Werewolf Compilations novel Chapter 97

"Do you need me to call a doctor?"

Goddess, now he sounds worried, perfect, Rae. Great job! Why are you like this? Why can't you just get up and answer that damn door? Why do you hide away? Be strong, Rae. Tell him the truth, Rae. Stop being pathetic, Rae.

My stomach begins to bubble up, my chest growing tight. "No," say with a shaky voice, "it's not..."

Come on, Rae. Come on!

The deep-rooted panic sets in now. It feels as if someone is shoving a towel down my throat.

"Rae? Will you open the door?"

She's shoving the towel down my throat.

Hesitantly, I unbury myself and walk to the door, placing my hand on the handle, really contemplating this. I bite my lip hard before switching the lock and steadily inching it open, peeking out to look up at him. I'm sure my cheeks are red and my pajamas look scrambled, but I let out a little smile. "Hi," I mumble, wiping away all the encumbering thoughts that were tangled in my head just moments ago. Some things get easier with time and practice.

James' eyes wander past me, finding the visible pile of clothes on the floor and scene of panic. I inch the door closed, just enough space for my body. His eyes return to me.

"I just...couldn't find anything to—well, to wear so," I admit, knowing there's no point acting normal now. "It's ridiculous, right? I'm sorry, I just—I don't know."

Something of a smile flashes on his face. "You're dressed now, aren't you?"

I glance down at my pajamas, feeling silly. "Well, yes, but—"

"Then come on, before the food gets cold."

Unsure, I stay in the doorframe until he turns and heads towards the stairs, catching up to him. "James, I—"

He peers behind, having a perfect view of the mess I am, but he simply carries on. "It's only dinner, Rae."

I follow him to the dining room, which I haven't been in much. Most of the time I ate with Gail and Theresa in the kitchen, which was less worrying. They chatted about things going on around the pack and would ask me questions every few exchanges. It was easy.

Two seats are set up on the table, plates and glasses and silverware and napkins and steaming food in front of them. There is one spot at the head of the table and one to the side, and the dimmed chandelier above sparkles down on it like a dream. Not wanting to sit at the head of the table, I choose the much more comfortable seat and watch as James takes the other.

My heart won't settle. It feels as if something terrible is about to happen, and I predict it to be my oncoming embarrassment.

I sit cross-legged, needing to feel more at home and stopping myself from bobbing my knee. The table covers the childish action, not worrying me much, and I hesitantly take the fork in my hand, trying to remember the position my fingers go in. It's steak and potatoes and grilled vegetables, and the aroma clouds my nose.