The Problem with Destiny

Mom has fashion magazines spread across the living room coffee table like evidence in a trial.

Jenny sits cross-legged on the rug beside her, eyes shining with the kind of excitement only a fourteen-year-old can muster over someone else's wardrobe.

"It's about time," Mom says when I walk in, towel-drying my hair. She doesn't look up at first, just flips a glossy page. "Honestly, Cat. You can't avoid this forever."

"I wasn't avoiding," I lie.

June sighs inside my head. Yes you were.

Jenny squeals. "I can't believe you're getting a designer dress! Please, please, big sis, let me do your makeup!"

I drop onto the couch like my bones have turned to sand. "Oh Goddess, help me get through this," I laugh, because if I don't laugh I'm going to snarl.

Mom finally lifts her gaze to me, expression sharpening into the look she uses when she's about to turn motherhood into strategy. "Cat, you need to be a little more serious about the mating ball."

I gesture vaguely at my face. "I had blood coming out of my nose ten minutes ago."

"And now you're healed," she replies briskly. "Convenient. Which means you have no excuse to look like you've been dragged out of the woods."

"I live next to the woods."

"You know what I mean."

Jenny waves a lipstick tube in the air like a wand. "I have this color that would look amazing on you—"

"No," I say instantly.

Jenny pouts. Mom's eyes narrow.

"You need to look presentable," Mom continues, "so I don't have to be embarrassed because of you. You will represent Crescent Moon. And the Beta family."

I can practically hear Dad groaning somewhere in his office.

"Mike will be there," I say. "And he will actually be Beta. Let him represent the family."

Mom's mouth tightens. "This isn't about Mike."

It never is. Not really.

"It's about your future," she says, softening the words like that makes them less like a cage. "You're eighteen. Your wolf has awakened. You know what that means."

I do know.

That's the problem.

Shifters still live in the modern world. We go to human schools, we pay taxes, we pretend we aren't predators with instincts wired into our bones. Vampires and witches do the same. We all keep the secret because humans can't sense what we are.

But for wolves, there's always the pull of pack life. The longing for our own. The ache that comes from trying to live like a solitary creature when we were never made to be alone.

And then there's mating.

Fated mates.

Chosen mates.

The Moon Goddess, fate, bonds you can't break.

I hate how much of it is real.

Mom taps the magazine page. "The Lunar pack in Wyoming is hosting the ball on the next full moon. Unmated wolves will come. You will attend."

My stomach twists. "I'm not into the mating thing anyway. You know I want college. I want to travel. I want to—"

"Live like a human?" Mom says, and there's something sharp behind it, like she's afraid my dreams are an insult. "You can still have a life, Cat. Plenty of mated women go to school."

"Sure," I mutter. "And plenty of them end up stuck, too."

Mom's gaze flickers. She covers it quickly. "You're being dramatic."

I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "I'm being honest."

June rises behind my words, quiet but present. We don't submit.

I've never been interested in pack politics. But hierarchy is in our blood whether we like it or not. Wolves inherit dominant traits, and a dominant wolf changes everything about how others see you. My father is Beta by birthright, but he inherited Alpha genetics. My mother is Beta-born too—she just never trained, never fought, never wanted the kind of life I crave.

And me?

June is pure Alpha.

We hide it most days, dulling our scent so we don't attract challengers. Male shifters from other packs love the idea of making a high-ranked female submit. It's ego. It's power. It's the kind of medieval nonsense that makes me want to break bones for fun.

And Mom thinks a mating ball will fix me.

It won't.

Jenny bounces closer, practically vibrating. "What if you meet your mate? What if he's, like, super hot?"

I groan. "Jenny."

Mom points a finger at me. "Don't mock it. Fated mates are rare. Sacred."

I know the rules. Every wolf does.

Your fated mate can only be identified once your wolf awakens, usually at eighteen. During the full moon, your senses sharpen and your bond with your wolf is loud. The moment you meet your mate, something in you locks. The bond settles into place like it's been waiting your whole life.

You don't get to negotiate.

You don't get to "see how it goes."

It's fate, carved into your ribs.

Rejecting a fated mate is almost unheard of—not because it's forbidden, but because the pull is overwhelming and the bond itself sharpens instinct and strength. Still, the idea that such power comes at the cost of choice unsettles me, especially knowing that breaking the bond requires both mates to agree and leaves them weakened, punished for daring to walk away.

"You haven't found a mate in this pack," Mom says, watching me carefully.

She's right. We do pack runs every full moon, and June has never recognized anyone as ours. If she had, I'd know. I'd feel it in my bones like thunder.

Part of me is relieved.

Part of me is terrified.

Mating balls exist because packs need new blood and alliances. Packs with feuds still show up because the chance of finding a fated mate outweighs old grudges. It's survival dressed up as romance.

And then there are chosen mates—partners you pick. Love, companionship, politics. A human-style relationship. Those can end. Those can break. Those can become messy.

But a fated mate?

There are no divorces.

There is no "maybe."

Nothing comes between you and the bond.

Which sounds romantic until you remember wolves have egos and tempers and power.

Mum's voice turns firm. "Cat, you will get a beautiful dress. You will get your hair and makeup done. And you will behave like a lady."

I stare at her. "Or what?"

Her eyes harden. "Otherwise I will make your father pause your training until you do as you're told."

The words hit like a slap.

Training is my oxygen. My release. The way I keep my mind clear when everything else feels like a trap. Mom knows it. She knows exactly where my weak spot is.

June snarls silently. She's threatening us.

I know, I answer, jaw clenched.

Mom looks back down at the magazine like she hasn't just declared war. Jenny, traitor that she is, starts flipping pages with delighted little gasps.

I exhale slowly, because I'm not going to win this fight in front of my sister.

"Fine," I say, forcing the word out. "Alright. Let's get to it."

Hours pass in a blur of fabric names and necklines and Jenny's dramatic opinions about eyeshadow. I nod at the right places. I pretend to care. My smile feels like it's glued on.

At one point, Mom mentions Luna Diana—how graceful she always looks, how effortless. And an unwanted memory rises up: Diana at the last ball, laughing politely while a group of older she-wolves hovered around her like she was a prize. How her smile had looked... tight, like a ribbon pulled too hard.

When Mom finally releases me, it's late. My head aches from holding myself together.

In my room, I flop onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.

"I hate this," I whisper.

June is quiet for a long moment. Then she says, softer than usual, We won't let anyone cage us.

I swallow hard. "What if fate does?"

Then we bite fate, she answers.

It's ridiculous.

It's perfect.

I fall asleep with the taste of defiance on my tongue and the full moon looming ahead like a promise I never asked for.