Suddenly, the shrill sound of a phone ringing shattered the intimate atmosphere. Klaus froze, his entire body stiffening as the spell between them broke. He scrambled off the bed, pulling the quilt up to cover Claudette as guilt flashed across his face.
"Sorry," he mumbled, not meeting her eyes as he fumbled with his belt and tie, hurriedly putting himself back together.
“Klaus…” Claudette’s voice was soft, confused, hurt.
But he didn’t turn back. His phone buzzed again, and he grabbed it from the floor, glancing at the screen before rushing out the door, the unfinished mess behind him a testament to his moment of weakness.
Once in the car, Klaus let out a shaky breath, raising his hand to his face. In a moment of frustration, he slapped himself hard across the cheek. “What the hell did I just do?”
I watched from beside him, feeling nothing but cold indifference. This was the man I had loved. The man who once swore to protect me, to stand by me. And yet, here he was, reeking of alcohol and Claudette’s scent.
But his thoughts weren’t on me. Not really. He looked down at his phone and saw the missed call.
It was from my mother.
Klaus hesitated before calling back. The phone rang only once before my mother answered, her voice warm and gentle as always.
"Klaus, I hope I’m not bothering you this late,” she began softly. “I just finished knitting those scarves for you and Mavis. When are you both coming over to get them?"
Tears welled up in my eyes. She was so happy to knit for us, so happy to think of me, her daughter, still alive.
Klaus forced a smile, though his face was tight with guilt. “We’ll come by soon, Madam. Mavis has been staying with Irene after a fight we had… You know how she is, always running off when she’s upset.”
He was lying. He didn’t know where I was. He didn’t even realize I was gone.
As he hung up, Klaus stared at his phone, his mind racing. He looked down at his hands, still trembling. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
So, he did what he always did when he needed to clear his head—he drove to the riverside near our pack. The place where he would sit to rid himself of the stench of alcohol or the scent of other wolves before coming back to me.
But there was no point in doing that anymore. I wasn’t home.