Nicholas entered the house and listened for his father. No sounds or creaks greeted him. Relieved, he closed the door.
The remains of breakfast lingered in the air. Bacon and toast. No cinnamon rolls though.
I didn’t think there would be.
His steps as heavy as his heart, he shuffled over to the bread box. Two dinner rolls and half a loaf of bread occupied the space. His stomach protested the lack of substance with a rumble. His spirits sinking further, he grabbed the rolls. He consumed one on the spot and devoured the other as the trudged up the stairs.
He stripped off his clothes. The smell of wolf still clung to them. And to him. He jumped in the shower and lathered his skin with a vengeance. If only he could scrub away the events of the previous evening.
“You’re an i***t,” he mumbl
