Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
The door was thrust open and two huge male shapes were looming over me.
“Mierda!” I heard Gabriel curse. He bent and scooped me off the floor as Christopher hovered uncertainly nearby.
“What’s wrong with her?” He sounded really worried about me, which was nice.
But then Christopher had been nice right from the start. It was almost like he needed someone smaller and weaker than himself to take care of—he had started calling me “Little Sis” almost at once, right after the adoption ceremony my stepfather had insisted on. He made me take his last name—Cruz—and he made it very clear that my stepbrothers and I were related “by the bonds of family and blood and the Laws of the Pack”—whatever that meant.
At any rate, the ceremony didn’t seem to make much difference to Gabriel—he usually ignored me unless I was underfoot. Whenever that happened, he usually just scowled and snapped, “Get out of my way, runt!” And then went on his way.
But Christopher sought me out sometimes, just to talk. He really did treat me like a little sister—sometimes he gave me candy or other sweets that he got when he left the Compound. My stepbrothers weren’t prisoners here like I was—they could come and go as they pleased. Which made me wonder why they ever came back once they were free of the place.
So I wasn’t surprised that Christopher was worried about me, but I didn’t know why Gabriel cared that I felt so sick.
“Don’t know what’s wrong with her,” he said to Christopher “But I’m sure as shit going to find out. Dad left me in charge—if something happens to the little bitch it’s on me.”
Oh—so that was why he was bothering with me. I wanted to tell him to leave me alone—that I wasn’t his responsibility and I didn’t want anything to do with him. But despite his rough words he was holding me protectively close to his broad chest and when he put me on the bed, he did it gently.
I curled on my side at once, clutching at my abdomen.
“All right now, Zoe—where does it hurt?” Gabriel asked, frowning down at me as the two of them hovered over my narrow twin bed.
“Looks like she’s holding her stomach—was it something you ate, Little Sis?” Christopher asked gently.
“I don’t think that’s it,” Gabriel said, before I could answer. He sniffed the air, his nostrils wrinkling. “Can’t you smell it?”
“Smell what?” Christopher leaned close to me and sniffed as well. His green eyes widened. “Blood! Is she cut somewhere?”
“It’s not from a cut,” Gabriel said sharply. “Look.” And he raised the hem of my lacy white nightgown.
“Hey!” I moaned, swatting at his hand, but I was too weak to stop him as he uncovered my thighs. Turning me over, he parted them easily though I tried to fight him.
“Look,” he said again, and nodded down between my legs. “Be still, little mouse,” he added sternly. That was what he called me when he didn’t call me “runt” or “dud.” Maybe because I was so little and mousy and plain with my dishwater blonde hair and dull brownish-gray eyes.
Christopher looked and I looked too, since I didn’t know what Gabriel was talking about. To my horror, there were crimson splotches staining the crotch of my virginal white panties and smears of blood on my inner thighs.
“Shit!” Christopher muttered in a low voice.
“It’s First Blood,” Gabriel said grimly. “The scent will draw all the Alphas in the Compound—we need to act fast. Go get a heating pad and some ibuprofen and get back here right away.”
“Got it.” Christopher nodded and left in a hurry. As a Beta, he was used to following orders. And as an Alpha, Gabriel was used to giving them. I was still getting used to the strange pecking order in my stepfather’s house, but I knew that much at least.
“What…what’s wrong with me?” I moaned, since my older stepbrother seemed to know and I still had no idea. I had only bled from between my legs once before—and that was after the strange operation my mother had gotten Dr. Ristor to do on me when I was twelve. He’d taken a sharp instrument and poked around down there until I cried out with pain. All the while my mother held my hand and cried along with me.
“I’m so sorry, my sweet girl,” she crooned as she stroked my hair. “But this is for the best—it will keep you from being used as a bargaining chip. I know it hurts but at least you won’t have to go through what I went through at your age.”
But when I asked what she’d gone though, she wouldn’t tell me. She only said I’d never have to worry about “women’s troubles” ever again and left it at that.
So now, though I was eighteen and technically an adult, I had to ask my older brother what was happening to my body. Gabriel was probably twenty-five while Christopher was twenty-two or three but they both seemed so much older and more mature than I was—at least to me.