Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 140412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
“He is the king!” she rages. “It doesn’t matter how he signed it. You should think of him, speak of him, as if he’s your king. And he should think of you as just another subject. He clearly does not.”
She goes to my closet and throws open the doors, disappearing inside as she mutters about needing to buy me an appropriate wardrobe. I hear her pawing through my clothes in annoyance before she emerges with a black crepe top with pleated white sleeve cuffs and a prim peter-pan neckline. She jerks a pair of black tie-waist trousers off their hanger and throws the clothes onto the bed in disgust. “Get dressed. Your Father is waiting to speak to you downstairs.”
She leaves and slams the door, and I immediately reach for my phone to check the time. It’s ten o’clock, much later than I’m usually allowed to sleep, and the Daniels will be over for brunch at noon. I put as much hustle into getting ready as I reasonably can and still leave less time between then and now for Father to lecture me.
More likely, it will be Mother doing the lecturing while Father stands by, condemning me with glares of disappointment. And I’ll shrink and feel small and apologize for things I can’t control.
This isn’t what you want. Pack your bags and go, right now. Take your car, live in it if you have to. I imagine getting behind the wheel and leaving everything behind.
Then I remember how I felt at the ceremony last night, how much I yearned to transform, and that fleeting moment of imagined freedom crashes down. I need to be with the pack. Not for security, but because it’s my nature.
It’s unfair that I have to trade away my future to belong.
I hear raised voices as I descend the stairs. They’re coming from Father’s study, and they’re not voices I recognize immediately. The anger obscures the usually polite context in which I hear them, but it becomes crushingly clear as I approach the doors that Ashton is here early, as are his father and mother.
The argument goes silent as I enter, the eyes of my fiancé and two sets of furious parents falling on me, demanding answers to a thousand questions all once. If I can’t deliver the right answers, right now, it will reflect badly on me. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to give the right answers at all; they’ve already decided what I’m going to say and what my words will mean before I open my mouth.
Ashton’s is the only face with any sympathy. He comes to me and takes my hands in his. “Darling. You must be so upset.”
“Upset?” I look to Mother. Hasn’t she told them all about the note yet?
“Being pursued so relentlessly by the king. He’s abusing his power as pack leader. It’s absolutely disgusting.” He directs most of his statement to the room at large.
So, that’s what the argument was about. Whether or not I’m being courted by the king or stalked by him.
Ashton’s father, James Daniels, is like a middle-aged version of his son. A glimpse into the future of my marriage, and I guess it’s not all bad. Thank goodness Ashton doesn’t look like a constipated asshole when he talks to me, like James does. He asks, “What message did the king send you last night?”
Now, I’m double confused. I assumed Mother told them the contents of note. I open my mouth, considering how to not lie but also not reveal the entire truth. “It was an apology. For putting me under such scrutiny at the ball.”
Ashton and his father exchange a charged glance. “And not an invitation to dinner?”
I cringe inwardly. Ashton asked the question as a defense of me, to his father. My fiancé expects me to back up his firm denial, but I can’t and it’s just going to make him look foolish.
I’m sure he’ll love that, but there’s nothing I can do to fix it, not with Mother and Father standing there, knowing full well what the note said. “He did invite me to dinner.”
It’s so quiet, the clock on the wall behind Father’s desk ticks audibly.
“You’re not going,” Mother says firmly.
Ashton holds up his hand for quiet. His jaw visibly tightens. “Thomas, may we have the room, please?”
“Sweetheart,” Mrs. Daniels wheedles. “Perhaps we should discuss this as a family. At ho—”
“Thank you, Mother,” Ashton dismisses her tersely.
“Let’s give these young people time to talk,” Father says, holding an arm stiffly toward the open double doors, which he closes behind them as they file out, leaving Ashton and I to stand awkwardly in front of each other.
I don’t know what to say. Worse, I don’t know what he’s going to say. I hope he’s going to call off the pact.
Please, please let him call off the pact.