Five Weeks (Seven Series #3)

“You got pretty hair,” I heard an angelic voice say.

 

Something in my brain switched on, and I remembered I wasn’t at home. My wolf instantly submitted to the sound of a child’s voice. This was Ivy’s house. I peered out from the pillow and glanced over my left shoulder. A young girl with sparkling blue eyes sat behind me, her tousled blond hair tumbling past her shoulders. She had on a bright pink shirt with a wide collar that had slipped off her shoulder, and her fingernails glittered with purple nail polish.

 

“I wish I had hair like this,” she said, holding up a strand.

 

I smiled and rolled over, the covers tucked beneath my arms. “And I wish I had dimples like yours. I’m Izzy. And who is this pretty little face brightening my morning?”

 

She giggled, and I noticed a missing bottom tooth. “I’m Maizy. We both got Zs in our name.”

 

“We sure do. I think your hair is much prettier than mine. Want to trade?”

 

Maizy smiled and touched my wild hair again. It had picked up a wave from all the tossing and turning. Against the white sheets, it looked like a blaze of fire.

 

“My mom wants to know if you’re hungry.”

 

“Did she send you in here?”

 

“No. She asked Miss Ivy, so I decided to come ask you myself. They’re in the kitchen making lunch.”

 

I leaned around and looked for a clock. “What time is it, honey?”

 

“Noon o’clock,” she said with a smile.

 

I sat up and rubbed my face. “I need to go. Tell your mommy not to worry about fixing me anything to eat. I’m going to take a shower and then I have to leave. It was nice meeting you, Maizy.”

 

She leapt off the bed and her wide collar pulled down in the back, revealing some of her shoulder blade. I caught a glimpse of a birthmark and watched as she scrambled to fix her shirt. “Oops. You weren’t supposed to see that,” she said, her cheeks flushed.

 

“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” I said with a curious smile. Human children were so endearing.

 

Her worry evaporated, and she swung open the door. “Nice to meet you, Miss Izzy.”

 

After the door closed, I snatched my clothes off the floor and wrapped a throw around me so I could hunt for the bathroom.

 

I checked two rooms in the hall before I found it. I slammed the door and took a quick pee while waiting for the shower to get hot. Then I began rifling through the cabinets in search of towels. I needed to get moving and find a motel—hopefully one that would accept a late payment.

 

After I rushed through a hot shower and shut the water off, I remained in the tub and dried my legs with a hand towel because it was all I could find. They must have had a linen closet in the hall where they stored the big towels, unless they just walked around naked.

 

When I heard the door open and close, I stood paralyzed with fear. Through the frosted shower curtain, I watched a shadow move to the left and lift up the toilet seat.

 

Oh. My. God.

 

I wasn’t used to locking bathroom doors and must have forgotten. This was embarrassing. It was past the point I could say anything since they were already unzipping. I touched the towel to my hair so the water droplets wouldn’t tap against the tub.

 

I covered my eyes until he finished, and when the toilet flushed, I blew out a quiet breath of relief. Then I heard the sound of pants dropping on the floor and someone getting naked.

 

Very naked.

 

The kind of naked you get before taking a shower.

 

Eek!

 

My eyes went wide, and the little hand towel would only cover one private area of my body, so I chose the southern hemisphere. Before he could tear open the curtain, I grabbed the end and blurted out, “Occupied!”

 

Silence followed for what seemed like eons.

 

“Occupied? What the fuck?”

 

The curtain tugged, and I gripped tighter. “Don’t you dare come in here!”

 

“Who the hell is in there?”

 

When the curtain moved to the left, I screamed. It was a shrill scream—the kind heard in horror movies. While I had no problem with nudity, I had a real problem being naked with a stranger in a confined space.

 

The door kicked in and someone entered the room.

 

“What’s going on?” another man said in a deep voice. I got butterflies in my stomach and knew it was the Packmaster.

 

“Don’t look at me. I sing tenor, not soprano. I thought the last person finished up in here. Who the fuck is that?”

 

I peered around the edge of the curtain, my wet hair dripping as the cold began to make me shiver. To the right stood a fierce man with dark tattoos inked on his shoulders and upper arms. Like me, he didn’t have a shirt on, and a medallion glimmered against his chest. He had dark hair and the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.