I lied.
It was a mistake.
Now my mate hates me.
Can I blame him?
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My eyes crack open slowly. It feels like I've had the best and worst sleep of my life. My muscles are tight and sore, yet my body hums with warm, sweet adrenaline. A smile forms as I take in the scent I've yearned for since I turned eighteen.
It's not the first time I've woken to the memory of Rowan's scent lingering like a ghost. I both love it and hate it when I do. I love it because I wake feeling as if my fated life—the life destined for me and the life I was designed for—is mine and has always been mine. But then reality plows through those delusional lies, painfully reminding me that my destined life will not, nor will it ever, be mine.
Destiny wanted me to be a Luna, a leader to be admired.
Instead, I spend my days talking to an endlessly hungry sourdough starter while serving the same meals to the same people every single morning, living a life of complete invisibility. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't have it any other way. I love this little life I've built here with these wonderful people who've embraced me, giving me something I haven't had for a very long time.
But even here, I'm invisible.
They may have accepted me, but only because they don't truly know me. There's a massive and integral part of my life that they know nothing about.
My wolf.
If they did know this part about me, they most certainly wouldn't accept me, and I'd be right back to square one.
Rejected.
I'm starting to think perhaps this is my destiny, after all.
I sigh as I roll onto my back, moaning with satisfaction as my mind races, trying to remember what I did yesterday to feel this euphoric.
Moons, I must have kicked major booty in my sparring session . . . only, I never made it to my session.
The thought hits me like a punch, and I suddenly find it hard to breathe as the image of Rowan standing, flushed and possessed, at my front door breaks through. My body sits up on its own accord, and my hand automatically grasps my neck, where I feel a foreign lump—a raised, jagged, and round bump, a bump I'd know anywhere.
The mate mark.
No.
A clearing throat forces me out of my panic, and my eyes shoot up. Rowan sits in a chair across from me. He's fully dressed, looking right at me with his elbows on his knees and his hands steepled by his mouth. His eyes are red and puffy, like he's been crying. Seeing him simultaneously sends a thrill of nostalgia and anger through my body while my brain desperately tries to make sense of this entire situation.
Why is Rowan here, and why does it look like his entire world has fallen apart?
"I'm sorry, Willow. I'm so sorry," Rowan brokenly whispers. "I didn't want it like this."
