Werewolf

 
Canaan had his plate full today. 
He had had back-to-back council meetings with his pack members to discuss important pack matters and make decisions regarding pack activities and territories, conducted recruitment interviews for potential new pack members, and again, it was mandatory that he attended the convergence tonight.
After the Alphas meeting had ended, Canaan hadn't waited behind to join the party hosted on the mezzanine floor. Instead, he had headed immediately to his room on the north wing.
He felt his body lag from the strenuous activities he had been engaged in for the day. 
Besides, he had never had an inclination towards partying. He avoided them like the plagues.
Following the death of his father, Alpha Louis Ramirez, in battle about ten years ago, and his subsequent succession of his reign as the pack leader at the tender age of fifteen years, the responsibility that a


"What the hell do you mean by you couldn't find her?" Vicky demanded, hissing the words through her teeth. Her voice rose at a decibel in stifled annoyance.
Donkor balled his hands into fists over the arms of the chair he was sitting on.
Vicky paced restlessly before him, her movements spiking his irritation.
"Stay put, will you?" Donkor snapped at her. "Let me think!" 
Vicky lashed out immediately in return. "Don't you dare yell at me, Donkor!"
She wiggled a finger in warning at him, her eyes burning with fury.
"It's your fault for letting her slip from your grasp. How could you be so gullible?"
At that, Donkor leaped to his feet, going ballistic. His hand flew from his side to slap her hard across the face for insulting him, but it paused and trembled, raised above Vicky's face.
Vicky glared at him, defiance lit in her hawklike, deep brown eyes. "You will slap me, Donkor."
That was a 


Where the hell was this girl? 
Donkor pondered, narrowing his eyes and twisting his lips into an inconspicuous frown.
He paced at a point, glancing intermittently at his wristwatch.
"Blast it!" He cursed beneath his breath and charged towards the female bathroom. The women whom he passed cast a few reprehending glances in his way, but he hardly cared about their opinion.
It remained only a few minutes to nine, and Layla wasn't back.
He flung the door ajar to hear the shrieks of some of the ladies in there. He stepped in, ignoring them.
His nose was attacked, and he almost choked from the avalanche of perfume and scents coating the air.
He inhaled deeply, heightening his olfactory sense. His nose flared as he perceived each distinct smell in the room. But none of them belonged to Layla's.
His hands shook, and he gritted his teeth to restrain himself from letting out a growl as realization dawned on him.
Layla was not in the bathroom, and she hadn't returned to join him at the party.
The bloody girl had escaped!
His eyes saw red, and he dashed out of the door, the women's comments about his erratic behavior accompanying him as he walked.
He half-ran and walked with urgency as he searched through every possible corner she could have escaped through.
While he looked through each room that was accessible—not apologizing when he walked into some naked couple wildly making out in one of the rooms—he caught sight of a woman that had the same physique as Layla's and was dressed in the same dress he had given her to wear to the event tonight, in the distance.
She was getting into an elevator.
"Layla!" He screamed, sprinting towards her.
He grabbed the lady by the shoulder and turned her roughly to face him, expletives ready to be launched at the back of his throat.
The lady gasped as she was brusquely turned to face him, and words stuck in Donkor's throat.
She was not Layla. 
He looked down at the dress on her, knowing he had not been mistaken. He leaned closer and sniffed the dress, catching a whiff of Layla's scent on it.
His anger was spiked. How dare she play him for a fool?
He growled at the back of his throat, directing a glare at the woman. "Where the hell is she?"
She shivered, her hazel eyes widening in fright. She hyperventilated as she watched him.
"Where the hell is she? The real owner of this dress?" He demanded.
"I...I don't know," she stuttered. Her eyes darted to the side, her lips trembling with a silent prayer that someone would come out of the hallway to help her. 
With how furious Donkor looked, the woman conjectured that he could snap her neck on the spot.
"What's going on there?" A stern female voice echoed from behind them, and the lady wheezed in relief as her potential savior marched towards them from the end of the hallway she had appeared from.
The woman cast a disapproving look at Donkor first as she came up to them before she looked at the lady at his mercy.
"Gloria, what the hell have you done again, and why on earth?" Her eyes went over the dress Gloria was in besides her uniforms, her brows furrowing. "Are you dressed in that? Where are your unforms?"
Gloria glanced from her supervisor to the man fuming at her in his grasp, her mouth parting wordlessly.
"Mrs. Steele," Gloria pleaded, watching the angry man poised to have her head off her shoulders, if he could, with the side of her eyes.
Mrs. Steele hissed through her breath, her shoulders sagging in fatigue as she glanced at Gloria. She turned her attention to Donkor. 
"Sir. Permit me to apologize on her behalf as the head of the staff here. What, if I may ask, has she done to incite your fury, sir?"
"She's in my daughter's dress, and I can't find her," Donkor seethed through his teeth, not relinquishing his hold on Gloria's shoulder.
Mrs. Steele looked appalled by the information, her lips parting wordlessly. She looked at Gloria. "What have you gotten yourself into now, Gloria?" 
Gloria pressed in her lips, now on the verge of tears as she shook her head.
Mrs. Steele maintained her composure and professionalism as she addressed Donkor. "Sir, let's resolve this issue amicably, please. We will find your daughter for you. I will alert the security of this situation as soon as possible to track your daughter's location. But you will have to let go of her first and come with me."
Donkor reluctantly let go of Gloria as instructed, balling his hands into fists at his sides.
He wished he could punch through the walls around him.
Did that silly girl have any idea what trouble she had gotten him into?
Gloria scampered out of his reach to Mrs. Steele's side as soon as he let her go.
Mrs. Steele shifted her face to the side she was on as she spoke to her, "Report your actions to your supervisor, and ensure he gets back to me."
Gloria bit on her lips and nodded timidly.
She slid to the side as Donkor followed behind Mrs. Steele, distress evident on her face as she watched the two leave.
****
Layla continued moving, having no idea where she was heading. She had walked far beyond the mezzanine, where the assembly was.
She had crossed the skywalk into another wing of the building. Her heart pounded in her chest as she moved gingerly across the hallway, hoping she could find a place to hide and stall for time until Donkor left.
She knew he would be hot on her heels by now, but she would be several steps ahead of him. She had switched her dress in the staff changing room, which she had stumbled into by chance.
She had been lucky in there. Her breath had almost escaped her when the door had been pushed open and someone had walked in.
She had thought then that her cover had been blown and that the moon goddess had not answered the prayers she had offered while she slipped from the bathroom to escape.
But it was a lady that walked in—a girl around her age with the same hair as hers and a matching physique as hers. 
However, instead of Layla's doe brown eyes, the girl had a beautiful pair of hazel eyes and a cowlick.
Her mind had flashed with the idea, on the spur of the moment, to buy the girl's secrecy. The thought seemed to have been planted there by the moon goddess herself, and the girl readily bought the idea.
Layla had dumped the dress in the girl's hand and snuck back through the hallway to get away as fast as she could in the dress she was then clothed in.
She silently offered an apology to the person whose dress she had stolen. She had changed into a faded black t-shirt and matching jean pants. They weren't exactly fitting, but they were still manageable.
She had found a cap in there also, and she had swiftly rolled her hair into it. Her face was well hidden beneath the cap.
The girl, in exchange for her strapped heels, had readily offered her sandals, and it was a perfect fit.
She had thanked the girl before she left.
While she moved across the empty hallway, sticking close to the wall, she perked her ears for any sound of approaching feet either before or behind her.
She was near the third door on the hallway when her ear caught a sound of movement approaching where she was, and instinctively, she reached for the door knob and pulled at it before she reasoned that the rooms would be locked, occupied, or unoccupied.
But the door budged under her pull, and she pushed it the rest of the way open. She hardly spared herself a minute to reel from her surprise as the sound was getting closer before she scurried into the room, gently but swiftly closing the door behind her.
Her hands found the keys still inserted in the keyhole, and she turned them, satisfied as the sound of the door clicking shut breezed in her ears.
She fell against the back of the door and wheezed a sigh of relief. She pressed her ear to the door, perking her ears so she could listen to what was going on on the other end of the door.
It was dark in the room she hid in, and her focus was set on detecting the goings on in the hallway that she hadn't noticed the subtle rustle in the air.
She heard the cold and deep rumble of a man's voice, and her heart skipped a beat as she turned in the direction of its owner.
The man repeated his question, growling the words out this time. "Who are you?" 

 
Canaan had his plate full today. 
He had had back-to-back council meetings with his pack members to discuss important pack matters and make decisions regarding pack activities and territories, conducted recruitment interviews for potential new pack members, and again, it was mandatory that he attended the convergence tonight.
After the Alphas meeting had ended, Canaan hadn't waited behind to join the party hosted on the mezzanine floor. Instead, he had headed immediately to his room on the north wing.
He felt his body lag from the strenuous activities he had been engaged in for the day. 
Besides, he had never had an inclination towards partying. He avoided them like the plagues.
Following the death of his father, Alpha Louis Ramirez, in battle about ten years ago, and his subsequent succession of his reign as the pack leader at the tender age of fifteen years, the responsibility that accompanied the position had weighed down the once convivial spirit in him.
What remained was 

Chapter Six: The Rejected Mate