runaway damsel

I used to think fate was a sweet little bitch with flowers in her hair.

Now?

Now I know she’s a drunk mess in six-inch heels who laughs her ass off while you’re tripping over your own damn life.

Especially people like me.

I tightened the scarf around my neck as the cool evening breeze of Shadowmoor Forest kissed my skin, sharp and biting. My boots scuffed the dirt, each step heavier than the last.

Maybe it was heartbreak weighing me down.

Or maybe it was the four brownies I’d inhaled this afternoon. (Fine. Five. Let’s not split hairs.)

But let's rewind, shall we?

Earlier this morning, I woke up buzzing like I'd downed three Red Bulls. My heart was practically bouncing off the walls of my chest. It was the mating ceremony tonight — the night. The night I’d finally find my mate. The night I’d stop being the awkward, curvy lone wolf in a town full of Barbie wannabes.

"Jesus, calm down, Penelope," Cherry, my wolf, groaned inside my head. "I'm excited too, but if you break a bone from all this prancing, we’re not gonna meet anyone."

I laughed out loud, twirling around my tiny bedroom, almost slipping on a pair of jeans I'd dumped on the floor. Cherry was right. I needed to chill. But tonight was supposed to be magic.

"Who do you think it’ll be, Cherry?" I asked, flopping back on my bed. "I have a feeling it’ll be Ronan. He's handsome, sweet, nice to everyone—"

"And he calls you fat."

"Come on, it was one time."

"It wasn’t. You just don’t want to see it."

I sighed, staring at the ceiling. Cherry had a point. I wasn't blind — or stupid. I knew the looks Ronan gave me sometimes, the way his smile would tighten like he was doing me a favor just by glancing my way.

Still. A mate bond could change things, right? Right?

"Whatever," I said, brushing my hands over my curves. "I'm hot, Cherry. Thick thighs, a soft little pudge, and enough ass to knock a grown man into next week."

"Tell ’em, queen," Cherry said, her voice full of smug approval.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror and grinned. Brown skin glowing even in crappy morning light, wild black curls everywhere, big brown eyes that refused to lose their spark even after everything. Maybe I didn’t fit into Shadowmoor’s stick-thin beauty mold, but f*ck them. I loved what I saw.

I was still flexing in the mirror when my phone buzzed.

Marissa: "Hope you're ready for tonight, babe! Wear the dress I gave you. You’ll look sooo good 😘"

My stomach twisted a little. Marissa had been my only friend since my parents died — since the town started whispering that I was cursed because I survived the car accident that killed them. I’d carried a scar across my back like a brand ever since. I’d gotten a tattoo when I turned nineteen, blooming vines and a wolf's paw covering the angry line, refusing to let it make me feel broken.

Marissa’s mom had taken me in after the accident. Fed me. Raised me. Loved me. Losing her three years ago wrecked me in ways I didn’t even know how to explain. And yeah, maybe Marissa changed after that. Maybe we both did. But I owed her, right?

"Girl, stop rambling in your head and go bathe," Cherry snapped. "You stink. And you’re gonna need every ounce of energy to pull off that ugly-ass dress she picked."

I snorted. Cherry had always hated Marissa, but I tried not to think too hard about why.

Dragging myself off the bed, I shuffled into the bathroom. I cranked up my favorite playlist, stripped down, and took a long look in the mirror.

"Tonight's the night," I told my reflection. "No matter what."

I slipped into the shower, letting the water scald away my nerves. I washed my hair, massaged in my vanilla-scented conditioner, exfoliated like my life depended on it. Shaved everything that could be shaved. I even used the expensive sugar scrub Marissa gifted me last birthday.

"Gotta glow for our mate," Cherry teased.

"Shut up and let me exfoliate in peace."

After the shower, I slathered myself in lotion, braided my hair loosely down my back, and stood in front of my closet. My heart sank when I spotted the dress Marissa had picked.

It was… tight. And short. And a shade of pink that made me look like a shiny, pissed-off marshmallow.

"You cannot be serious," Cherry said. "We are not walking into our destiny looking like a bubblegum casualty."

"It’s fine," I muttered. "She said it’d look good."

"Because she hates us."

"She doesn't hate us."

Cherry just growled low in my head.

I squeezed into the dress anyway, trying not to feel like a stuffed sausage. Maybe it would look better once I had makeup on.

I swiped on some eyeliner, curled my lashes, dabbed on some lip gloss. I didn't go full glam — it wasn’t really me. I wanted to feel like myself tonight, not like some desperate girl trying to fit into someone else's mold.

I spritzed on my favorite perfume, the one that smelled like sweet oranges and warm vanilla, and stared at myself one more time.

"You’ve survived worse," I told myself. "You’ve survived everything."

Cherry hummed approvingly.

"Tonight," she whispered, "we find our mate."

If only we knew what fate had in store.