Alora's Windsong

I woke to the smell of coffee brewing just as my alarm was about to scream at me. Two cups and a quick shower—that was all the time I had before the twenty-minute walk to the diner. Jobs were scarce, and when that little handwritten sign in the window said Help Wanted, I didn’t think twice.

Two more paychecks. That’s all I needed to get my motorcycle back on the road. My grandfather hated the bike. Said it was reckless, dangerous, a waste of money. But when I’m on it, the world finally feels like mine. He always brags about my older sister’s car and how well she’s doing. Never mind, she’s wrecked three already. She’s the golden child, the one who gets spoiled. I’m the one who gets compared.

The wind outside rattled the kitchen window, carrying a sound that almost wasn’t a sound at all—low, hollow, like a hum beneath the morning air. I shook it off, grabbed my mug, and told myself I didn’t hear it.

I hated working in fast food, but it was close enough to walk, and at least it kept me afloat. My sister and I both lived with our grandfather after our parents were killed in a car crash years ago.

Maybe they treat me differently because I don’t look like anyone else in my family. I was born albino—white hair, pale skin, and eyes that shift strangely in the light. I dye the tips of my hair sky-blue, and mascara turns my lashes dark brown. My hair’s long, down to my waist, though today I twist it into a messy bun. A swipe of Kiss-Me Pink lip gloss, and I’m ready for the commute.

Both sides of my family’s bloodline run deep olive skin, kissed by the sun, eyes so dark they almost look black. I stand out like a sore thumb. The local boys tease that I must have fae blood. Sometimes, I wonder if they’re right.

I am Alora Windsong.

She always said I was a gift of the Moon Goddess herself. White hair that glows like silver in the night, lips the color of pink rose petals, and eyes that catch the light of the moon. She spoiled me endlessly, and maybe that’s why my grandfather can hardly stand the sight of me now. He and my mother were always at odds, and after she was gone, I think his anger needed somewhere else to land.

But my mother believed I was more than a child. She said the Moon Goddess had marked me, as she had marked those before me. My bloodline carries the Windsong gift. The voice that bends emotion, weaving itself into the hearts of those who listen.

Legends say the mate of a Windsong is bound deeper than fate itself. When two sing together—Windsong and fated—they create a harmony that forges a bond unbreakable, a thread of magic that ties them not only for this lifetime, but through every life that follows.

I talked to Alpha Ryker about my situation, and he said he’d ask around for a better job once I got my bike fixed. I begged him not to tell Grampa. Once I got on my feet, I was moving out. No one in my family could know, not yet. If they found out my plans too soon, they’d try to crush them. Ryker understood. He always did. He’d had a crush on my mom before she was killed, so in a way, he’d always had my back. But I didn’t want people whispering about me being the Alpha’s favorite—that would only set Grampa off.

I’d already saved a few thousand for a new place. Ryker kept telling me how special I was, that when I found my mate, he’d be the luckiest man alive. I used to be terrified they’d cast me out because I was albino, but Ryker swore it would never happen. The only warning he ever gave me was about mates—mating outside our pack was strictly forbidden. We were one of the strongest Lycan lines in the region. “No breeding out,” he’d remind me with that half-smile of his.

We all started school young. Alpha said we were wired differently, sharper, faster. But Grampa had held me back my first year—he didn’t want me too close in grade to my sister, Sarah, the one he adored. It backfired. A few years later, she failed enough classes to be held back herself, and now we were in the same grade. I was on track to graduate this year. She wasn’t. Her grades were too far gone. I wanted no part of the drama when that hit. Sarah was strange, bitter, and her three closest friends—girls in my grade—hated me with a passion.

I had bigger plans. I was going to college. Once I moved out, I’d take the Pack’s scholarship Ryker had already promised me. He knew Grampa would lose his mind when he realized I’d outshone Sarah, but I didn’t care anymore. The principal, superintendent, even my teachers all knew Grampa had held me back for no reason. I only wanted what I’d earned.

I’d already applied to the Pack University, major in psychology, minor in sociology—a double track. Ryker even had my acceptance letters sent to his mansion so Grampa couldn’t intercept them. By the time they arrived, my bike would be fixed, and I’d have a dorm room waiting. The university was thrilled to take me in, already talking about how I was on track to earn my doctorate.

For now, my job barely paid the bills. Twenty hours a week, and half my paycheck went toward covering some of Grampa’s expenses. Money was tight. Freedom was tighter. But both were close enough that I could taste them.

I was the top cashier at the diner, but the second I walked through the door my stomach dropped. There was Grampa—already there, red-faced and locked in a heated argument with my boss.

Oh, Moon Goddess… what now?