I lied.
It was a mistake.
Now my mate hates me.
Can I blame him?
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Mindlessly, I aggressively whisk a giant bowl of eggs while staring at the date encircled by a thick red line. The words 'Luna Ceremony' are written in the middle.
My heart pinches in pain as it's done for the past two years, ever since I turned eighteen, gained my wolf, and found my mate.
Only three more days.
"Willow, stop wasting time and finish breakfast. The Alpha won't be happy if you delay again. He's a busy man with a busy pack; he doesn't need a lazy nobody putting his entire pack behind!" Ethel Marjorie Beech, the house manager and the closest thing to a best friend I have around here, shouts from the doorway. And, no, I'm not being facetious. With how low on the totem pole I am in the pack (honestly, I'm not even on the pole at this point; I'm more like a picked-apart carcass that's rotting yards away from the pole), having Ethel constantly breathing my air and riding my butt is like having my very own fangirl bestie.
You know, if she hated me and wanted me dead.
"Hellooo...earth to Willow. You need to get breakfast out to the pack immediately." Her pitchy screech pulls me from my thoughts as anger burns my chest. I bite my tongue and fight the growl that begs to be released. In normal circumstances, she would never talk to me like this . . .
. . . But these aren't normal circumstances, now. Are they?
And who do I have to thank for that? Me.
I tear my eyes away from the calendar, refusing to look at Ethel as I walk over to the griddle, pouring the eggs. They hit the metal with a satisfactory sizzle.
"It's almost finished. Just need to scramble up the eggs," I say vacantly. "Breakfast will be out on time. I promise."
"Good. You have no idea how lucky you are that the Alpha hasn't thrown you out and made you go rogue," she huffs before spinning on the heels of her pretentious librarian shoes and disappearing from the kitchen.
"You're so lucky," I mock. I'm so used to hearing this that I've grown numb to it over the years.
The truth is, I'm not lucky. Ethel doesn't know what she's talking about. At one point in my life, I'd thought just like her, thinking that going rogue was somehow the worst possible scenario for a wolf. But I was wrong--so, so very wrong because there are far worse outcomes than being alone and losing your mind.
I should know; I'm living it.
I scramble the eggs quickly and place them in a giant bowl. I load up as much food as I can carry and take three calming breaths before starting the worst part of my day: breakfast for the entire pack in the dining hall, where I'll get scathing looks, judgy snickers, and under their foul-smelling-breath comments.
