed me anywhere I went. All the kids bullied me and used the same pseudonyms to harass me, everyone except for her.

Patricia.

Fuck me, I don't know when it happened, but our daily teasing turned into a routine, and it went so far I couldn't turn back. We might be enemies, and I guess I dislike her for not obeying me like everyone else, but at the same time, that girl isn't fake.

The people who used to laugh at me are my loyal followers today only because I'm their alpha, and the girls stick to me like glue as soon as I lift my t-shirt—it was fun at first, but I'm tired of people disinterested in getting to know me.

I glance down at the scar on my leg, and images of Patricia's scowl floods my mind until I stand there, torn between the option to smile or flare my nostrils at her inability to listen to authority.

"That woman is such a strange one..."

My phone vibrates, but I don't pick it up. I know it's another call from Riley. I deem her braindead, but I'm a terrible person, so I'm using her so that no other girl will ask me out. There are rumors about me sleeping around, which is complete bullshit.

I'm a virgin, and I would never say it out loud—I'm way too proud and introverted, but-... I'm saving myself for my mate. If anyone knew, they would probably laugh at me, but romance is real.

With my cheeks slightly heated, I deadpan as I witness seagulls scrap leftovers from the asphalt. I'm not a man of many words, but right now, I'm happy. The view from my window is lovely, and it just so happens that Patricia is my neighbor.

I keep staring down at her front door, waiting for the fox herself to walk out through the door. Nerdy girl is always up early, but today her door isn't opening, making me frown.

Where the heck is she?!

Without a second thought, I slip into my sweatpants and walk out through my room while mumbling to myself. Patricia is the source of my current weakness, and I now realize how stupid I am—her stunt last night must have made her mother throw her out on the street.

My pack isn't allowed to shelter strays, and Patricia must have spent the night sleeping outside.

A throb makes itself noticed, and I glare down at my chest, annoyed beyond words. I don't like Patricia, but I must admit I've acted like an asshole towards her.

Yesterday, after she risked her life for my sake, I spent most of the night trying to choke myself with my pillow.

No one puts me on the defensive like Patricia. And as a defense mechanism to that annoying beat inside my chest, I bully the crap out of her. I know it's silly, but when Patricia is near, my hackles rise.

I shove a toothbrush into my mouth, aware of the migraine creeping up over my head. I've had these headaches sneak their way into my head lately. They came around the time I hit my first growth spurt.

Thinking the pain will go away if I ignore it, I hurry out the door. My chest is bare, and I roll my eyes when old lady Bailey gaps at me. She is watering her garden but aiming the beam at her car while she ogles my naked chest with predatory eyes.

"Good morning, Bailey."

"M-morning!"

She returns to her task, but I catch her checking me out a second time when I throw suspicion over my shoulders. I shudder—I'm about sixty years too young for Bailey.

Unsettled, I stand behind Patricia's door. I have this suspicion she isn't at home and that my intuition is correct, yet I stand there, hesitating to knock if I'm wrong.

What is the matter with me?

I'm the alpha—it's my job to make sure everyone in my pack is thriving and smiling and shit.

"You can do this, Dior..." I take a deep breath and then practice my line out loud. "Hello Mrs. Goldheart, is your daughter, Patricia, at home?"

Just saying her name out loud has the power to bring forth a blush on my irritated face.

Mental images of Patricia's luscious naked form, alabaster skin, and dark, shiny hair splayed over a pair of big breasts flash past me, and I immediately want to slap myself for the hard-on I'm sporting.

I have no business thinking about Patricia, but I can't lie—her eyes, fierce and snapping with hatred, turn me on. I have no clue how she can stand up to an alpha, but I enjoy every minute.

Patricia is gorgeous when she is mad, stunning when she is smiling. I'm usually struck dumb when her eyes meet mine, and when the ability to vocalize intelligent sentences returns, I always end up saying something demeaning.

I called her a plus-size in the cafeteria—to make every other bloke stop leering at her breasts. I admit it was childish and pure possessive behavior, but I can change.

Today will be different. Patricia didn't leave my side yesterday, and I will try to be kinder.

I knock on the door, then peer down into Mrs. Goldheart's confused face with a hundred thoughts fuzzing my brain.

"Uh..." Fuck, I'm useless. Play it cool—broadcast ice and pretend you're a brick stone. "So when I was spying on your daughter, I noticed-..." What the hell am I saying? Shit, start over. "No, I mean-..." I clear my throat. "Is Patricia at home?"

Confusion moves its way into the older woman's face. It makes her seem older than her actual age. "No... She left the pack, and I thought it was against the rules to shelter a stray inside your home."

My face is twitching from the anger I'm trying not to unleash. "Those were my father's rules."

"But you haven't changed them."

"But," I mimic her tone. "Patricia is your daughter—did you truly kick her out onto the curb?"

"Yes." Slight hurt flashes inside of Mrs. Goldheart's eyes. "My husband and I have always been loyal to the Lavigne family, and we will always be, but I received a phone call from Patricia before bed yesterday."

"And what did she say?"

"Patricia told me she is staying with the Summerburst pack. The alpha, William, is letting her stay in his mansion."

William used to be Patricia's childhood crush, and the mere reminder got my insides burning.

"Oh, so she is safe then." I'm trying to smile but failing. "Patricia is with the rival pack, spending time with William, the alpha. The one who should focus on his mate but is now letting Patricia sleep inside his home."

Mrs. Goldheart wrinkles her forehead. "Are you alright?" She bends forward, gazing up into my face. "You're extremely red in the face—do you have a fever? I could fetch you some water; say the word, and I will go."

"No, I'm fine, and if you will excuse me, I have some important matters to attend to straight away as the alpha. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Goldheart."

The only thing I want is to murder William, whack his pretty face into a tree trunk until he no longer has teeth.

"Oh, but you just came here-..."

I growl at the woman, and she immediately yelps and closes the door, leaving me alone. My shoulders are lifting with my every breath, and my fangs are drawing blood from my lips.

I'm on the verge of shape-shifting, already entertaining the idea of killing William—the greedy bastard already found his mate! Why does he need to keep Patricia around?!

I'm so angry that I see red. If William hurts Patricia in any way, be it mentally or physically—I will tear his entire pack into shreds! That woman is unique and off-limits!

Grumbling to myself, I set for my house. I still need to put on a shirt and kick off my shoes in the hallway, suspending my movements when I hear upset voices.

Even though my family is wealthy, our walls are thin, and the kitchen quarrel fills my ears.

"Dior is not a typical werewolf, Caroline! Why do you think his entire appearance changed during summer—it's because whatever miracle that blew life into our child wasn't from this earth!"

"You're wrong!" My mother is crying. "Dior is the alpha of our pack and the future—he isn't a monster!"

"That child is a behemoth and something that shouldn't walk upon this earth! You summoned something devilish into that child when the right thing would have been to let him die! And now whatever is inside of him is beginning to open its eyes."

"Stop saying that-..."

I hear my father slap my mother, and I exhale before clenching my fist in determination—school and Patricia wait. My father has always been a horrible man, but I never expected him to touch my sweet mother. For too long, we have lived in fear of him. He can call me whatever he wants, but hurting the only person I love was a grave mistake.

With anger pulsating through me, I move for the kitchen. I will tell my dad to fuck off, and then I will find Patricia and make sure she is safe. That is if this fucking migraine plans on letting me walk.