The Defiant Ones

Chapter 4

It's been years since I slid chunks of fluffy pancakes into my mouth. The sugary maple syrup coated my tongue as I chewed and stabbed another forkful. My stomach sang with relief as the fuel piled in.

I set my fork down of the empty white plate and grabbed the glass of orange juice. Swallowing the mashed cakes, I placed the edge of the cup on my bottom lip. The natural goodness chilled my throat as I downed the glass.

Feeling satisfied, I stood up. The wooden chair whined against the stone floor in sync with my movement. Five other wolves immediately shot from their seats, their chairs squeaking in harmony. I eyed them with disbelief.

"Chill. I am putting my dishes in the sink, not running away," I exclaimed.

The tension in the air tightened. I sighed, picking up my plate and fork. "Someone can follow me if you wish. I already know I'm getting at least one puppy while I'm here."

I slipped through the gap between the chair and the table and headed for the open kitchen in the corner. Like the living room, no wall separated the kitchen from the dining room. I rounded the island and dropped the dishes into the sink.

As I turned around, the chaperone stopped in his tracks and blinked in surprise. "I'm Michael, but people call me Mike. It's nice to meet you, Luna. You are sort of a legend around here."

He smiled meekly and stretched out his hand with far too much enthusiasm. I peered down at his gesture suspiciously but reached out my hand. Before our skins touched I stopped and let my hand dangle in the air. What am I doing?

I looked back up at his face, dropping the greeting. He was taller than me, about four inches or so. His face was clean of any facial hair, and his hair was cut short so that every strand stood up. His green eyes dilated as he waited for my response.

"I don't do handshakes," I said and added to sate the small of maggot guilt wiggling inside me, "Sorry."

He blinked again, understanding my words. He brought his hand back to his neck and squeezed meekly. Silence traded between us.

When the emptiness morphed into a ringing awkwardness, I asked, "So, I'm a legend?"

He instantly perked up. "Yeah!" He chirped, "Most wolves find their mates when they are in their late teens. If they don't, it's most likely the mate died or is too far away to meet. The pack kept saying Alpha Micah's mate probably died since he is already 26, but he came back last week from Oxford Mall saying he felt your presence, and here you are, alive."

"Thanks," I mumbled dryly. I wish I was dead.

My mind hinged on one word. Micah. The knowledge consumed my thoughts. Micah. I repeated his name once in my head. Mi-cah. Micah. Micah. The name felt like a precious secret. Delight sparked in me every time my mind voiced the syllables.

"Luna?" Mike's hand reached out for my shoulder.

Whatever mood I was in vanished as his voice pulled me back to the world. I doused the embers of joy in my heart and invited the cold into my veins. I swatted his hand away.

"I am not your Luna." I declared with anger searing each word.

I stormed past him, my clenched fists itching for a target. What am I doing? I felt his name slipping into my thoughts. No. Stop. Stop it.

"You can't stop this. Just accept your mate. Your happiness is right in front of you." Giselle interjected in my head.

I can stop this.

"You can't," she replied.

That happiness is fake. My father left his mate. So can he.