The Pack Slut

Thirty Three- Monster

Monster.

How can the one thing that you are sure of turn out to be the complete opposite of what you thought?

Monster.

How could the man I am supposed to love and cherish for the rest of my life turn out to be the person I hate most in this world?

Monster.

I used to think all of my bad decisions had consequences that I could deal with: get drunk equals deal with hang over, have sex equals deal with angry mother, and so forth. I could handle heart break over my best friend, I could handle heart break over my first boyfriend, and I could even handle heart break over my pack that will never accept me again. These were all choices I had made and repercussions that I had dealt with.

I knew when I made a decision that there would be consequences but I made it anyways because screw the unknown worries and doubts. They couldn't kill me.

But this is some sick joke. The moon goddess—or whatever bitch is up there—is really messing with me for all the shit I've done.

All of those consequences were just petty reminders while the real punishment festered like an untreated wound, building the disease and spreading it from the source of the infection.

It's me. I'm the infection. And my mate is the open wound.

Mated to the leader of the rogues who has tried to kill me multiple times, attacked my pack and probably killed Mai too. I'm not fucking laughing.

Damon, I look up from Ethan's drooping body and make eye contact with my alpha. His eyes are as hard as steel until they read my broken expression that can't even be hidden in my wolf form.

What—

He's my mate.

How is that possible? Damon doesn't look angry which is a good sign except he looks as shocked as if I had just poured a bucket of ice water over his head.

He must have been under eighteen. That's the only explanation as to why you couldn't tell earlier, Rick speaks up and takes a cautious step forward. It is midnight now meaning a new day...his eighteenth birthday.

Of course it is because this is all meant to punish me. All my evil doings have finally overflowed the pot.

It's too late to apologize for stealing alcohol from the cellar, for vandalizing Mrs. Kingsley's whiteboard with permanent markers, for cursing a lot—and I mean a fucking lot.

What do we do with him?

As soon as Damon asks the question I snap out of my thoughts and pick my head up, how can you even ask that? We have to save him!

Is that really what you want, Lenora? Damon presses further and I can tell that with all his heart he wishes that I will say no and let him kill the rouge.

But I can't.

And I won't.

As much as I want him dead...I can't. You can't chose who your mate is, I sigh and look back down at Ethan who watches me with a dazed look in his eyes. His breathing becomes shallower and my heart rate picks up. We don't have much time. Call the healer!

All the healers are helping our real pack members. They have their hands full enough as it is. We can't spare—

What if it was Eva?! I growl in challenge and Damon flicks his ears in annoyance.