Layleen
I watch Oliver carefully lay my clothes on the bed, his movements almost reverent, as if afraid he might damage them. It's not much—just jeans, leggings, t-shirts, and hoodies—but I catch myself before scoffing at the simplicity. Saying that out loud would have made me sound spoiled.
And maybe, in some ways, I am.
Dion spoiled me. He knew about the hell I endured in my first pack, and when he took me in, he did everything he could to help me forget. Gifts, affection—he tried to mend what had been broken with tenderness. Even though I know it was fake.
A loud sigh snaps me from my thoughts. Oliver is watching me, his gaze flicking between my face and the pile of clothes he just arranged.
"How come Alpha Ragnar decided to let you have your own room? Did something happen between you two last night?"
His curiosity is blatant, but I don't answer. Not because I'm embarrassed by what happened, but because I have no idea how to explain it.
Ragnar kissed me.
