Page 8 of Chained By the Alpha (Claimed Duet #1)

I turn around to find Zayn standing there, now wearing a pair of shorts.

“You looked cold,” he says gruffly.

“Thank you,” I whisper, pulling the blanket tighter around me.

“Doesn’t your father ever get sick of yelling at people?” he mutters, and I chuckle.

“Apparently not,” I sigh, knowing I will have to listen to him rant all the way home.

“Are you going to leave my pack defenseless?” I ask, chewing my lip, and he scratches his chin. “I will work out something with your father. Don’t you worry about it,” he says, and I am about to ask another question when I hear my name being called.

“Cleo!” Another voice calls out, and I look over to see Deacon rushing toward me from the club next door. The relief on his face is evident as he wraps me in a hug, nearly squeezing the life out of me.

“Thank God, you’re okay! I’ve been trying to reach you. Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

I glance back at Zayn, remembering he took my phone only to catch him glaring at Deacon. I clear my throat, wondering what has gotten into him. He looks at me and then seems to come to his senses but then snaps at me.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I left your phone in my pants, which were destroyed while I was saving you!”

I blink at him, not expecting such a harsh reply.

Honestly, I wasn’t going to ask him at all because I knew there was no way he had my phone now. Not after the constant shifting and fighting.

“You must be Alpha Zayn. I’ve heard about you. I’m Deacon, Cleo’s mate,” Deacon says, holding out his hand to Zayn. Zayn, however, growls at his gesture.

“I highly doubt that, she isn’t even old enough to recognize her mate yet,” Zayn rumbles, but Deacon is oblivious to his anger.

“Well, not yet, obviously. We plan to mate and mark each other once she is of age,” Deacon adds, and Zayn’s gaze flicks to me. His eyes flicker, and I take a step back from him, bumping into Deacon at the feral look he gives me.

“Is that so?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

I suddenly don’t know how to answer the question. Was it a question? Why is he so angry?

The interaction is thankfully interrupted by the sound of my name being called again. “Cleo!”

This time, it’s Dad. “I thought I told you to get in the car!” he commands. “Deacon, hands off!” my father snaps at him as he approaches us. I pull on the handle to show him the car is locked.

“I wasn’t disobeying. Last I checked, Dad, I’m a werewolf, not a ghost; I can’t walk through solid objects,” I retort.

He glares at me but then hits the button on the fob. “We’ll see if you’re so smart when we get home and you find yourself grounded.”

“I’m nineteen!” I growl at him. I was so excited the first time I growled. I remember it fondly. Roughly a year ago, Lydia and I were fighting (what else is new?). I startled both of us when I did it. However, Dad seems unimpressed with me using it against him right now.

“Under my roof, it doesn’t matter if you’re five or fifty. What I say goes!” he snaps, opening his door and climbing in. I see Lydia smirking as she walks to her mother’s car, and Deacon quickly hugs me.

“New club opens up tomorrow,” he whispers.

“I’m grounded, didn’t you hear?” I ask him.

“Never stopped you before.” He pecks me on the lips, but I push him away, worried Dad may have seen.

Deacon gives me a wink. He holds up two hands, indicating with his fingers to meet him at 7 PM.

I nod before turning to climb in the car, where I know I’ll have to endure my father’s wrath, only to spot Zayn storming away.

The entire drive home, I listen to my father rant about how the rogue attack was all Alpha Zayn’s fault, and that the Council meeting should never have been held in the same place every month.

This brings my thoughts back to border patrols; if my father isn’t allowing Alpha Zayn’s men near our borders, we’ll be sitting ducks.

“Are you not going to allow Alpha Zayn’s men to patrol our borders?” I ask him, and he glances at me.

“He is not coming near our pack,” he snaps, and I shake my head.

“We don’t have enough people to watch the borders, especially near the forest edge. We need him!” I snap back. The house lights reflect in the windshield of my father’s SUV as we arrive home. It’s a large two-story house on the outskirts of the city, yet the suburb it is in is huge.

My father’s eyes narrow. “We don’t need him, and you will not tell me what I can and cannot do, Cleo.”

My father’s face is scarlet red, his eyes are bulging, and his fists are balled.

“Yes, we do,” I mutter.

“No, we don’t. And you do not question me on this. You are not Alpha, and you do not make decisions for our pack!”

I press my lips in a line. He is being ridiculous. All this because his ego is hurt over god knows what. Apparently, that is reason enough to put the entire pack at risk.

I climb out of the car and quickly make my way to the front door, wanting to get away from my father. I was so close to getting a chance to voice my opinion, but he just shut me down as usual. I take a deep breath in and out, trying not to let his words get to me.

However, when I reach the door, I stop in surprise. It’s not just my father here; the pack doctor is waiting for us, too.

“Cleo, dear, your father, he mindlinked me. He said you’re hurt?” He looks me over, and his eyes widen at my leg before he pushes me into the house.

“It’s stopped bleeding now. I’m fine,” I tell him. Doc shakes his head, leading me into the kitchen.

“Sit!” he tells me, and I move toward the table, pulling out a chair obligingly. Doc grabs scissors, cutting my pants to get to my leg when my father walks in. He glances at my leg, his face paling with worry.

“Seriously, Joseph, you should have taken her straight to the hospital; if she were human, she would be dead with how much blood she has lost.”

My father fumbles for a response. “I didn’t realize it was that bad. She never said anything,” he blubbers out, and Doc shakes his head.

“How is the pain?” he asks, and I shrug, not wanting to give Dad more reason to be angry, though his temper seems to dim a little.

A few moments later, Lydia and Linda arrive home.

Lydia is talking excitedly about the ball next door.

I roll my eyes. Seriously? How much more selfish could she get?

We have more pressing issues, and she is gushing about some poor soul she’ll use until she has no use for him.

My father cuts them both a glare as they enter the kitchen.

Linda looks at me, and her eyes take in my injured leg before the fake blubbering waterworks start.

Linda’s highpitched squeal of horror sounds like that of a dying cat.

She rushes over, pretending not to be the conniving bitch I know she is.

I swat her fussing hands away as she tries to embrace me.

“I’m fine,” I tell her, not interested in putting up with her theatrics and her crocodile tears.

“Linda, I need to stitch her up,” Doc says as I hiss in pain when the needle pierces my skin.

He presses gauze against the wound while pulling the thread through, stitching me back together again until, finally, it’s done.

He then moves onto my arm where there is another cut that needs stitches, too.

Even though they are painful for a moment, Doc’s experienced hands work fast enough to get them done quickly so that it’s not too bad.

“Take these, and they’ll help with the pain.

Try to stay off your leg for a few days.

” “Thanks, Doc,” I say, standing and accepting the medication.

“Bring her by next week, and I will remove the stitches provided she doesn’t reopen it. No training, and she needs to try not to tear them open again,” Doc tells my father. I take that as my excuse to head to the bathroom.

Climbing the stairs, I hiss with every step, feeling the stitches tugging slightly. Once on the landing, I retrieve a towel from the linen cupboard and move toward the bathroom.

Once inside, I strip off and hobble to the shower.

As I wash, the soap burns my skin, yet it feels good to get all the gunk and grime off me.

As soon as I am clean, I grab the pill box Doc gave me and read the instructions.

Popping two pills in my mouth, I swallow them down with water before heading to my bedroom.

I gingerly crawl into bed, and my stitches tug at my skin as I move about. I pull the blanket over myself and grimace as a sharp pain shoots up my leg. The pain is almost unbearable. I remember the talk with my father and his refusal to allow Alpha Zayn’s men near our borders.

Despite the pain medication, I toss and turn. My mind revolves around rogue attacks, specifically the day I found my mother dead in the kitchen. It makes me wonder why my father would risk us again like that, knowing the damage more attacks can cause.

Restless, I stare at the ceiling, which seems to be oscillating, the drugs finally kicking in.

My eyelids droop, and my thoughts float away.

Maybe it’s time to take things into my own hands.

As the room fades, I remind myself to speak with Alpha Zayn; I have to try to convince him to keep his men along our borders somehow, but what can I offer him in return?

Before I can decide, the pain meds take hold completely.

Despite tonight’s events and the worry that is plaguing me, I drift off into a deep sleep where nothing can touch me, not even my father’s orders or Linda’s plotting schemes.

She may make out I’m hers, but I remember the way she treated my mother.

Sometimes I get a smug satisfaction knowing that no matter how long my mother has been gone, every day she still has to see her face through me.

The next day