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Chapter 55
Alice
I run as fast as my legs can carry me until my lungs feel like they are filled with lead, and my lips can't grasp any air. My hand reaches out to lean against a tree, and then I royally puke all over my shoes—hopefully, no one saw this golden moment.
But I'm never that lucky.
A snicker comes from behind me. "Running isn't for witches, I suppose."
I turn around to scowl at older Dior, who is standing a few feet away. I'm not afraid of him, neither does he look scary. His face is wrenched with concern, and his lips are seized in an insecure smile. He looks as elegant as ever, but I can't say that I've missed him.
For two weeks, Dior has left me gifts, such as chocolate when William spends time protecting Patricia, and yesterday when I was watching Netflix, ice cream magically flew through a portal and landed in my lap. The werewolf cares about me—that much is for sure.
"Yeah, cardio isn't my thing."
Dior leans his uppe
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