Chapter 1

If there’s anyone I can question relentlessly about the political nightmare of the past five years, it’s my best friends. Hannah, Ryan, and I have been a matching set of three since kindergarten. We still are, even though Ryan and Hannah are mated now.

Despite having been apart for so long, going to their house is like all of us getting together after school. Sure, there was full immaturity squeezing over each other when I arrived, but we quickly fell into our old ways, like I didn’t break contact with them for five years.

Except for the “my best friends are in a mating bond” thing. “How did that happen, anyway?”

“It was him, or marriage to Dave Byron,” Hannah says with a gagging noise.

I echo her disgust with, “Gross.”

“Be nice,” Ryan admonishes her. “It’s not his fault his parents never told him no and gave him every damn thing he wanted.”

Hannah ignores him. 

“Ever look at someone and just know, deep in your soul, that they were an ugly baby? That’s Dave Byron.”

We’re clustered around the huge island in their enormous kitchen. Hannah’s copper curls glint gold under the sophisticated pendant lights hanging at asymmetrical lengths above us. 

Five years and a baby later, she still looks like a teenager, with her dewy pale skin and freckles. Her wardrobe is more sophisticated now—she used to show up for the first period in her pajamas.

Ryan, however, has changed. When I left, he was a chubby, baby-faced Black kid with a penchant for blue lipstick and metal band t-shirts with illegible fonts on them. He grew up into a broad-shouldered dad-type who, yes, is wearing a band t-shirt, but who is also comfortable cooking dinner at a stove with twelve burners.

If they saw how people live outside the pack…

“So, it’s a marriage of convenience, then? Just to dodge Dave?” That’s a little depressing. “You know, I always thought you were gay, Ryan. I just thought you were afraid to come out.”

“Oh, I am,” he answers without hesitation. “It’s not just a marriage of convenience for Hannah. She’s helping me out, too.”

Additionally, the fertility center was helpful to us. The neck of Hannah's half-empty beer bottle is tipped in my direction.

Ryan comments with fake grief, "The gay dude and the asexual woman somehow had trouble conceiving."

I fess up, "Wow, I feel like an asshole not knowing any of this."

Ryan reminds me, "You're the one who invoked the Right of Accord and took off."

But, are you sure you're back now? Hannah's big brown eyes get even more fearful. "You're staying, right?"

“I…” I'm already saying that I'm going to change and stick with the pack by just returning. Why would I bother alerting them about my reservations?

Hannah replies, her voice taking on a steely edge of rage. "You can't leave," she adds. "Not yet again."

You both indicated your agreement when I asked. We had never heard of the Right of Accord till we came upon a mention of it in a pack history book. We three thought about using it.

"I fooled myself into believing I was smart. We were going through a lot at the time, and I wanted to speak to you but I couldn't. They refused to provide us with any details on your whereabouts or activities, she continues. "You were missed. Don't go once again.

My chest hurts. "I have to uphold the mating contract if I remain. I'm not sure whether I can, either.

While lowering down to access the oven door, Ryan removes a pan from the heat. My stomach starts to grumble at the aroma of the steak cooking beneath the broiler. They hardly entered a moment ago, but he is already taking them out.

I'm not bothered. Werewolves want their meat warm, not cooked, whether they have undergone metamorphosis or not.

Ryan remarks, "We made it work," as if the circumstances are even somewhat comparable.

Hannah is on my side. “Uh, no. In our case, none of us anticipated that the other would behave like the stereotypical small wife. Ashton is going to want her to be that way.

And I'll live a horrible existence, forever." 

I feel a knot in my throat. "But I'll be miserable without you two, Tara, and Clare."

Hannah snorts, "I see Vivianne and Thomas aren't on that list.

"First of all, they were the ones who first arranged the idiotic mating deal. Second, they aren't communicating with me. I somewhat lose steam. I have no idea why I feel guilty despite the fact that I did nothing wrong. I was invited to dance by the king.

 "I heard about the ball. Was I supposed to turn him down? Sorry.” Hannah squirms.

I said, "Why weren't you there?" It's more of a complaint than a query. "That was awful. Everyone simply kept looking at me.

"We would have been there if I had known you'd be there. At the morning council session, we swore loyalty," Hannah recalls. Ryan casts her a glance.

Ryan, are you now a council member? It's fascinating. And could be advantageous for me. It's never a bad idea to have influential pals.

He makes a head motion. “No. Still not. But I'm still a contender. We who made the short list received invitations to the morning session.

When Hannah states, "It seemed more prestigious than the ball," she is obviously speaking nonsense.

I challenge her on it. "You decided against hiring a sitter."

"That, too." She makes a motion toward my empty bottle. "Yet another?"

“Sure.” I enquire, "So, is it a secret?" as she stands up and walks to the refrigerator.

She queries, "Is what a secret?"

"Ryan is vying for a position on the council. You two engaged in covert married couple eye contact. I accuse Ryan and point my finger at him.

Hannah continues, "We just don't want to jinx it." "These days, it's difficult to know who your friends are."

“Wait…” I am erect as I sit. You folks aren't sure whether or not to believe me?

That's not it, Ryan instantly responds. "It simply...Many things occurred while you were away. And last night, you danced with the king".

I object, "Why?" "Because he asked me to," Hannah, if the pack leader asked you to dance, would you decline? Also bear in mind that the other option is to continue speaking with Ashton Daniels.

Hannah responds, "Your feelings are hurt," but she doesn't offer an apology