**This is a SEQUEL you need to read Feral first**
Wolves.
They're family oriented creatures and werewolves are no different. Returning home after being missing for nine years should've felt amazing, but for Cloud, it was hell. Returning to his pack...
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cloud
He wasn't bluffing.
The moment I returned home from the hospital, Gray was back to talking about potential therapists. Despite my repeated attempts at refusing to see one, he kept bringing it up.
Layne, on the other hand, hadn't left my side since that night. Before, she'd just run away from me, but now it almost felt like the other way around. It was hard to find a moment to be away from the four-year-old. Quinn and Gray were considering taking her to talk to a therapist as well.
"Why are you so against this?" Gray asks with a frown. "Why do you refuse to try and get help, Cloud?"
My jaw clenches at his words. I had been laying in my room upstairs when Gray entered and began to, once again, bring up the topic of therapy.
"I don't need it," I repeat.
Gray falls quiet for a minute before he turns to me. I can feel his blue eyes staring at me as they try to figure out what's going on in my head.
"They're getting worse aren't they?" Gray questions and when I don't reply, he sighs. "Cloud—"
"—Stop," I interrupt him and shoot him a glare.
Ever since that night, I had been thinking about the lab more and more. Not just it either, but also Dad. After the scene I made at the hospital, I began having more nightmares, or rather memories, about the two. Because of this, Gray had started to understand that I remembered more than I was letting on. He tried to talk to me about it, but that was the last thing I wanted.
His lips form a line of disapproval. "How long are you going to do this? How long are you going to let yourself suffer?"
"How long are you going to pretend to give a shit?" I shoot back. "You never cared before so why are you trying to play the big brother role now? Go back to just not caring, Gray."
We glare at each other and Gray opens his mouth before closing it and shaking his head. Instead, he sets a piece of paper down on the bedside table and stands up before moving toward the door. His eyes meet mine again and it looks like he wants to say something, but he ultimately decides against it and walks out.
Picking up the piece of paper, I roll my eyes when I see it's a list of therapy contacts and crumble it up before throwing it in the tiny trashcan beside the bed. My eyes focus on the door for a few more minutes before I lay down and close them, forcing myself to fall asleep.
...
Brown eyes stare at me with hatred shining within them. He doesn't even try to hide it. In front of the pack, he may act as if he tolerates me, but behind closed doors that couldn't be further from the truth.
I tried to stay away from home as much as I could throughout the day. I tried to stay away from him. I never knew how he'd react. Some days, he'd just glare at me, and other days, he'd turn violent.
