His Omega's Keeper

“Look, never mind,” I said, before Marcus could elaborate about the “problems” I might have around the full moon. I didn’t need anymore bizarre explanations of “Were biology” or “Heat Cycles.” I’d had enough of that weirdness to last a lifetime, thank you very much. “I’ll just grab a snack and go to bed early,” I told them.

At this, Jake—who had been looking at his phone this whole time—jerked his head up and studied me with narrowed eyes. I ignored him of course.

“Oh dear!” My mother’s hands fluttered again in agitation. “I’m sorry, Ani. You can go out and meet your friends again after the full moon is over—I promise you can, as long as you bring Branson with you.”

Branson was my bodyguard—Mr. Big, Bald, and Muscly, as my friends called him. Supposedly he was an Alpha Were too, though he didn’t have any Royal blood in his veins. Or at least, he didn’t have pure-gold eyes, which supposedly only “Royals” had.

“It’s fine,” I said coolly. “I’ll call Madison and Ashley and tell them I can’t go because it’s too near the full moon. I’m sure they won’t think I’m crazy or trying to ditch them at all.”

Nobody seemed to know what to say to my little jaunt into sarcasm land. Marcus frowned, my mother looked desperately unhappy, and Jake just kept staring at me, giving me that suspicious look from his pure-gold eyes, which looked so much better on him than on me.

“Ani—” my mother began at last, but I was already headed for my room.

“Would you ask the kitchen staff to send me a tray?” I asked, just as though I was used to having a staff, let alone a real kitchen—(for years mom and I made do with just a hotplate and a beaten-up old microwave)—to ask to send me food. “I’ll be in my room, keeping out of the moonlight.”

Of course, later on, after the tray had come up from the kitchen, I shut off the lights and got in bed. Then I waited until my mom came in to check on me—as she has every night since I was a baby.

She had come to my bedside and put a hand on my forehead—her hands were always cool and comforting to the touch.

For a moment, I felt guilty, but then I reminded myself that I was practically a prisoner here and that my mom was under the cultish influence of my crazy stepfather. I had every right to sneak out and see my friends. So I kept my eyes firmly closed, pretending to sleep.

“Oh, Ani,” I heard her say in a low voice, more to herself than me, since she thought I was sleeping. “Someday you might understand, but I hope that you don’t. I really, really hope you don’t have to, sweetheart.”

Then, with that cryptic remark, she shut my door and I knew she wouldn’t be back that night.

I had waited until it got all the way dark—thank goodness it was nearly winter so the Sun set early—and then crept out of bed. I stuffed pillows under the covers (a juvenile trick, I know, but also an effective one) and then put on my boots and jacket and shimmied out of the window. My room was on the second floor of the big old Antebellum mansion, but there was a conveniently placed trellis with ivy growing up it so I was able to get down without a problem.

My new Tesla—a “welcome to the Wulven family present” according to my stepfather, purred as quietly as a kitten as I started it up and drove to the other end of town to Mabel’s Diner (Sausage Biscuits, our Specialty!) to meet my friends.

And that was how I had finally gotten to see Madison and Ashley—only to disappoint them with the news that I couldn’t possibly go with them to Fort Lauderdale, where it was still warm and sunny, even in November, while everything was cold and gray in Virginia that time of year.

“It’s all right,” Ashley said, her normally bubbly voice going cold. “Madison and I understand if you can’t come, Ani. I mean, you can never come with us anymore. Maybe we should just stop asking.”

“No, please…” I felt my throat tighten. “Please don’t do that, Ashley. Please, you guys—I swear it’s not like that! I want to go with you—you know I do! Try to understand, it’s a family thing.”

“A family thing?” Madison raised one perfectly arched dark brown eyebrow. “As in, your fancy new family thinks you’re too good for us? They don’t want you seen with us?”

“That’s not it!” I protested. But the two of them were already getting up and leaving their money on the old-fashioned Formica table.

“We’ll talk to you later, Ani,” Ashley said. “Maybe we can get together after Thanksgiving or something. Maybe after Christmas.”