Tutoring the Alpha

Chapter Twenty-Two: By the Light of the Moon

         Dear Diary,

Mickey is a werewolf. Mr. Ashe is a werewolf. Cute Bartender Hero is a werewolf. I hallucinated that Sabrina was a werewolf, too.

Am I going crazy?

Sam says I’m not. Sam’s theory is that I’m overworked, overstressed, and overly-fatigued, and that’s why my mind has been messing with me. And as much as I want to believe him, I can’t help but fear that I really am losing my mind. So much has happened in the past few weeks. I can hardly even remember back to three months ago, when I didn’t even know Mickey Lafitte. Well, I always “knew” him, but I didn’t really know him. I didn’t know who he was...or what he was.

Mickey Lafitte is a werewolf. A monster. A killer. A liar.

But yet...I fear I’m the crazy one.

        “Benny?” 

“Yeah?” My head shot up, the journal sliding from my lap and onto the mattress beside me as I looked up to meet Mickey’s hot gaze. His blue-gray eyes were fixated on my diary, and I hurriedly closed it up and jumped off the bed, an irrational current of panic shooting through my chest at his interest in my diary. I’d been keeping a diary since I was eleven years old, when my mom had worried that my lack of friends or any observable social skills meant that I would fall into depression and end up a damaged, closed-off teenager. Too bad that didn’t work out. Over the years, my passages had begun to sound less like a report of what I did that day and more like a running commentary from my psyche, and I often looked back on what I read to help me get my life situated. It rarely worked.

        Sliding off the bed, I adjusted the black sweatpants I was wearing, suddenly struck with self-consciousness as Mickey’s eyes roved over my attire. No matter what happened between us, he always managed to make me feel like he was touching me in intimate places when really he was only staring at me. His gaze brushed over my chest, and instantly I felt like my “Mischief Managed” sweatshirt wasn’t covering nearly enough. When Mickey’s eyes met mine, I felt a flame ignite in my chest, warming my skin until the blush in my cheeks was so hot I thought my eyes were going to begin tearing up.

“Um, I’m sending you and Sam out to get some food and things for the cabin.” Well that cooled me down.

“Wait, are we going to be staying here for a while?” I asked as I passed him, pausing so Mickey could lead me out into the living area, where we found a very-pissed-off Sam arguing heatedly with Dominic. It had only been one night, but yet I somehow felt like we’d been stuck inside for several months. The testosterone was thick in the air as Nic and Sam argued, Shane seated at the kitchen table eating a protein bar and cleaning...was that a gun?

        “I told you not to borrow my brush,” Nic growled, shaking the black-bristled hair brush in his hand at Sam, whose wide brown eyes were narrowed behind his glasses, his arms crossed over his chest defensively. 

“Well I needed it! It’s not like the brush is irreparably damaged-”

“Actually, it is,” Nic spat, flinging the brush at Sam’s chest before turning to stomp out of the room. I bit back a laugh at his antics, wondering if I wasn’t the only one beginning to feel the pressure of being locked up in the same space for an insurmountable amount of time.

“Don’t be such a drama queen, Nic,” Mickey chuckled as Dominic passed us in the hall, heat radiating off of him like a furnace. His temperature jolted a vague memory in my mind from last night, when Mickey had gotten into bed beside me. He was hot like that too. Maybe it’s a werewolf thing. As surprised as I’d been to have Mickey lie down next to me - and shirtless if I was remembering correctly - it had felt nice, like a physical reminder of his affection. It had also served to remind me how unfairly I was treating him; he’d told me he’d loved me and I’d freaked out, left, and then pretended it hadn’t happened after the fact.