Sinclair eyed the damp, beat-up package and the mess under it. “And have some respect for my things.”
“Or what?” He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Gonna suck my blood?”
Sinclair licked his lips. “You want me to?”
“Gross.” Charlie left without bothering to close the door.
Simpleminded, thick-headed, worthless werewolves! Not only was his package soaked for some unfathomable reason—it wasn’t raining—but now his desk was wet as well, and so were the student papers he needed to grade.
Fantastic.
He grabbed the package and plopped on his back on the bunk. His mood brightened upon reading the label. A care package. From Hazel. It even smelled like her.
He ripped open the seal and revealed all sorts of goodies. A card, some candies from home, packets of flavored synthetic blood, and a book. He eyed the blood packs hungrily, his lips curled into a smile. He couldn’t get the flavored kind at Borson. He’d savor those. Save them for later. Hazel had always made fun of him for liking those things.
He opened the card.
Hi Sinclair Bear,
Everyone misses you,but especially me. There’s no one to binge-watch theHistory Channelwith me anymore. I thought you might like some stuff from home to cheer you up. You’re coming back for the holidays, right? I hope so. Don’t let any smelly werewolves pee on your stuff. I hear they like marking things.
Love,
Hazel
Between his mother’svoice and Hazel’s kindness, a bout of homesick longing surged. His eyes watered with tears, but he held them back.
Crying wouldn’t help, but getting out of here for a while might.
Sinclair crammed his feet into his boots, locked his door, and barreled downstairs and out of the old church, ignoring the wolves in his path.
“Watch where you’re going, freak.”
He especially ignored Snarly and veered off into the welcoming embrace of the forest. Yes, a walk was what he needed. Some time with only trees and birds for company.
All his life, he’d been surrounded by comfort, by support. All his life, he’d been expertly guided. Was it a mistake to strike out on his own? Could he really make decisions for himself?
Fear sped up his heart and shallowed his breathing. What if he wasn’t cut out for this after all? Maybe he should let someone else blaze a new path. Someone stronger. Braver. Someone who could handle it. And Sinclair could return to the bosom of his home. No worries, no problems, no werewolves…and if he let them turn him as they wished, no death either.
But also no life. Not really. Not when everything was taken care of for him and he had no real purpose.
His studies gave him purpose.
Sinclair retraced the familiar path through the woods, knowing but pretending not to know, where it led. Chasing that captivating scent. Listening to the gurgling of the stream. Slowing so his footsteps were silent, even on the carpet of freshly fallen leaves.
The alpha sparked his curiosity in a way no one before him ever had. Mitchel spent much of his time away from the dorms and, Sinclair suspected, tucked away in his enchanting little cabin.
Sinclair had kept away. Mitchel wouldn’t want him there. But it was as if he were caught on a lure, a long line reeling him in, and he could do nothing but draw ever closer.
Was the curiosity mutual?
The way Mitchel looked at him, his attention a weighty thing and flattering, made Sinclair think it might be.
He rounded the bend in the trail and spotted the cabin nestled among the pines. Should he stay hidden? Announce himself while still at a safe distance? He’d learned the hard way that surprising Mitchel wasn’t a good idea.
He had no plan. No real reason to be here aside from his feet insisting on the journey. He didn’t know what he was going to say to Mitchel, only that he couldn’t stand another day of loneliness. As if he were a puppy chewing on a leather shoe, any attention was good attention…even bad attention.
“Who’s there?” Mitchel’s voice. Whoops. Apparently, Sinclair hadn’t been as careful as he’d thought.
