Chapter 5: Meeting Drake
1112 Words
GELLER'S POV
I stormed into my room, fuming. The door slammed shut behind me, the sound echoing through the quiet mansion, but I didn’t care.
I flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, my hands clenched into fists. This wasn’t how I’d imagined things going. How dare she act like she was the mature one, insinuating that I was the problem.
My wolf growled low in my mind, its voice cutting through my anger. She’s right.
I shut it down immediately. No. She wasn’t right. She couldn’t be.
Sleep finally claimed me, but it didn’t last long. I woke early, restless and still irritated from the events of the night before. Deciding there was no use in lying around, I got out of bed and headed downstairs, expecting the mansion to be as quiet as it usually was on a Saturday morning. I figured Emory would be sleeping in like she always used to when there was no school.
But I was wrong.
When I entered the dining room, I found Emory and Dad already at the breakfast table. They were chatting animatedly, the sound of their laughter breaking the stillness of the house. My dad’s face lit up when he saw me, but Emory’s smile faltered, and she quickly turned her focus back to her plate.
"Son, you're up. Good," Dad greeted me warmly. "Come join us."
I hesitated for a moment before sitting across from Emory. She kept her eyes glued to her food, avoiding me entirely. My irritation from the night before simmered, but curiosity took its place. What on earth had gotten the "princess" out of bed this early on a weekend?
Dad answered the unspoken question. "Emory’s heading to training today," he said proudly. "Knox and Alec are supervising. I’m sure they’d be happy to see you, too. Why don’t you walk your sister there?"
I nearly choked on the coffee I had just poured. Walk her there? No freaking way!
Before I could voice my protest, Emory raised her head and spoke. "I’m going for a jog with Drake before training," she said calmly, her tone polite but firm. "He’s picking me up soon."
Dad raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You and that boy seem to be spending a lot of time together," he observed, his voice carrying just a hint of curiosity.
Emory gave a small nod. "He’s a good friend," she replied simply.
Drake. I didn’t recognize the name, nor did I care. But hearing it made my wolf stir uneasily.
The conversation shifted as Dad began discussing pack matters I needed to know as the next Alpha. Emory, who had remained unusually quiet throughout breakfast, was about to excuse herself when Nana Bertha’s sharp voice stopped her.
“Stay right there, young lady,” Nana barked. “You’re not going to training with your hair looking like a hobo’s.”
“Not again,” Emory groaned, her tone carrying just the faintest edge of exasperation. For a moment, I thought her bratty side would finally resurface.
But she stayed put, not that she had much of a choice with Nana’s hands firmly pinning her shoulders.
Nana Bertha attacked her wild curls with a comb, her muttered curses barely audible as the tangles fought back.
“This blasted hair,” Nana hissed. “Do you even bother to brush?”
“Geez, Nana. Take it easy,” Emory complained, wincing with every pull of the comb. She tried to reach up, likely to stop Nana’s relentless assault, but Nana swatted her hand away with surprising speed.
I nearly chuckled at the sight of them but managed to stifle it, keeping my face neutral as if I were intently focused on Dad’s discussion about pack affairs.
By the time Nana Bertha finished, Emory’s hair was twisted into a tight braid, her face bearing the evidence of the rough ordeal on her scalp. With her hair pulled back, her features stood out: a small, heart-shaped face, a perfect nose, and a delicate chin.
I caught myself, barely stopping a gasp. She looked like an angel.
“See?” Nana Bertha announced proudly, stepping back to admire her work. “You look ten times lighter without that mess in the way.”
"Whatever you say, Nana," Emory replied, rolling her eyes, clearly relieved that the torture was over.
Just then, there was a knock on the door. Rita, the maid, answered it, and a kid followed her inside. He looked like he’d stepped out of some rom-com movie—the "guy next door" type, with messy hair and an easy smile.
"Good morning, Alpha," the boy greeted me, nodding in my direction. I gave him a short nod in return, offering nothing more.
"You must be Drake," Dad said, his tone warm.
"Yes, sir," the boy answered.
"Let's go, Red?" he asked, turning to Emory.
Red? So he had a nickname for the brat?
Emory beamed, clearly cheery at the sight of him. It was only now, as she stood up, that I noticed what she was wearing. A cropped top that hugged her body, with a sports bra peeking out as she bent over. Her workout leggings were tight, accentuating her hips and tiny waist.
"Let's go," she said, her voice filled with a strange, carefree energy that irritated me for reasons I couldn’t fully understand.
As they made their way to the door, Dad called out, his voice filled with a familiar, protective tone. "Take care of my princess."
"I will, Alpha," Drake replied.
They left, Emory hooking her arm through Drake’s, walking side by side as if they were the closest of friends. Or even more.
Dad, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, murmured, "She’s looking more like her mother each day."
I furrowed my brows. What? Maybe Dad needed an eye check. Emory and Olivia looked nothing alike. Olivia had brown hair and brown eyes, while Emory’s hair was red and her eyes were a striking blue. In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought they weren’t even related. But I stayed silent. There was no point in arguing with him about something so trivial.
A wicked idea crossed my mind, and I couldn’t help but grin.
“You know what, maybe you’re right, Dad,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll give Knox and Alec a visit. Probably even squeeze in a sparring session with them."
Dad’s face lit up with approval. “That’s great, son,” he said, his voice full of pride. “Maybe you can even give your sister some pointers.”
Gladly, I thought, barely containing the sneer creeping across my face.
- Writer
