Evil Deviled Eggs

If you mess up badly enough, they'll never put you in charge of it again. That's the wisdom my Nana used to pass down to me.

"Freya!!!!!" Someone hollers my name from downstairs. Yikes!!! Looks like the eggs have been found.

Well, Nana said they might never ask you to do it again...she never promised you'd escape the yelling that came with it.

I ease my foot out of the window and onto the ledge outside. Once I find solid footing, I swing my whole body out, gripping the window frame tight with both hands. Yesssss!!! Freedom is so close I can practically taste it. Here I come!!!

"There she is," a voice calls out from below, one I recognize instantly. I glance down to see several pairs of furious eyes staring back up at me. "Told you she'd try climbing out this way," adds my fifteen-year-old half-sister Willow, jabbing her finger at me accusingly.

Oh, come on! So close!!!

"I honestly can't believe you managed to burn eggs while boiling them!" snaps Luna Sabine. She's only a few years older than me and has never been my biggest fan. These days I'd go as far as saying she despises me. "Don't even think about showing up for dinner tonight. You'll be eating those eggs for days."

A few snickers drift in from the doorway. I'd bet money at least some of them belong to my cousin Clara and her crew.

Fine, burnt eggs for days. Noted.

I can't cook, plain and simple. Sue me. Nana tried teaching me...and eventually even she threw in the towel! I did give it a real shot, though. Just last month Nora, the pack's cook, trusted me to handle a pasta dish on my own. I stuck to her directions exactly, I swear. It wasn't my fault the pasta clumped into one giant blob or that the sauce decided to leap right out of the pot. It splattered everywhere like molten lava, honestly more spectacular than that volcano project we did in school. Except this time everyone was screaming, I had to scrub the mess afterward, everyone was furious with me, and I went to bed with an empty stomach...again.

They stopped trusting me in the kitchen after that...until this morning. Guess they forgot about the pasta disaster. I was handed the job of boiling eggs, a whole bunch of them. I think Nora's plan was deviled eggs or something along those lines. I sat there waiting forever for that water to boil. Seriously, forever. Eventually I got bored and wandered upstairs to read instead. By the time I caught a whiff of something wrong, it was already too late. The smoke detector was screaming. Thick black smoke billowed out of the pot, choking and awful. An entire floor of the pack house filled with smoke and the stench of scorched eggs. Every drop of water had evaporated. The eggs at the bottom looked charred beyond recognition, and even the ones higher up reeked of burning.

I dashed around the kitchen, waving the alarm frantically with a dishtowel, throwing open every window, swearing like I'd never sworn before. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing! Then footsteps sounded nearby. I bolted for my room and tried climbing out the window to escape, which is exactly when they caught me.

These days I live in a pack house. Apparently they thought it'd be a good idea to make me one of the house cooks. Not that I'm an Omega, mind you. No, I'm even lower than that: I'm human. Curious how a human ends up living among a house full of werewolves? It's a long story, but the abbreviated version is that my mother is one of them.

Back during her wilder days, she had one drunken night out in town. Got a little too friendly with a human man...bibbidi bobbidi boo, nine months later, ta-da, there I was.

So why am I human instead of half-werewolf, you're wondering? Technically I guess I am half, but I smell entirely human and there's no wolf hiding inside waiting to emerge. I never got that dream where your future wolf's name gets whispered to you, the one that signals your first shift is coming within days, usually around age thirteen or fifteen. So by pack standards, I count as human. Just wonderful. Not that I was dying to become a werewolf anyway. Who'd want to turn into some furry, admittedly kind of adorable but also fierce creature, running wild through the woods, with parents who'd actually be proud of them for once and treat them decently? Definitely not me. Obviously.

Which also means I probably won't feel that mate-recognition thing everyone talks about when I hit eighteen in a few days. Honestly, good riddance. Who needs a mate who'll be controlling and overbearing while somehow also being fiercely protective and devoted no matter what? Not me. Don't want it, don't need it, never did.

My mom found her actual mate about a month after giving birth to me. She dropped me off with her own mother, my Nana, who was living alone at the time after recently losing her mate too.

So Nana ended up raising me instead. She was the one person who truly loved me. I stayed with her right up until three months ago, when she passed away. Just months shy of my eighteenth birthday, and we'd made so many plans together. I still can't wrap my head around her being gone. Since they're selling her house now, I got relocated here. I suppose I should count myself lucky they didn't just leave me homeless.

So now I'm stuck living with my mom's family: her mate, aka my stepdad Grant, and their daughter Willow.

Every family here gets their own unit, complete with a small family room and however many bedrooms they need based on their kids. Meals happen together though, in the pack's massive shared dining room.

I do have my own room, technically. It's small, okay, tiny is more accurate, and it doesn't even have a window. Pretty sure it used to be Willow's walk-in closet, but hey, whatever works. At least I get some privacy out of the deal. Who needs a spacious bedroom anyway when I can channel my inner Harry Potter?

It's past nine at night and my stomach won't stop growling. I haven't touched food all day. I've basically been holed up in my room ever since this morning's egg catastrophe.

"Quit giving me that look, Winston," I scold my best friend. "I'm not being a coward, I just don't feel like dealing with people right now." Yes, fine, Winston happens to be a ragged old teddy bear, but his eyes have this uncanny ability to stare you down until you're ready to confess to crimes you've never even committed. I turn him around to face the wall instead.

My stomach growls yet again and I let out a sigh.

The television's still going in the family room, which means nobody's heading to bed anytime soon.

Carefully, I crack open my door and slip out, doing my best to stay silent.

Mom's parked in the center of the couch, Grant's arm draped around her shoulders. My half-sister Willow sits on her other side, head resting against mom's shoulder while mom absentmindedly runs fingers through her soft brown hair. Picture-perfect family, right there.

All three sets of eyes snap toward me the instant I try sneaking past behind the sofa. Stupid werewolf hearing!

We stare at each other in silence. I shift my weight awkwardly from foot to foot. "I, um, just grabbing some eggs for dinner," I mumble. Complete silence answers me. "Okay then..." I mutter, shuffling out the door while three sets of eyes track my every move.

Sometimes I catch myself wondering what it actually feels like to belong somewhere, you know? To be genuinely wanted instead of just barely tolerated. To live like Willow does.

Not that I dwell on it much though. All things considered, my life isn't terrible. Lucky, even, comparatively speaking. Nana loved me, and even though she's gone, that love was real while she was here. My stepfather doesn't seem to hate me, at least not that I can tell. Mom mostly pretends I don't exist, but occasionally she's almost warm toward me. My half-sister isn't fond of me either, but she's just a kid, so I let that slide.

I make it into the kitchen undetected. Scanning the room, I spot a large plastic container of burnt eggs sitting on the floor near the sink.

I heave it up onto the counter and pry off the lid. The stench hits immediately. Looks like they scraped together every blackened, ruined egg from the bottom and kept the decent ones at the top for themselves.

I stare blankly at the black mess inside. My stomach growls again, but this looks more like something you'd shovel out of a fireplace than food.

"Oh my god, she's actually going to eat those!" Clara announces gleefully from the doorway.

"We need pictures of this," her clone, sorry, best friend Brynn chimes in.

"Video's better!" another girl shouts.

A crowd of maybe eight teenagers has gathered behind them, all buzzing with excitement to watch me choke down blackened eggs. All except Corbin and his buddy Wes. Corbin happens to be Clara's brother; their dad is my mom's older brother and also serves as the pack's Beta. Corbin's a year older than me, Clara's a year younger.

"Come on, hold it up!" Clara demands, phone already raised and ready.

"We should totally post this online," adds Miles, another one of the group's idiots.

I catch Corbin and Wes exchanging looks. Corbin's jaw is tight, lips pressed into a thin line, while Wes can't even bring himself to meet my eyes.

I scoop up a fistful of the burnt eggs and the crowd's energy spikes even further. Their eyes are practically glowing with anticipation. Ridiculous werewolves. Guess this house needs better entertainment options. They should really invest in N*****x. Nana always had it.

I fix my aim on Clara's forehead and feel a grin spreading across my face.

THWACK! Direct hit!!! Dead silence follows.

A massive glob of egg sits smack in the center of Clara's forehead, dark goo streaked with grey and yellow now sliding slowly down her face before splattering onto the floor with a wet thwack. Her friends scatter backward.

"Aaarrrrgghhhhh!!!!!" Clara's scream shatters the quiet. Her friends gape in shock while a couple of the boys, particularly Corbin and Wes, are visibly fighting laughter. Corbin shoots me a quick, proud grin before hiding it.

"How dare you, you filthy human tramp!!!! You're going to regret this!" Clara shrieks, storming toward me with fists clenched tight at her sides, her hazel eyes flashing dark. Brynn and a couple other girls close in behind her.

Clara's practically shaking with rage while Brynn and the rest look thrilled, eyes gleaming with malicious anticipation. Uh oh...they're absolutely going to end me.

I grab another handful of burnt eggs, prepared to fling it at anyone stupid enough to get close.

"What exactly is going on here?" old Mr. Thorne barks, our pack's former Alpha.

Everyone freezes instantly, heads dropping in submission. He hasn't held the Alpha title in years, yet he still radiates that authority somehow. At least, that's the impression I get from what people say. I've never felt compelled to submit to anyone myself, not even our current Alpha. Nana always said that was probably because I'm human.

"Well?" he presses. Despite his age, Mr. Thorne still looks solid, tough even, his face weathered and leathery like he's spent decades under the sun.

"She did this to me," Clara says, gesturing at herself dramatically.

"I'm sure she had good reason. Sounds like you were bullying her again," he says flatly. "All of you, clear out. Leave the girl be."

The look Clara shoots me before storming off with her posse makes it clear this isn't finished. I notice Corbin still lingering nearby.

"Why are you still standing here?" Mr. Thorne snaps at him.

Corbin gives me a worried glance before ducking through the doorway.

"You alright there, Freya dear?" Mr. Thorne asks, turning his attention to me, sounding almost concerned.

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine, thanks," I say, noticing he's suddenly standing way closer than necessary. Before I can step back, his hand lands on my back. Something about the way he's looking at me makes my stomach turn.

"Poor thing," he murmurs, hand sliding up and down my back. My skin crawls.

"Really, I'm fine," I insist, trying to inch away from his roaming hand, but he closes the gap instead, pressing himself against me. Oh, fvck. I mean, fudge!

I shove him back hard and yank myself free. In that moment I couldn't care less about the consequences of disrespecting a high-ranking werewolf. Thankfully, he releases me.

I quickly set the container of eggs back down near the sink and bolt from the kitchen.

He laughs quietly behind me. "Sleep well, dear Freya."

"Yeah, you too, Mr. Thorne!" I mutter under my breath, adding a silent wish that he go choke on a lemon or leap out of a plane sans parachute.

I sprint off and nearly collide with Corbin, who's still hovering in the hallway between the kitchen and stairs. Relief floods his expression at the sight of me. We exchange a quick nod before I race up the stairs as fast as my legs allow.

I dive into my tiny bedroom and lock the door tight behind me. I've always hated the way old Mr. Thorne looks at me. He's had that same unsettling expression aimed my way since I was twelve.

His mate's technically still alive, if you can call it that. The former Luna's been confined to her bed for years now. No clue how she ended up that way, but someone really ought to keep that man on a shorter leash.

I collapse onto my bed, pulling Winston close. My stomach's still growling and my skin still feels gross from Mr. Thorne's touch. Part of me wants to shower, scrub away his scent and the memory of his hands, but I can't stomach the idea of running into mom or Willow again tonight.

"Not really in a social mood tonight," I tell Winston. "So what now, Winston?"