The Wolves ✓

20; moral crisis

"Where's the kid?" Tristan asked, looking down at the glass of whiskey in his hand.

Billy glanced at the other wolves before replying. "Where we left off, I think."

Tristan looked up from his glass, slowly. "Sorry, what?"

"But I told you to take him back to their house."

"He's a wolf, he can handle it," Billy said, stubbornly. "We didn't think much of it."

"You left him outside. You were supposed to take him to the stupid witch's house. You know what's out there, don't you?" he gritted his teeth.

"Does it matter? I'm sure that he's fine, Alpha."

Tristan shook his head and sighed loudly, "He's a fucking kid, Billy. And I gave you clear-fucking-instructions. Why was it so hard not to follow them?"

"Jeez, I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd be so worked up about it," he said, pulling out a cigarette.

Tristan was annoyed and strode towards Billy, pulling the cigarette from his hand and throwing it on the carpet before stepping on it.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Tristan grabbed his collar.

"Me? What's gotten into you?" Billy asked, shocked by Tristan's reaction.

"We're going to go find him and you're driving," Tristan told him, letting his collar go and roughly tapping his finger on his chest, intimidatingly.

"What, seriously? It's not that safe for us out there." Billy said. "It's the middle of the night!"

Tristan stopped by the door, his back facing the wolves. He took a deep breath. "If he's dead, Billy. If that kid is dead because of you, I'll fuckin' kill you."

Billy looked at the others who appeared to be as surprised by his outburst, as he was. Billy knew exactly what they were thinking because he was thinking it, too. Their Alpha was losing it.

Tristan slammed the door and went upstairs to his bedroom. He closed the door behind him and walked towards his window, looking outside. It was useless though as there was nothing but a dense fog to see.

He walked back to his bed and kicked off his shoes. Sitting on the edge of the bed for a while, he let his frustration subside gradually. Everything he did yielded no results. The witch's lead was a dead one and he was sure he'd terminated any chance he ever had with his mate.

It was frustrating that even though he had refused her at first glance, he often found himself wishful thinking about her, too.

•

Freya mixed her porridge aimlessly, her eyes stuck to her mum who sat opposite her at the table. She was afraid to look away just in case she woke up and found it was all just a dream or if she disappeared again. It was warm outside which was a pleasant change for once.

"So you were a witch? Like them?"

Jennifer stayed silent, eating a spoonful of her porridge.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Freya continued. "Did Mrs. Jones know? Is that why she helped us? Is that how you knew one another?"

"I wasn't hiding anything from you, Freya. It just wasn't responsible of me to bring it up while you were growing up."

"You being a witch isn't a small thing, mum. You didn't think it was important to bring up when the smoke began?"

She didn't say anything.

"You didn't belong to a coven, did you?"

Jennifer half-smiled and shook her head, "I used to but I left it a very long time ago, Freya."