Who? | The Dhampir (Book Two)

I

A/N: You're reading the second book of the series.

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Am I really the Alpha?

"Are you still listening to me?" Clarkson's words cut my thoughts. My left-hand fixes my plugged wireless earphones.

"Yes, yes, Mr. Bailey," I say and chuckle. My feet hurriedly walk around the room while my hand is holding a mug of hot chocolate.

"Aunt Liz told me that your apartment should be clean before we leave," he reminds me.

"I wiped the counter three times this morning. Plus, I vacuumed for like every 30 minutes just to make sure that she'd let me. Aren't those enough? Huh, Mr. Bailey?" I ask and gather all the clothes I'll bring next week on the bed. Lazily, I sit at the center of the bed. "Besides, I'm not a kid anymore!"

"Quit calling me Mr. Bailey!" he whines. "I sound like an old man," I can imagine his pink lips forming a slight pout.

"Alright," a smile forms across my lips. I roll my clothes neatly, just like what I've watched on YouTube, and put it in my luggage. "Mr. Bailey," I tease.

"We'll stay there until you are ready. Don't worry. Werewolves won't bite, okay?" he chuckles.

Yeah, right.

I roll my eyes.

"So, I'll be spending my Christmas break in the Werewolf village?" I stand up. The soles of my feet quickly shuffle downstairs.

"What's a Christmas?"

"Oh, right. You didn't know," my hand reaches for potato chips. "Let's go out later. I'll show you what Christmas is," I go up to continue packing my things.

"Okay."

"What if I'll never be ready?" I stop halfway through rolling my jeans. A few strands of my hair fall loosely on my forehead from my messy bun.

"That's impossible," he answers. "It's not that hard to be in our school. Drawing a real sword with a pen is way harder than slashing a real pen with a sword."

I scoff, "As if it's only about slashing a pen with weapons." My tired hands continue to roll my clothes. I've been cleaning this whole day. I haven't eaten properly. But the emptiness of my stomach contradicts my mind, which is full of thoughts and questions.

What will my tomorrow be like?

Will I be able to fulfill this responsibility?

Why does it have to be me?

Silence.

Clarkson doesn't speak, but he doesn't hang up.