Naomi was sick. Her whole body ached and she couldn't breathe through her nose.

Kate wasn't forgiving to a little cold though. She still had to get her chores done.

She sneezed, her body jerking with the motion.

"Gross," one girl whined. "I'm telling Kate."

Naomi continued making the beds, before retrieving the vacuum.

"If you think it's funny to pretend to be sick, Naomi, you're off kitchen duty for the rest of the week," Kate said behind her. "Get your stuff. You can sleep in the basement until then."

She cringed. Being off kitchen duty meant no food. The basement was cold and drafty, but at least she could finally rest.

Kate stepped closer, her hand reaching for her but she moved back out of her reach.

The director sniffed, looking very displeased. "You know I only do these things because I care about you. You won't get this kind of treatment in the real world. Finish the beds and go to the basement. You're not allowed up here until Sunday."

---

The bed in the basement groaned under her weight. She shook out the dusty sheets and blankets and shivered.

She had brought some of her own blanket and she could already feel the cold seeping into her bones

She was exhausted and thankful that she had nothing to do but sleep.

It had to be a few hours later when she was jolted from her doze by someone walking down the stairs.

"It's just me, honey," Darla cooed. "I brought you some dinner. You know you can't get better without eating."

Naomi sat up, pressing against the headboard.

The cook placed the tray in her lap.

"You didn't have to do this," she said, stomach growling at the smell of the soup.

"Don't act like that. You have to eat," Darla said, shivering. "I'll see if I can find some more blankets. You'll never get better sleeping down here in this cold."

"Kate won't be too happy about that." Her cold hands were so shaky she couldn't get the soup to stay on the spoon.

"Let me worry about that, okay? I'll be down before bed to check on you."

---

The punching bag swung viciously and Killian gave it one last strike before it hit the ground with a loud thud.

He breathed heavily, chest heaving. He shook his head, pushing back the anger, and letting the adrenaline fade.

He unwrapped his hands, blood soaking the fabric.

"I'm not so sure your mate would be happy you're destroying your hands," Mickie teased, tossing him a pack of bandage.

"Whatever," Killian muttered, hanging the bag back up.

"I know my dad's on your back, but he does it because he cares. That's how he knows how to show it."

"It's not that," he said, taking a seat. "He's right. I need a mate. It's just-"

Mickie placed his hand on his shoulder. "I get it. You've struggled to let someone in emotionally since we lost your parents. It's very intimidating to let someone in, someone that's permanent."

"And she's not a wolf." Killian shook his head. "A luna that's not a wolf."

"It's not uncommon. Most tend to choose wolves, but there's no rulles, Killian. You know the pack will support you in your decision."

Mates were chosen. There was no instant connection, no smell or magic to lead them to each other. Typically, it was dominant wolf who sought out the partner.

Killian's dad told him to listen to his gut - that that was the Moon Goddess guiding him to the right choice. And so far, nothing seemed right.

"What if I make the wrong choice?" The words were soft and hesitant. Mickie was the only person he could confide in.

"You won't. You'll know what to do."