Page 287

Alaric Storm was having a bad day.

It had started the moment he woke up only to discover that Violet was missing from his side. She had left him for Asher. Then, to make matters worse, he nearly brought down their dilapidated rogue shack with a series of weird, borderline tragic incidents.

Alaric had blamed it on poor infrastructure, nothing more. He didn’t think too much of it and left, brushing the whole thing off.

But the moment he trudged through his front door, his mood already sour from the morning’s misadventures, that was when he realized the worst of the worst had only been lying in wait.

Alaric Storm didn’t know how it happened. One moment he was storming into the bathroom, the next—WHACK. He stubbed his toe hard on the threshold, the sharp, jarring pain shooting up his leg. He winced and clutched at the wall with a snarl.

What the fuck was all this bad luck today?!

Already annoyed, he gritted his teeth, endured the pain, and dragged himself into the bathroom to clean up. After all, he couldn’t forget the looks his pack members gave him when he returned to the North House covered in dust, bruises, and pure misery. Yeah. He caught their expressions.

He would’ve given himself the same look.

Standing naked in the bathroom, Alaric Storm reached for the tap and twisted it, expecting hot, satisfying water to come cascading down his god-like body.

But there was nothing. Not a single drop of water.

Alaric blinked, twisting it harder, but there was still nothing. God damn it! Had they used up the water and left nothing for him? It wasn’t impossible.

Annoyed, he stepped out, grabbing the nearest towel and slinging it across his hips. He’d just order someone to get the damn tanks refilled. Simple.

Except, as he strode into his room, he caught the sound of running water. And his sharp hearing didn’t lie.

Alaric spun around and marched straight back into the bathroom, except the sound stopped just seconds before he got there.

The shower was off completely, but the floor was wet. Like soaking wet, as if someone had just bathed in there.

What the heck? Was this a joke?... Or curse?

But Alaric shut the thought up before it could breathe. There was no such thing as a curse. He refused to believe that. This had to be bad plumbing.

From overnight? his inner voice chided. But Alaric squashed it with sheer will. He would not be made to believe he was cursed today or something.

He turned again and went back to his room. But just like the first time, there was the sound of water running again.

Alaric came back faster this time, his heart thudding, only to meet the same scene.

His jaw ticked.

"Alright. Who’s doing this?" he asked, just in case someone was secretly playing a prank on him. But there was only dead silence.

He scanned the room. Empty.

The air had the faint scent of ozone as his powers reacted to his mood, but Alaric clamped it down before sparks flew. He wasn’t in control, and near a water source? He’d end up electrocuting himself.

"Alright," he growled, speaking to the invisible menace messing with him, "You want games? Let’s play."

This time, he didn’t leave completely. He hid just behind the bathroom wall, counting the seconds like a predator waiting to pounce.

He waited ten seconds. Fifteen. Then swooped in. But nothing happened. There was no sound of water running, and the ground was as wet as before.

Alaric Storm knew at that moment he was officially being fucked with.

But he waited patiently. Repeating the same move. Once. Twice. Four goddamn times. And each time, nothing happened.

Alaric finally blew out a frustrated breath and dragged his hand down his face. Fuck. He needed to stop imagining shit.

Then he stormed out, determined to handle the water crisis once and for all. But barely had he stepped out of earshot when—SSHHHHHHHHH. The sound of running water echoed through the bathroom like mocking laughter.

Alaric snarled. "Are you fucking kidding me?! Who the fuck do you think you’re playing with?!"

He stomped back in, ready to rip the damn showerhead off the wall and fling it across the building.

But misfortune, it seemed, was ready for him.

Alaric forgot the water on the floor, and the moment his foot hit the slick tile, he slipped. And it was the full-on, legs-in-the-air, towel-abandoning, back-breaking slip.

And just when one would think it was over, it wasn’t. Because the moment his bare back kissed the floor with the breath knocked out of him and the shower came alive. Full blast, icy water poured down on him with all the gentleness of a monsoon. Note the sarcasm.

"FUUUUUCKKK!" Alaric howled, sputtering, gurgling, slipping again as he tried to crawl away like a newborn deer on ice.

When Alaric finally managed to turn off the possessed shower by what he could only describe as sheer dumb luck, it was safe to say he was officially on the brink of madness.

He stood there, dripping wet, lips blue from the cold, muscles trembling, not from fear, but from unfiltered, white-hot rage.

So he stormed into his room, naked and fuming.

"FUCK THIS DAY!"

He barely finished the scream before a lightning bolt shot from his palm, striking the innocent decorative pillow on his couch.

BOOM.

The pillow caught fire immediately, flames licking greedily through the fabric.

Alaric’s eyes widened. "Oh no..."

He rushed to smother it, but instead of dying down, the fire spread. In the twinkle of an eye, the curtains caught, the rug followed, and suddenly his room was turning into a live barbecue.

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuuuuuuck!"

Panic now firmly overriding his pride, Alaric did the one thing he never thought he’d do.

He ran out stark naked.

Storming down the hallway like a madman, he shouted, "SOMEONE GET WATER! FIRE! IT’S A FUCKING FIRE!"

It was instant chaos. His pack members stormed in seconds later, putting out the blaze with bucket of waters while carefully pretending not to look at their very naked, very unhinged Alpha.

By the time the smoke cleared and the flames died, Alaric stood in the middle of the mess with hollow eyes.

And finally, Alaric Storm believed he was cursed.