Chapter 195

Arthur’s Pov

Downstairs the kitchen is sparkling, you’d never guess there was a raging party here. “Thanks, Clarice,” I say to the maid who bows in respect as she passes by carrying a rag. “Did you bleach that one spot I told you about?” I ask, referring to the spot where Robert and that random girl were lusting over one another.

“Yes, yes. All clean,” She responds and I nod a thank you. As uncool as it was for Robert to invite over my old friends without first talking to me or Almara, which of course would inevitably lead to more and more people finding out, it was a pretty fun party.

Except for the part of Almara accusing me of something that I would absolutely never do. On one hand, it was pretty hot seeing her get jealous and protective, something primal in me got stirred. But on the other hand, she has to know that I would never betray her like that.

I reach up in the cabinet to grab the kettle. I guess I’ll have to prove to her that I'm better than she gives me credit for. Just as I flick on the stove my cell phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket and stare down at a number I don’t recognize.

I contemplate answering it, it’s probably just some reporter. If I answer it, then I just give them confirmation that they do indeed have my number. Before I can fully commit to a decision, the call ceases. That’s odd.

If it were a reporter, they always wait until the last ring to see if I’ll answer, and when I don’t they call again. The kettle comes to a screech, but it’s the ping of a notification signaling that I have a new voicemail that gets my attention.

I listen to it as I go about tending the boiling water. I press play and at first, all that comes through is static. The long stretch of no voice and only dead connection starts to fray my nerves. I pull the phone away and see that the number has been changed to a “No Caller ID”.

It must be a prank. I pull the phone away, just as a distorted voice breaks through. I quickly bring the phone back up to my ear and strain to make sense of the scratchy voice. I can tell right away that whoever is called is using some kind of voice masking.

“Everyone you know will die, you won’t see us coming, you won’t say goodbye. Arthur Covington will go down in history as the werewolf with no victory. Be fair warned we play not for treasury, and we don’t take life by the knife, we come at night in longing for that love at first bite.” The message ends.

It’s horrible poetry, but still, the fur on my neck stands up. I want to believe this is a prank call, but somehow I know it’s not. It could be an empty threat, but even still how stupid would someone have to be to dare threaten the Alpha leader and have nothing to show for it?

Certainly, no werewolf would be so careless, and love at first bite? Either this is someone posing as a vampire or it is a vampire. Either way, a petty threat nonetheless.

“Arthur,” I hear Almara call weakly. Shi- I hurry to finish the tea and get back upstairs. When I reach the bathroom, Almara is pressed up against the wall on the opposite side of the toilet which I suppose is progress, but it’s the look on her face that concerns me.

“What is it?” I ask and set the tea on the vanity.

“I went on my phone to order food, and right after I did, it completely shut down and this came up,” She holds her phone out so I can see what has her so pale. Her screen is black except for overly digitalized GIFS of blood dripping down from the top of her screen to the bottom.

I snatch the phone from her hand and try to mess with it, but still the blood continues to rain down on the screen. “I think we’ve been hacked,” She says. I shake my head and pull out my own phone, which still seems to be working.

“What are you thinking?” She asks and only then do I try to gather my thoughts. This is all just a coincidence. That childish voicemail has nothing to do with Almara’s phone getting hacked. She said she ordered food, she probably ordered from a sketchy website.

“Where did you order food from?” I ask, also why would she want to order food if she’s been sick all morning?

“From Clean Green,” She says. “I think I need a detox juice to help rid me of the alcohol”

“They must have a bad website,” I say even though know it’s a pathetic excuse. “I’m going to call the cellphone provider.” I look down at Almara who’s looking up at me with her big brown eyes and suddenly I’m overcome by the powerful need to protect her. “Will you be okay?”

She nods. “I think my stomach is mostly settled, for now. I’m just going to drink some tea.” With that, I kiss her forehead and leave the bathroom, and the bedroom, shut the door behind me, and walk down the hallway. Then, I call my father.

Thirty minutes later the doorbell rings and I answer it, about to thank my dad for getting here so quickly. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned when I called him and told him about the incidents that just happened.

All he said was throwing a rage as a way to introduce myself back to the public was bound to be sloppy and result in something like this happening. How exactly? I have no idea. I just know he has his own ideas of how we should always be presenting ourselves to the public.

And to be honest, that’s the only reason I called him. He’s been in the public sphere for a while now and back at his old ways of conversing with political leaders, maybe he has some information he’s yet decided to enlighten me with.

Maybe his spiel was just some lame attempt to give fatherly advice and he’s more worried than he’s letting on. Though when I open the door, it’s Almara’s delivery guy. He must pick up on the disappointment on my face because he looks hurt, maybe scared when he recognizes who I am.

“Sorry,” I grumble. “I’m expecting someone,” I say taking the bag from him and handing him a wad of cash for a tip. I probably shouldn’t have done that, but it’s just a force of habit.

I run the food up to Almara who quickly snatches the bag. She must be hungry. “Thank you,” she says, but doesn’t open the bag up right away. “How’s my phone?” She asks and I’m brought back to that whole situation.

“I’m going to go take it in and get it fixed,” I tell her. It’s not completely a lie, I will go get her phone fixed, after I talk with my father. She nods and I can tell she’s also holding something back.

I look at her and the bag of food she’s clutching protectively in her fist. She swallows a lump in her throat and I raise an eyebrow. Maybe the phone, the voicemail, and my father can wait. “What’s in the bag?” I ask her.

Almara lets out a shaky breath and doesn’t make eye contact. My already brewing undercurrents of anxiety begin to boil to an all-time high. “Almara, what is it?” I ask more firmly. When she looks back at me I can see tears brimming her eyes. I force myself to be gentler.

“Little Wolf, talk to me.” Almara begins to open the paper bag and slowly reaches inside. Before she pulls out whatever contents are inside, she begins to speak in a shaky voice.

“If I won’t be able to call you, and I don’t know if I can wait until you get back- I might as well do this now with you here.”

“Do what?” I ask and wish she would pull the damn thing out of the bag. When she does, everything stops. My thoughts cease, my senses dim, and I’m pretty sure the world stops spinning.

“I think I’m pregnant,” She says holding the thin piece of plastic between her fingers.