Oddly Fated Mates: Freya and Atticus

Chapter Three

Freya

"C'mon, Freya . . ." Melissa groans, "you have to put something pretty in your hair." Her blonde hair rustled as she shakes her head. "This is your Lunar Cycle, babe. Don't you want to look pretty and beautiful under those lanterns?"

Pretty? Beautiful? Who the hell cares about that? What kind of protection will beauty bring to the pack?

Melissa, my only female friend—and really, she's just a friend because her grandma is besties with my grandma—scowls at me, disappointment flooding her features.

I sigh. Defeat admitted. "Fine, okay." I spin in the chair, putting the mirror to my back. "I am in your capable hands."

A squeal escapes her throat. "Yay!" She claps her hands together as determination ripples across her eyes. "I'm going to make you the prettiest Lunar the pack has ever seen."

"If you must."

"I must."

She whirls pieces of my usually thrown-back hair around curlers, through straighteners, and yanks everything this way and that until my scalp throbs. Until she's pinned my hair up in this half-up, half-down thing I don't entirely hate, but the number of bobby pins holding it all together scares the shit outta me. How am I supposed to remove these later? The light silvery shimmer to my eyelids reminds me of moonlight, and it's clear she has a vision in mind. I'll be the pack's Lunar for the next few hours. So I'm sparkling in silver, white, and the occasional bits of brown to darken shadowed areas that leave the light areas highlighted by contrast. Or so she says.

Grandma has a dress for me to wear, apparently, that I've yet to see. But it's Grandma. I trust her.

Once we're done, Melissa squeals—for the umpteenth time tonight—and yanks me to standing. "C'mon, twirl, girl!"

Sighing, I twirl with my hands out, doing my best to match her girlish expectations. But when she places me in front of the mirror, I have to hold back the unease in my stomach. I was expecting to see someone else, someone I don't know, but the person staring back at me is someone I recognise. I look . . . like Mom.

Nothing like me.

Like I'm looking at a stranger in a familiar disguise.

And it's unsettling.

I can feel my stomach churning, and I have to sit down for a moment.

"You hate it?" Melissa's voice travels through the panic and nausea, hitting me like a guilt train.

"I . . ." Yes, I hate it. I look like the girls you see running after the hot male betas like they're walking talking vaginas. It's disgusting. "I look like my mom." There. Not a complete lie.

The sad blush and look of pride in her eyes steals me for a moment. She bows her head. "I'm so glad I could help our future High Matriarch on the most important day of her life." A tense atmosphere pulls taut between us, and I can feel more than hear her heartbeat, her life force. She's part of my pack, and she's trying to show loyalty.

And it's . . . nice.

"Pssh . . . Stop that." I wave my hand at her bowed head, her soft voice, her . . . everything. "We've been friends for years. And that won't change." I climb back to my feet with nothing more than a small wobble and punch her in the arm. "You're stuck with me. Sorry."

Tears line her eyes, and she wipes her hand over them to dust her self off. "Right. Of course." She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. "Sorry, don't know what came over me."

A knock at the door interrupts us, and we both turn in surprise. "Freya?" Grandma calls from behind the door. "May I come in?"

"Of course."