They Call Her Psycho

25. Love or Hate?

Flashes of the night before came crashing down on her as she ran barefoot through the corridors of the sleeping palace, her path lit only by the moonlight, the richly soft carpets muffling her footsteps. She could still feel the way his fingers traced her curves and his hot breath on her skin, she remembered his hands softly stroking her hair. She'd never dreamt that she would end up in the King of Werewolves' bed and as much as she knew it wouldn't end well, she didn't regret what happened that night one bit. It proved they were made for each other, the way she fit perfectly in his arms like two pieces of a puzzle, and he'd held her as if letting go would make his world fall apart. She just hoped he didn't regret it either.

She didn't think of herself as a coward. She'd lived through more pain and sadness than most people and not much scared her anymore. But his reaction to that night's events? That terrified her, and that meant she wasn't in control. So as always, she had done the one thing she knew to do when faced with unknown feelings. She'd run. She'd fled from his private wing in the palace and she'd avoided him all week. A task that was made considerably easier by the sheer size of the palace and the amount of rooms she could use to hide in if she saw him coming around the corner. If any had noticed her sudden aversion to the King, no one said a thing. That is no one other than the person who had intercepted her return to her room after her night with the King.

"Behold the infamous walk of shame!" said her brother Tiger, sitting in chair hidden by the shadows in the dark room.

She yelped in shock and slammed the door behind her suddenly.

"Aha busted!" Tiger said, turning on the lamp next to him, "don't you have anything to say for yourself?"

"F**k off," Tequila growled at him.

"But you see that wouldn't be in my best interest. So I'm sorry but no."

"What are you doing here Tiger? It's 5 am," she said fiddling with the shirt she'd taken from Xander's closet while he slept.

"Why I've been awaiting your return, dearest sister," he said smirking.

"And why is that?" she huffed.

"Because I would like to know about your crush on the King," his expression was becoming more and more smug.

"I do not have a crush on him," she said through clenched teeth.

"Then why do you look at him in that way?"

"Um well well I-I um I," her eyes darted around the room, desperate for something to use to change the conversation.

"Spit it out," Tiger's tone was mock-serious but she could tell this wasn't all a bit of fun; he was genuinely worried.

She inhaled deeply and perched on the edge of her bed. Dragging her eyes up to meet her brothers, she saw them soften in a way she hadn't seen in years.

"He's my mate." Her whisper seemed to echo in the silence for what felt like forever. She expected him to yell at her and call her a liar, or laugh and tell her to stop messing with him, or maybe even just walk out the room in disappointment. But the soft and concerned look in his eyes never left.

"Are you sure?" It was a stupidly hopeful question really, wolves don't make mistakes when it comes to finding their mates.

"What- of course I'm sure" she threw one of her pillows at him, "I wouldn't pretend to be mates with him of all people!"

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I hate him," she said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and perhaps to her it was.

Tiger simply raised an eyebrow at her curiously.

"He is rude, ill-tempered and callous. He's an a*sh*le. But above all he is engaged," she looked down at the pillow she hadn't realised she was crushing and threw it on the floor.