4

Daniel, her brother and her mum were at the kitchen table when she arrived back. The oak surface was cluttered with steaming dishes, brown chicken wings that glistened under the light, piled high next to a mountain of spaghetti with rich spices. The peppered steak, still sizzling faintly, sat beside a bowl of roasted vegetables that nobody except her mom would touch. Daniel, her little brother, as usual was shoving handfuls of chicken wings into his mouth like a starved beast.

Her mom had this tradition every time they moved. Emma and her brother had nicknamed it the ‘apology feasts’. It was a buffet of guilt. One Emma always enjoyed. The scent of garlic and curry clung to the air, thick enough to taste. It didn’t erase the sting of uprooting their lives again but Emma wasn’t about to turn down her mother’s signature crispy chicken wings or peppered steak. She slid into her chair, the legs scraping against the well-worn tiles.

"So how was school?" Her mom’s voice was light, but bags under her eyes betrayed her exhaustion. Moving always sapped her, no matter how many times she plastered on a smile.

Emma hesitated, studying her mother’s face. Did she know? Had her parents intentionally dropped her into a town where werewolves lurked? But her mom just looked exhausted, the way she did after a move. There was definitely no secret knowledge behind her tired smiles. She waited for Emma to reply, her fingers absently twisting the hem of her flour-dusted apron.

"Ummm… it was okay," Emma finally said.

"Glad to hear it." Her mom’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. "Are you hungry?"

"Emma is always hungry," Daniel announced, half-chewed chicken wings muffling his words.

"Look at the pot calling the kettle black. At least I don’t eat like a savage raccoon." Emma shot back.

"Please. Stop it. Both of you. Let’s just eat." Her mom sighed heavily. Emma loaded her plate with precision. Spaghetti twirled around her fork, three crispy chicken wings balanced on the edge, a slice of steak so tender it nearly melted under her knife Moving was hell but her mom’s cooking was a consolation prize. A small price to pay, but a satisfying one.

Then, a thought struck her.

Did Daniel know?

She glanced at him. His dark hair was a mess, sticking up like he had lost a fight with a cushion. His fingers were slick with grease as he tore into a chicken wing with absolute focus. She wished he concentrated on his mathematics homework like he did to those chicken wings. When he finally looked up, catching her stare, he just shrugged and mouthed, "What?"

Emma mouthed back, "Nothing."

Nope. Daniel did not know.

A thrill bubbled in her chest. She was the one who knew. She was the one living the childhood fantasy she had always dreamed up at eight years old. After she had just watched a bunch of werewolf romance movies. Even though she was sure she could not remember the plots of any of the movies she watched. She knew she loved them. Sure, it was almost a decade late maybe but fantasies did not expire.

She chuckled to herself as she took in a fork of spaghetti into her mouth.

****

The Alpha King paced his bedroom, the floorboards creaking under his weight. Moonlight peered through the half-drawn curtains and on his bed.

He had gone to school today and felt something. A tug maybe. His father had warned him that mate bonds weren’t always clear, but that didn’t make the ambiguity any less exasperating.

Sometimes, he wished he were human. Humans could love or at least pretend to love whoever they wanted. But nooo. He was shackled to destiny, to a bond that demanded just one person. And the cruelest part? She had to want him back.

In his pack, there were stories. Rare stories but brutal of mates who despised each other and the kind of hatred that seeped into the pack bond like rot. There were also rare stories of male werewolves who had more than one mate. To him, those were the lucky ones. They were living his dream life.

Or maybe he was just restless. That should be it. He had not slept well the past week.

He rolled over back to bed and came face-to-face with Sarah’s bare ass, her skin pale against the dark sheets. Ugh. Why was she still here? Their evening had ended hours ago. She was just his fuck buddy.

The sun had set. The deed was done. Yet here she was, slumped across his bed like she owned it.

"Baby," Sarah murmured. She curled into him, her long red nails scraping lightly down his chest.

Noah suppressed a groan. "I’m going to school, Sarah. And I’m not your baby."

She pouted, her lips puffier than a blowfish. It hurt Noah to look at her lips. They looked like a deflating balloon. "Uh-uh. If you say so."

He needed to leave. Now. But Sarah, ever the opportunist, slid in front of him, blocking his path. With a sigh, he played his last card, distraction. His fingers slid around her nipple, just barely brushing the peak, watching it stiffen under his teasing.

Pathetic. But effective.

She gasped, her back leaving the mattress. "Fuck! Just touch me already." Her hips rolled in a desperate, rrhythmic grind against nothing, her thighs squeezing around empty air.

Noah watched her squirm with detached amusement. This was the part he liked best. The control. The way her body responded to him even when he gave her almost nothing. He dragged a single fingernail down the slope of her breast, so light it was almost cruel, and Sarah whimpered like he knew she would, her fingers twisting in the sheets.

"Please," she begged, her voice cracking. "I'll do anything. Anything." Her pupils were blown wide. Her lips, swollen from biting them. A strand of blonde hair stuck to her cheek, damp with sweat.

He leaned down, his breath hot against her ear. "I know." Then he pulled away entirely, ignoring her frustrated cry as he as he swung his legs off the bed.

Sarah lunged for him, her nails scraping down his back. "You, asshole!"

Noah smirked over his shoulder, watching her squirm, her chest heaving, her skin reddened with excitement and anger.

"Noah." He heard someone call out. He knew that voice.

His father was home.