All Chapters of Crossing The Line With My Hockey Stepbrother: Chapter 131 - Chapter 135

Elizabeth What do you do when the story never ends? It just keeps on going, over and over, repeating in lifeless cycles till you feel every bit the puppet you're placed to be.That was how I felt this morning, diving back into the dresses, the hair pins, the touch ups, the heels. It was like I was given a few weeks break from being on display. I had the Real Hero to thank for that. If the pack hadnibeen shaken the way it had, perhaps the torture would never have paused.I didn't appreciate the freedom I'd received till it was taken back, and I sat back in front of a mirror, staring at my eye bags and then making them disappear."I want to offer my deepest sympathies for everything you've been through. It can't be easy having your pup attacked more than once." Mrs Hart had begun the conversation yesterday. We were on our way out of the pack hall, Dad having joined some of the other councilmen, and Reagan having broken out to wherever, when Mrs Hart stepped onto our path. Accompanying

Elizabeth Let me define Crossing.In the Rex Pack, whenever the son of an elite reached a certain age, he became eligible to claim his mate. That age was twenty-three. It was not announced with drums or ceremony. It was spoken in lowered voices and carried in the way the pack’s attention sharpened, in the way mothers watched their sons more carefully and young women learned to avert their eyes.Anthony’s twenty-third Crossing was five months away.Five months. The thought echoed in my mind, like a shadow that continuously lengthened. Five months until he would be allowed - expected - to choose. Five months until the choice, once made, could not be refused.Once chosen by an elite, a mate had no right to say no.The law was old. Older than compassion. Older than rebellion. A claim was binding for life, and the pack treated it as a mercy rather than a sentence. To be chosen by an elite was an honor, they said. To refuse would be madness. Disloyalty. Ungratefulness.They never spoke of

ElizabethMy blanket covered up to my shoulders, my toes hid in warm socks and my fingers snuggled in the lengthy sleeves of my biggest hoodie. My head was buried in my pillow, unmoved since I opened my eyes. The only parts of me that had moved were my hands, which held up my book as I turned the pages, forgetting myself in a fantasy beyond my world. Beyond the horror that was my reality.When there were no more tears to cry yesterday, I’d simply picked myself up, gathered my things and made my way up the stairs to my room. Inside, with the doors locked behind me, I’d changed out of my clothes, washed my face, and fell on my bed. I was weak. Utterly and truly weak. There was no strength left to fight, no tears left to cry, even if I tried. The options reduced by the day, and I was gradually coming to find that there was only one way out. One way that was synonymous with suicide. I couldn’t win. I couldn’t fight. What else could I do?Phillip, I hope you have a plan for us. I hope yo