Chapter 26

Prue

The car ride to school was, well, hell. I sucked in one big breath and tried to hold it, praying I could last the entire trip without inhaling that intoxicating scent of his. Spoiler alert: I couldn’t. I tried to use superhealing to ease the burning feeling in my lungs.

If your heart goes into cardiac arrest, that’s on you, you stupid duck, my wolf snapped, irritated.

I’m a werewolf, you stupid wolf, I retorted back, exhaling in what was supposed to be silent control but came out as a very obvious sigh. Andrew shot me a side-eye, like he was debating whether I was insane. Honestly? Let him.

Every lungful of his scent was torture. That rugged comfort of fire smoke and pine trees was like a sin crawled under my skin, lighting me up in ways I absolutely didn’t ask for. Annoying didn’t even cover it.

I mashed the window button down, and cold air blasted into the car, whipping my hair into a wild mess. I tried taming it, pointlessly shoving strands behind my ears, before just giving up. Whatever. Freezing my face off was still better than breathing in him. At least frostbite didn’t make me want to climb into someone’s lap. Besides my wolf will warm me up enough to survive.

The second he half-parked, I had already launched myself out the door, practically sprinting across the lawn to put as much distance as possible between me and temptation incarnate. Survival mode: activated.

It was day three of this charming new routine: Andrew driving me to school, me dodging him like the plague all day, Dad pushing me through brutal training in the afternoon, and then Andrew chauffeuring me again to the packhouse like some twisted Uber driver. And every single ride with him? Pure agony. Honestly, I’d trade it for a week of root canals cleaning without anesthesia.

Because here’s the thing – when you loathe someone’s guts so deeply they might as well be a worm writhing in sewage, it is so unfair that your body still salivates every time that same worm sits next to you, breathing, existing. I refused to even look at his face anymore. The few times I did, my brain went into statue mode – completely frozen, hypnotized, as if observing some god-like, sculpted marvel was my only purpose in life. Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting.

---

“I mean, I’ve heard this rumor, but I need confirmation. Is it true Andrew drives you to school?” Kate leaned in, a deep frown etched across her broad forehead, her eyes narrowing with that puzzled look she always wore when gossip didn’t immediately add up.

I rolled my eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t stick that way. “Yes. My father arranged it. I live with Andrew’s family now. Since they’re out in the sticks and I don’t have a car, Andrew gets the honor of driving me.”

My tone was annoyed, face wry, but their faces lit up like I’d announced I was dating a celebrity.

“You knew his family before?” Christina asked.

“No.” I shook my head lightly.

“Then what kind of arrangement…?” Kate narrowed her eyes, suspicion written all over her.

I sighed. “Some bullshit story. Even I don’t buy it. But since I’m technically still a minor, I’ve got to listen to dear old Dad.”

Sarcasm laced every word.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I added quickly, grimacing. “It’s already bad enough I want to puke every time I see Andrew’s face.” I didn’t want to lie, but spilling the truth was off the table too, so…I hovered in that messy in-between.

Kate raised a brow. “No, no, no. Not buying it. You’re going to spill everything. All the details. Right now.”

Ugh. Why did we ever make that stupid “share every secret” pact in the first place?

“My dad got a new project,” I improvised smoothly. “Means he works late. And apparently, it’s not ‘safe’ for a teenager girl to stay home alone every evening. So since he does business with Andrew’s dad, they agreed I’ll live there. Temporarily.” Just enough detail to hold together, but not so much that anyone could poke holes in it. Almost believable – if you didn’t look too closely.

“WHAT?!” Rose squeaked loud enough to draw stares.

“Right?” I slumped forward, thudding my forehead against the table. “Even I don’t believe that’s the real reason I’m kicked out of my own home. It’s pathetic. I hate it. I hate every single minute of it.”

And that, at least, was one hundred percent true.

---

After another grueling training session with Dad (seriously, I think he’s punishing me for not telling him I found my mate) and another suffocating car ride with Andrew, I was more than ready to throw myself face-first into bed. Shower first, though, because gross.

Dad didn’t even let me shower at home, all because ‘your mate has arrived, let’s not make him wait.’ Ugh – puke. He should be waiting hours while I take my sweet time getting ready. Honestly, isn’t that what he was born for? I sneered inwardly, though of course I was too much of a chicken to say it out loud. No point in straining my relationship with Dad over that dou.che.

I was toweling my hair when a soft knock echoed on my door. Definitely, not Andrew – he’d sooner rattle the door off its hinges than bother knocking politely. Curious, I peeked through the crack. A petite female wolf stood there, timid smile, omega scent clinging to her.

“Hello,” she said gently. “The Alpha asked me to show you your laundry duties.”

Oh. Right. I hadn’t actually started that yet.

“Yeah, sure. Give me three minutes.” I closed the door, zipped into comfy clothes with wolf-speed, threw my damp hair in a messy bun, and reopened with my best polite smile.

“Lead the way.”

She nodded, smiling back.

“So, the laundry room’s down in the basement – classic, right? Honestly, it’s kind of cramped down there, like the walls are plotting to squash you. I don’t really do small spaces, gives me the creeps, so I avoid it whenever I can. But, you know, Alpha’s orders and all that, so here I am.”

“What’s your job?” I asked as we walked.

“I cook food for those who eat at the packhouse.” Lucky.

The laundry room was stuffed with machines. Ten of them. My little guide explained everything – detergents, softeners, special cycles for delicate fabrics, blah blah blah.

“So, all the machines have built-in dryers. Every once in a while someone brings in something super delicate, and those we dry on the racks instead. But honestly, that almost never happens – we’ve only got two racks, which tells you how rare it is.” She explained in her soft and chirpy voice.

“We work the laundry in shifts – day shift and night shift. You’ll be on nights. Don’t worry, it’s not like you have to sit here until sunrise. You just need to handle whatever piles come in during the evening, get them washed and dried, and that’s it. As far as I’ve heard night shift’s not so bad – usually quieter, less people breathing down your neck” She kept spilling details I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted cluttering my brain.

“Got it.”

She chirped a quick “Have fun!” and vanished, leaving me in what might as well have been a laundromat. I sighed, glancing around. Well, work isn’t going to do itself, is it? Might as well get moving. I tried to pep myself up into action mode.

Within seconds, I had baskets dumped on the floor, piles color-coded, and machines loaded at wolf speed. Rainbow laundry explosion. Easy.

Yeah, of course I found a pile of Andrew’s mess somewhere in the chaos. I could recognize that obnoxious smell anywhere, even from a mile away, even if it was just a stray cap lying on the floor. Ugh, so annoying. Instead of burying my face in it like some oxygen-deprived diver, I shoved everything straight into a machine – no color coding, thank you very much. Honestly, he’d probably farted there too – might’ve even leaked a little diarrhea into his boxers. Disgusting pig.

Then I noticed the detergents. Cheap, toxic, carcinogenic junk. “Seriously?” I muttered, pouring them in with a grimace. “Who even buys this anymore?”

My wolf huffed. Rich pack, poor sense.

“Yeah, no kidding.” I set cycles, slammed lids. Added the drying program too while rolling my eyes. “Wasteful. All this electricity when sunlight and rope do the job for free. Classic rich-wolf mentality. ‘Oh, I can afford it, it’s nothing.’ Sure, until every drop adds up and we’re all choking on pollution.”

By the time the machines were spinning, I had already decided: I was going to have a little chat with Alpha Daddy. And maybe string some laundry lines out back where no one would notice. If they thought they could turn me into the Packhouse Laundress, fine. But I’d do it my way.

And no, it doesn’t even matter that it was technically my choice. I was forced to live here, trapped in their world, breathing their air, and pretending it’s okay. But it’s not. Not even close.