Chapter 4

Florence POV: Is Jason Bewitched?

I wake with a start, the harsh glare of the sunlight coming from the window in my eyes. I had fallen asleep in the middle of weeping.

A hesitant knock on the door makes me jump. A soft voice calls out from the hallway. "Can I come in, Florence?"

I sit up, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes, waiting for the painful throb in my head to clear a little before answering. 

"Who is there?" I call. 

"Susie Mueller."

My best friend is here. I sigh with relief. I clear my raspy throat and sit up straight. "Come in, Susie."

The door opens. Susie is a big girl who loves wearing big dresses, and she flows into the room now wearing the most voluminous skirt I have ever seen on her. 

Under any other circumstances, I would have teased her immediately. She turns around in a joyful, sweeping circle, her eyes bright. 

She asks, "Do you like it?"

Her smile dies the moment she catches sight of my face though. She freezes and asks, "Are you crying?"

"Yeah," I whisper, looking down at my tangled hands. "Before. A lot."

Susie rushes over, the heavy fabric of her dress rustling loudly. "What happened?"

"You missed the Grand Unification Ball."

She sits beside me, a guilty expression on her face. "The children's ward at the clinic was completely swamped today, Flor. The head nurse wouldn't let me leave. But I swear, I came here the second my shift ended."

I look at the slightly open door, the silence of the hallway suddenly feeling ominous. 

"You didn't see anyone when you walked in?"

"There's a canopy set up outside the house, and a bunch of caterers are putting out chairs for a party," Susie says, her brow furrowing. "Wait . . . does this have anything to do with why Todd gave me such a weird, tragic look when I passed him outside?"

I swallow the hard lump in my throat. "Jason didn't pick me."

Susie freezes and shakes her head in confusion. She chuckles nervously. 

"What do you mean he didn't pick you? That makes no sense. He's your fated mate. Everyone knows that . . . well, everyone who's close to you, at least."

As if I'm trapped in a horrible, repetitive trance, I repeat the words: "He didn't pick me, Susie."

Susie picks her big bulk up from the bed and starts pacing the length of my rug. 

"Okay, let me get this straight. You were at the ball, standing right there, and when it was finally time to announce his mate and Luna . . . he didn't pick you?"

I nod dumbly.

"Then who the hell did he pick?" Susie demands, her hands on her hips.

"Irene."

Susie freezes for a second time, her jaw on the floor. "I-what?"

"Irene." 

"Your stepsister?!" Susie whispers.

I nod.

Just then, the lively thumping of music starts playing downstairs outside the house. The low, vibrant murmur of a crowd arriving filters up through my hallway. My muscles lock up. 

I whisper, "They're here."

Susie’s eyes widen to the size of saucers. "Jason and Irene? Oh my god, Florence. What are you going to do?"

I get off the bed, a dark, furious grimace on my face. I had spent the last hour before I fell asleep agonizing over what to do, drowning in my own despair. 

But waking up to the sound of them partying on my front lawn changes everything. The sorrow burns away, leaving behind a volatile spark.

I am going to ask Jason exactly what game he thinks he's playing. If this is some sick, twisted joke or an elaborate prank, it's time to end it right now.

I march past Susie. She scrambles to run after me, her dress billowing. "Wait, Florence! Stop! We need a plan!"

But I am already down the hallway and storming down the grand staircase.

Jason and Irene are standing right in the center of our living room. Gathered around them are a dozen high ranking pack members and elders from the ball, all holding champagne glasses. 

Irene is the first one to spot me descending the stairs. Her eyes gleam with a strange winning light. 

She clasps her hands together and says, "Oh, look! See? There's my stepsister."

Jason turns around too. He looks up at me, and for the second time today, he looks at me as if he is staring at a fairly known stranger.

That empty, polite look makes something inside me snap.

He smiles casually, giving me a nod. "Hey, there. It's you again."

"What the hell!" I snap.

I storm down the last three steps, march right past a shocked looking elder, and grab Jason firmly by the wrist. I yank him backward, pulling him forcefully after me in the direction of the stairs.

A collective, gasping shock ripples through everyone in the living room.

Above the sudden murmurs, I hear my father’s booming, angry voice echo from the door.

He calls, "Florence! What on earth are you doing?!"

I ignore him, hauling Jason up the first few steps. He doesn't fight me at first, likely too stunned by the sheer audacity of it. He pulls back against my grip as we hit the landing. 

"Lady, let me go. What is this about?" he demands. 

I pull him all the way onto the landing, dragging him into the shadows of a quiet corner away from the prying eyes below. 

I spin on him, my chest heaving. 

"What are you doing, Jason?!” I hiss in his sinfully handsome face. “That is my stepsister!"  

Jason stares back at me, untouched by my rage. He adjusts his tuxedo. 

"Er, okay. I know that. She's my fated mate, and she's going to be my Luna. Why are you yelling?" he asks. 

I gasp, staggering a step back from him as if I’ve been physically struck. Hearing those words come directly from his mouth is a thousand times more painful and shocking than watching him from a distance in the Grand Hall.

I stand there, struggling with everything I have not to lose it and cry in front of him again. 

"What happened to you?" I whisper, reaching out to touch his arm. "What happened to your head?"

Jason frowns, brushing my hand away politely. "Nothing. I'm completely okay."

"It's me, Jason! Florence!" I cry, my voice cracking with desperation. "Your mate! We were together just last night on the roof of The Alcove. You held me. You said—"

"Wait, hold it right there," Jason interrupts, raising a hand to cut me off. His tone is level, devoid of any warmth or memory. "You're not my mate, lady. Irene is. And we've been together for . . ." 

He pauses, his brow furrowing for a moment, as if he's trying to grasp a thought that keeps slipping away.

"For?" I push, leaning in. "Go on, Jason. For how long?"

The confusion vanishes from his face just as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that same foggy, content smile. 

He says, "Long enough. Now, are you going to join the party downstairs or what? Honestly, you should come out and celebrate with us. Go wear that red dress of yours."

Jason turns on his heel and casually walks away, sauntering back down the stairs to rejoin his fake bride.

I stand frozen in the corner of the landing, a terrifying chasm opening up inside me. I am scared.

This isn't a joke. This isn't a cruel prank.

Jason is bewitched. There is absolutely no other explanation.