Dear Enemy, You're My Mate

Chapter 7 **

Patricia

Last night was a nightmare. William and June were screaming and fucking each other so hard their bedframe hit against my wall. They let me sleep in their guestroom, but I kind of wish I had slept in the forest.

Seriously. I'm officially scarred for life, humiliated because I thought I had this instant connection to William when he is clearly, deeply in love with June. What was I thinking getting butterflies when he looked over at me with those pretty-boy eyes?

June probably had Willian act friendly so she could pump information from my system.

Groaning to myself, I speed up my pace.

I snuck out of the pair's mansion, and now I'm racing to school through the woods. Fiery colors are blazing around me while my hands are under my arms, seeking warmth. My dirty hair thrashes to the left and right over my back, reminding me of how badly I need to shower.

It's a long way to school—I must already be late, and I know for sure that I look like hell. I'm not wearing an ounce of makeup except for the clumps of old mascara under my eyes, and my hair is a bird's nest right now.

When I make a turn around some bushes, I almost crash into Dior. Surprise flickers in his eyes, and I immediately put up my shields, expecting a sassy comment.

Shockingly, it doesn't come.

Dior's eyes are tired, and he is close enough for me to touch him. Beads of sweat have formed on his forehead. He looks like he is running a fever, and I almost feel sorry for him. I also find it irritating that the man is sexy, even with dark circles underneath his eyes.

"In a hurry somewhere?" Dior asks, smiling lazily from his imposing height. His eyes are so glazed I wonder if he has taken some substance, but I doubt it.

"Uh, to school?" I look him up and down in suspicion, lips pulled into a tight line. "What are you doing in the forest?"

"Looking for you."

My eyebrows shoot for the sky. "Excuse me?"

Dior shudders as if freezing. His face is pale, and I realize he is in much worse shape than I initially thought. He wobbles a bit but manages to straighten himself and talk.

"I went to your house, but you weren't there," He is rubbing his eyelids, muttering something under his breath. "Fuck, lately I get these random migraines and-..."

Dior's knees give in, and then he crashes over me. I can see it happening from a mile away, yet I can't stop it—the guy is massive, built like a champion gymnast. I shriek before colling with the hard ground. And usually, I try to ignore how hot and sexy my enemy is, but it's rather challenging when you're pressed to the ground, locked underneath him.

"Fuck, you're heavy!" I mutter.

My lungs are currently being obliterated while Dior is relaxing over me. His palm lands on my breast, squeezing it instinctively.

"I'm sorry."

I snort. "No, you're not."

Dior briefly rubs his cheek against my breasts, and I hold my breath, hating how my nipples are already hardening.

Laughter comes out through his lips. "You're right—maybe I'm not."

Part of me wants to push him off me. It's the logical thing to do, yet my sex clenches when he tips his head, allowing me to his blue eyes and charming smile.

"I-I... Uh-..." I'm speechless, caught by his beautiful face.

Dior looks less severe, and it's enough to invite my hand to run through his raven hair. Dior relaxes in response to my touch, and shock reverberates through me—here he is, my life's sworn enemy, acting like a lovesick housecat as I pet him.

Oddly enough, I don't mind the change from constantly battling with him, and I take in his features, perfect, sweet, engaging a first response somewhere deep in my pleasure-loving brain.

I mentally slap myself when I feel my lips form a smile.

Jesus Christ, Patricia. Get a grip. You hate this man.

Then again, people claim sex is better with your enemy—hot, sweaty, and filled with passion. I could leave Dior weak and thirsty for more.

Underneath my clothes, I'm sweating, and my underwear is soaked. The mere thought of having sex with Dior turns me on, but I remind myself that he is acting this way for a reason. I don't know what happened to him, but I can't risk saying or doing too much—I won't fall victim to one of his mind games.

Dior would laugh his ass off if I flirted with him, and then I would have to throw myself off the nearest cliff to spare myself the humiliation.

"I like it when you touch me," Dior suddenly mumbles.

Without my permission, yet acting upon pure desire, I massage his shoulders. My fingers dig into him, making contact with the warm, hard flesh of his thick, substantial shoulders, and I shudder.

I'm wetter than ever before—Dior is built like a tank, and he crawls higher up my body, making my head smack against soft grass. Dior's massive erection pushes against his pants, and he moans audibly, and suddenly the reality of things hits me.

I turn into a block of ice, mortified at my hands already rubbing his shoulders. If Dior wakes up from his feverish state, I realize I felt him up while he was weak—!!

"Dior, get off me!" I'm struggling to crawl underneath him, but the guy must be at least three hundred pounds of alpha and muscle. "We hate each other—remember? Stop hugging me!"

Blue eyes find mine, along with a concerned smile. "I don't hate you, Patricia." He then chuckles; it's a tired sound. "I think you're an annoying brat with your head up in the clouds, but hate is a strong word."

I glare at him. "As kind as always."

Dior attempts to laugh but ends up coughing. It freaks me out. I've never seen him so vulnerable before. I guess it never occurred to me that alphas get struck by fevers too. Dior seemed so unbeatable—not today, though. He is burning up right now.

"Thee grounds belong to the Summerburst pack, and their scent is on your clothes—did you spill any information?"

"No, I did not."

"Really?" It doesn't sound like he believes me. "You hate my guts but didn't say anything?"

"No, because I value my family, who are still pack members."

"Oh..." Dior is quiet, blinking life back into his droopy eyes. His face conveys a severe lack of sleep. "Right, your parents."

I examine his face until a roar causes the blood to freeze in my veins. Werewolves don't roar, and one second to sniff the air makes the brain cells jumble inside my head—the air smells like a big cat, possibly a tiger, but also of rotten flesh.

Immediately, June's words come back to haunt me, "Weird creatures are appearing in our world, Patricia."

"Something is coming," Dior can barely breathe without looking like he might go down in flames. "And I'm not strong enough to fight it—you should leave before it finds us."

With newfound strength, I push Dior off of me. It must be the adrenaline giving me power.

"I'm not leaving you to die, and I know we can't communicate if I shape-shift, but you will have to ride on my back."

Dior stares up at me, about to give me an excuse, but I silence him by allowing my bones to crack and break. Shape-shifting is supposed to hurt, but I'm a psychopath, addicted to the pain.

After turning into a wolf, I face Dior, who considers me before pushing himself to stand on his knees. My wolf form isn't massive, but I'm big enough to carry him. With some patience and waiting around, Dior finally slings one leg over my back, and I sprint.

"This is the dumbest thing I've done," Dior is speaking into the nape of my neck, burying his face into my fur. "If the rest of my pack saw me right now, they would laugh their asses off, or better yet, try to challenge me for the position of alpha."

I would smile if I could—Dior's tone inclines that he is starting to realize how sick the werewolf world truly is.

Werewolves aren't friends or buddies with each other. They follow the most muscular wolf, and if you're sick as alpha, you better have eyes in your neck before you're stabbed in the back.

"Oh shit!"

Dior swears, and I stop running, staring at the undead tiger before us. It must have run ahead of us, and now it's showing its teeth, making these hissing sounds. Its fur is orange, but a soft grey underneath all the blood dried on its coat. Like the bear, the eyes are an angry red.

Ice-cold fear trickles down my spine, and I whine at what appears to be a zombie tiger.

"No way can you fight that thing—it's massive!" Dior seems awake enough to look around the scene. He then taps my shoulder, making me turn to the right and stare at the river down the slope. "This might sound crazy, but how about you jump into the river?"

The tiger roars before lunging at us, and I don't think—I only do. For the first time in my life, I listen to the bastard on my back, and we tumble down the slope, hitting the river.

"Fuck!" Dior swears, mouth full of water. He hugs me harder, and I allow him, aware of his exhaustion. "Please let me hold on to you."

I paddle to keep us afloat. Dior is couching while holding on to my neck. His hands are holding my fur so tight it's like he believes I would allow him to drown if he let go of me.

"I might be on the swim team, but I'm so tired, Patty."

I recoil at hearing the nickname. I hate it more than anything in this world, yet I carry on paddling. The tiger is roaring at us, standing by the side of the river. I would laugh at the creature if I could. It seems this undead cat inherited a zombie's inability to cross water.

Dior is pretty intelligent.

Wait, no, I'm not supposed to give him compliments, not even think them out loud!

Groaning inwardly to myself, I let the water carry us. It seems like hours before I spot solid ground without tigers. Determined, I use all of my strength to navigate towards it. Dior is heavy, and I try to refrain from letting him drown when he whistles into my ears.

"Land!" Dior announces. "I can't wait to get out this cold water! My fucking balls are frozen solid!"

Is he always this honest?

I drag us up on land, shaking off Dior until he is on his back, panting up at the sky. The morning sun has risen, but the temperature is freezing. Dior shudders, and I wander to find sticks.

"Hey, where are you going?"

Rolling my eyes, I reluctantly shape-shift to communicate with him. I make sure not to face him, only show my back. He doesn't need to see the rest of me naked.

"I'm going to light a fire," I tell him.

"Do you think it's safe setting up a camp here?"

I shrug. "I don't know, but the water is close by in case we need to get away from that tiger."

"True," Dior sighs. "What do you think that creature was? It looked like a zombie."

"It did, and no, I don't know what that tiger was," I hesitate, but my heart won't let me keep secrets. "William and June think you're behind these strange creatures appearing on their hunting grounds. They must have talked about the undead."

Dior snorts. "Fuck them—they are two manipulative liar wolves. If I wanted something done, like driving them out from my town, I would fight them myself instead of summoning the undead. I'm a werewolf—not a necromancer or a wizard."

I smile despite how much I dislike him. I even face him, laughing at his confident words. "Yes, because the mighty Dior never let anyone else do his dirty work. He handles everything himself, scared of ever asking for help from someone else."

Dior stares at me, stunned, and I blush. Those are not the eyes of someone appreciating my body, but the words I said, and that hits me deeper—my heart hammers until I'm forced to turn around.

Conflicted emotions make themselves heard. I wouldn't say I like Dior, we have too much history, yet I wonder if we could forget the past and start over—then logic strikes, and I realize how silly I am. We are enemies.