chapter 18

Tali's POV

I wake instantly the next morning when Dayne rips the covers off my body, blinding me with the harsh white light from the lamp beside me. And although I squeeze my eyes tight, I swear I can still see the light.

"Why aren't you up already? It's six. The pack will be here in less than thirty minutes and they'll be expecting to find breakfast on the table."

It's a battle to pry my eyelids open. Any time I'm awake before nine has been to flip my pillow over to the cool side, stumble to the toilet before crawling back under the sheets, or to burrow deeper to seek more warmth in winter.

And since Uncle never particularly cared when all the chores got done, as long as I did them well, it wasn't like I had to be up early ever. That and he wasn't an early riser either. None of my pack were.

"I'm heading to town. I wouldn't even think about running if I were you."

Although I hear Dayne's words, it's taking far longer than it should for them to penetrate my semi-awake consciousness.

Breakfast for the pack in thirty minutes?

I understand the words but they don't make sense to me. Not yet, anyway. Not when my brain is still back in a dreamland where Dayne finishes what he started in the forests, and where instead of his finger sliding deep inside me, it's his cock.

A low growl warns me my lack of attention has been noticed and I snap my eyes open.

Dayne is standing at the foot of the bed, his eyes locked on me with intense focus.

As if he were just waiting for me to open my eyes, he spins around and starts for the bedroom door. It's only then I wake up enough to see he's up and showered and dressed, all before six in the morning.

There must be something wrong with him. It's not normal for someone to be up that early, and look, well… awake.

Seeing that my opportunity to find out what's going on is about to walk out the door, I scoot down the bed and scramble to my feet.

"But, I I don't I've never cooked breakfast before."

At the door, Dayne pauses before he spins around to face me. For a second his gaze dips to take in my bare legs, exposed by my t-shirt. "Are you telling me no?"

His question is mild, and he gazes back at me with a completely neutral expression. An expression I don't trust at all. Retreating back a step, I shake my head no.

I have no idea if such a person exists who would dare say no to Dayne Blackshaw, a shifter with a reputation even though I, who rarely left my pack, heard about him. But whoever that person is, it certainly isn't me.

He turns to leave again, and it kills me to speak up, but I have to. Because I can't go another day in one of his t-shirts. And I'm getting pretty sick of him flinging his clothes at me, much like he did last night before he disappeared.

I still don't know when or even if he came up to bed since I had a shower and fell into bed, crashing soon after.

"Can I…" Immediately, my words trail off when Dayne swings back around.

"What?" he snaps.

I swallow. "I don't have…" Pausing to clear my throat, I stare at his bearded chin since I can't bring myself to meet his gaze, "anything to wear. Can I borrow some "

"In there." He jerks his head toward a chest of drawers, and before I can even ask him which drawer or what I can borrow, he disappears through the bedroom door, slamming it shut behind him.

For a long moment, I can do nothing but stare at it, waiting to see if he'll come back.

"I'd get a fucking move on if I were you. You have twenty minutes."

Jumping, I get to the chest of drawers and yank the first one open, before I freeze, staring down at the clothes. Then I close it and open the next, and the next, repeating the action until I've examined the contents of each of the five drawers.

"It doesn't make sense," I mutter to myself.

Why would Dayne have a chest of drawers full of women's clothes?

Glancing over at the closed bedroom door, I hear him taking the stairs two at a time before I return my focus to the clothes in the drawers.

At random, I pull one open and take out a long sleeve white t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Raising both to my nose, though it's unnecessary, I wonder if the faint female scent I'm picking up means the clothes belong to the beautiful blonde Dayne was talking to last night.

It wouldn't surprise me if it was her.

I take in the labels on the clothes. Frame denim skinny blue jeans and a Rag & Bone jersey top. I've heard of the brands from gossip magazines some of the pack used to leave lying around the house. But even if I didn't know the clothes in my hands are high-end, then the feel of them would've clued me in.

I've never worn anything this expensive before, and never dreamed I ever would. Since I lived in ripped Walmart jeans and either black or khaki t-shirts, I expected to be wearing much the same here.

Even the underwear I see, lace panties, and matching bralettes and bras are expensive: Victoria's Secret. The thought of wearing someone else's panties especially expensive ones makes me wince.

Well, whoever the clothes belong to, she won't be wanting them back.

Not that I can blame her.

What's strange is everything, at first glance anyway, is a size four. My size. Everything looks like it'll fit. Except for the bras which are smaller, or rather my boobs are bigger than they should be for my body size. So, leaving them in the drawer, I snatch up the jeans, panties, and t-shirt before I pause.

Cooking is not going to go cleanly. I don't need a crystal ball to tell me that. The last thing I want to do is stain high-end clothes with bacon grease and whatever else I decide to cook for breakfast, regardless of who the clothes belong to.

So, after pulling a drawer open, I replaced the white t-shirt with a black one. Then, remembering how little time I have to shower, dress, and make breakfast, I run for the bathroom.