"I'm a psycho at the bottom of the pack, and you're a warrior built to kill. Isn't it a weird mix?"
He shrugs, a wicked grin plastered to his face.
"I think it's the perfect mix."
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*Completed *
Klepto is a werewolf, an...
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Klepto POV
I stare at my little pale toes through the darkness as they brush the hardwood floors underneath me. Looking over my shoulder, I silently watch my mate as he rests, his chest rising and falling slowly.
He looks so peaceful, and I envy him.
Flipping the covers off of my lap, I stand up and silently walk to the door, trying not to let my feet make too much noise in the creaky house.
My mind has been racing all night, and I've been tossing and turning trying to fall asleep, but just can't. My body won't let me rest, so I am up to get a drink to cool myself off.
There are so many things going on, it's overwhelming at times to wrap my brain around it all.
The influx of people in the house is intimidating to say the least, while I enjoy Stacey, Miranda, and Savannah's company, I still feel sick at the thought of vampires lurking in the building somewhere, like they could strike at any second.
Not to mention the royal male himself who is just down the hall. He is just downright terrifying.
I make my way down the stairs slowly but surely, looking around into the shadows and keeping all of my senses on high alert as I move.
I know Ezra has been around vampires, and that he somehow knows and trusts Alpha Veiler, but I can't help but have some nerves at the idea of the strangers here.
While I'm glad to make friends, I can't quite relax fully. I'm not used to people actually being nice to me, and don't understand how to trust or be close to someone.
Everyone betrays me at some point in time.
I slip into the kitchen, eyeing the door to the basement with suspicion. It's closed, but I can't help but think the Scottish vampire couple are out and about in the night.
I shiver while I grab a glass, trying not to drop it. I silently fill it with water, sipping at it while I lean against the counter.
Checking the clock on the oven, I'm not exactly surprised to see it's 3:11AM. I need sleep desperately, and I doubt a glass of water will aid me in that.
Making my way back upstairs, I take my time, taking advantage of my journey to stretch my legs. After going up the stairs, I walk down the hallway and stop abruptly when I hear something.
A growl, low and mean. It comes from behind a door, the door to the room that holds the King.
Fear sizzles up my spine like a bolt of lightning, warning me to move on and mind my own damn business. I should know when to make myself scarce and when to confront something head on.
