16 | his truce

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ALPHA Wade was true to his word

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ALPHA Wade was true to his word.

I did not need the dull, translucent glow of the moon—which was impossible to see from my windowless room—to know it was only a few short hours into the next morning.

My eyes protested welcoming Alpha Wade when he abruptly swung the door to my room wide open. Not even the tantalizing proximity of my mate could rile my consciousness awake.

However, Alpha Wade was not pleased with my lackluster response. He greeted me with a stern, "Get up."

I groaned, rolling to my side to block the distant stream of light coming from the hallway. From the sound of muffled scuffling, Alpha Wade wasted no time rummaging through my room—not that there was much to scavenge.

"Where's your bag?" he questioned, but I remained silent except for the brief, hazy grumbles that escaped my lips.

He exhaled in a short breath before his footsteps trailed off. Just when I thought he had given me some reprieve, having come to his senses that it was too early in the morning to do anything productive, he turned the lights on.

I groaned once more, kicking the sheets off my body. My eyes remained shut as I crossed my arms over my chest. "Five more minutes."

"No."

His tone grew agitated. I could sense his body edging closer to the side of my bed, and I cracked one eye open to prove my suspicions true.

"You don't have to hover," my voice filled with sleep.

"Get up," he repeated.

Sitting up, I asked, "What time is it?"

"Four A.M." He responded with a slight smile—a smile I would have loved to wipe clean off his face.

Flopping back on the bed, I propelled my head into the mattress.

"Get up, Violet," Alpha Wade expanded his vocabulary, adding my name to the end of his demand.

I looked toward the blank ceiling overhead. "I'm convinced you hate me."

"I wouldn't put it out of the question at the moment."

Angling my head awkwardly, I scowled. "You're supposed to keep those thoughts to yourself."

"I'm an Alpha." His eyebrow arched.

"And?"

"No one tells me what to do," he said as he extended his arm to mine. His fingers latched around my wrist, and my body almost became putty in his grip. It had been just hours since our last physical encounter, and my body rejoiced in the break of famine.

With my wrist firmly in his hold, he hoisted me to my feet. Once I was standing on my own, he looked at me blankly, clearly unamused. "Where's your bag?"

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