NICHOLAS (old version)

chapter three: jealous

He didn't speak to me. I think he could sense my anger during the car ride, my frustration. I sat there, my hands balled into fists, wishing I had the strength to do something. 

I wasn't weak, or small. I wasn't some frail child. I was the youngest of three, I knew how to hold my own in a fight, and I knew how to knock someone out with one punch. But, by nature, I wasn't built for fighting. I was five-foot-four, scrawny rather than lean. I had glasses and a low pain tolerance.

But I couldn't cry to mommy that Candy was pulling my hair anymore. I was in the real world, and I wasn't ready.

Hours passed as we rolled along the roads, twisting and turning, Through cities, towns, woods. Eventually, we rolled up to a massive house that I knew must have belonged to Nicholas. And now, I fancied, me by extension.

I eyed everything warily as the car slowed to a stop, the driver shutting it off and getting out. Bodies began to file out of the front doors, and I felt my jaw clench as one female after another trailed outside. There were males as well, but the ratio seemed to be five-to-one, and my instincts kicked in. My hands gripped Nicholas', the heat running up my arm and through my body, and he glanced at me, a brow quirked.

"If I can't mark you, you can't be possessive." He said with a shrug, though didn't pull away. His very touch felt good, it dampened the need I felt, and I knew it must feel similar to him. He opened the door and slid out, and I did my best to keep up with him, taking two steps to match one of his. Shock was written on every gaze as they watched us, watched me.

I could sense their thoughts. I couldn't read minds, nothing close, but it was written on their faces. Nicholas had a mate. She's a juvenile. She's a tiny little thing, she isn't Alpha material. I saw jealousy  painted on a few faces, and that made something inside of me burn hot and angry. Nicholas was twenty-six; after a certain point, men just stopped waiting. Maybe she was dead or mated to someone else, but after a few years, it was easy to lose hope.

I tried not to blame him. But as a female approached, her smile friendly, I felt the urge to mark him. To sink my teeth in the first flesh I could and call dibs. I didn't though; I held my pride and what little morals I had anymore together, and I resisted.

"Congrats Nicky!" She squealed as she neared, jumping to hug him. He caught her small body with one hand, my hands still holding the other, and that was when I snapped.

A growl tore through my throat, angry and animalistic, and I felt myself begin to lower, ready to pounce - when I caught her scent. Maple trees and honey. She resembled him, the same dark hair, the same fair skin, eyes green rather than black.

She was his sister.

Before I could fully process this fact, she was on the ground and he stood in front of her, blocking me. He tightened his grip on my hand, his gaze warning, like a father to a pup. "Calm the fuck down." He said, tone low, and I felt guilt and shame pulse through me. I'd almost attacked his kin. I hadn't controlled myself, and I knew I should have. But I didn't say these things, suddenly feeling far more stubborn.

"You beat the shit out of my family for defending me." I said, crossing my arms, feeling the corners of my lips begin to turn up at the start of a snarl. "Sorry if I went a little wolfy when some girl came and pounced on you. From the looks of it, you've fucked half the females in this pa-"

I was cut short when he moved forward, hands gripping my hips and tossing me over his shoulder. I gasped, the breath thoroughly knocked out of me, and before I knew it I was pounding on his back, my legs flailing. Anger radiated off of him like a furnace, and I knew I'd embarrassed him. That wasn't an argument that should have happened in public. But part of me was glad that I'd pissed him off; a taste of his own medicine.