Mate's Gamble

~Tilly POV~

“Matilda May. Third born of the top warriors in the pack, Greta and Harold, is cordially requested to train at the Warriors Elite at the bidding of Alpha Jeremiah of the Cursed Moon Pack.” My younger brother, Beckham, reads aloud in awe. He pauses for dramatic effect and I groan, covering my head with the blanket on my bed.

“She is to report to the main road with only one piece of luggage, no later than ten the night of June sixth. If Ms. May is late, we will retrieve her, willing or not, to fulfill her duty to her pack and the whole of the werewolf cities collaborations,” he continues, his expressive voice growing more grim with every line.

My life hasn’t been terrible. Honestly, it’s pretty okay. I have absent parents I disappoint on a daily basis, but my best friend is killer and my younger brother is the sweetest person ever. My two older brothers are assholes, but that’s not reserved exclusively for me. That’s just their personality trait. I’m about eighty percent sure of it. But this cordial request is very much the thing that may ruin my perfectly ordinary life. 

“This has got to be Dad’s doing.” Beckham says, looking at me with worried eyes. 

“Or Dylan’s” I muse. Our older brother, Dylan, is a chip off the old block. He is rough, responds only in a guttural grunt of affirmation or disappointment, and thinks I am the worst thing to happen to the family because I was born with the wrong genitalia. Every single third born child in this pack has been male for eons. Until me. Why is it a big deal? Hell if I know. Most everyone else got over it. My parents and older siblings, however, have not.

But that’s ok because I embrace it now. Being a disappointment is my superpower and I wear it proudly, like a bright red cape around my neck. 

“Do you think mom knows?” he asks, dropping the ornate invitation that has sealed my fate.

It’s ironic how pretty and fragile it looks for an invitation to death for people like me. And by that I mean, the ‘not physically capable’. And I swear it’s not from lack of trying. It’s completely and totally from lack of capability. I have brains. That’s what I got out of everything. I’m fit enough and I can run circles around people, but put me in front of another person who wants to kill me and I clam up.

I snort and rip it from him. “Are you kidding me? You opened it before I did. Was it sealed?” I lift a brow and Beckham thinks hard.

“No, it wasn’t sealed.” he says with confidence. I quirk a brow in interest.

“So if I didn’t open it and but it was opened when you got your hands on it… then…?”

“Mom must have been the one to open it and place it in here for you.” He deduces and I smile at him.

“Nice deduction skills.” I grin. 

I have been working with Beckham on common sense and problem-solving skills. It’s really freaking hard to be the only person in the house with those basic life skills. Mom is pretty decent with it all. But dad? Hah! If Alpha Jeremiah pointed at a freaking tree and said, “That’s the bad guy! Kill him” dad would annihilate that tree in the matter of minutes. I, however, would give the alpha a strange look and ask when he lost his damn marbles. 

But that’s the difference between me and my family. 

Brawns versus brains. 

I sure as shit lack the brawn, they sure as shit lack the brains.

I hear the door slam open downstairs and I sigh heavily, knowing exactly what is coming. Well, I suppose WHO is coming. Anna. My best friend and my parents’ pride and joy. Of all the warriors, Anna is their biggest success. As the alpha’s daughter, she is destined for greatness and I will be her sidekick. And honestly, it doesn’t bother me. Because sidekicks get more down time and I have a huge list of books I want to read. So she can fight the bad guys while I cheer from the sidelines.

Less than thirty seconds after the door slams down stairs, my bedroom door flings open and there stands an excited Anna. Her stark black hair cascading down her shoulders and her bright blue eyes honing in on me. She stares at me for a moment; the anticipation killing her. I roll my eyes, holding up the cursed envelope she is waiting to see. She squeals in joy. 

“Anna!” Beckham whines but she ignores him as she tackles me, leaping from the doorway, her Amazonian like body crushing my compact frame into the mattress. “You’re going to kill her.” He mutters, his meaty hands reaching out and plucking her off of me. At fifteen and three years younger, Beckham is always looking out for me the best he can. He is as sweet as he is large and bulky and out of everyone in the universe, I would lie my life down to keep him safe from harm. 

I would for Anna too, but if I’m being completely honest, she can handle herself and she is tough as nails.

“We get to go together!” She says, smiling ear to ear.

“Yeah, but you don’t risk becoming a rogue if you fail,” Beckham says, standing from the bed and leaning against the wall.

“And neither does Tilly! Not with me there helping her.” Anna insists.

“What’s the difference between here and there? She still sucks, even with your help.” He shoots at her with a glower.

“Oh wow, your vote of confidence is so sweet, Hammy,” He growls at my nickname and I give him a wry grin. He was such a little porker when he was little that we started calling him Ham from Beckham. The name fell away once he became the beast he is now. Except for me. I get special privileges because he feels bad for me. I take full advantage of it. 

“She will try harder with a sexier audience.” Anna shrugs. 

“Gross.” Beckham grumbles as he pushes off the wall and moves for the door. “Let me know when soul sucker leaves and we can make dinner together before I do night training?” He asks hopefully and I smile. 

“Shut up ‘Hammy’” Anna mocks him and he glares at her before slamming the door.

“Be nice to him,” I scold her and she throws her hands up in defense

“I’m not the one who put him in night training. Blame your brother Ty for Beckham’s grumpy ass these days.”

“Ty is such a dick.” I mutter, grabbing back my envelope and looking at it once more. 

“Yeah, well, he is the hot one.” Anna muses, rising from my bed and grabbing my duffle bag. “Did you want to bring your matching workout gear or the actual functional outfits?”

“Function over fashion,” I tell her and she ignores me, packing the super expensive matching sets she bought me, the very one I have never once worn.

“Noted, and denied,” she mutters. I’ll just shove my old sweats and giant hand-me-down shirts from my brothers in it before we head out the door tonight. “I already ordered dresses for us.” she adds and I throw myself on my bed.

“Oh great. I forgot about the ball during training.” I groan, covering my face with the crook of my arm.

“Oh, my gosh, you big whiner.”

“Do I have to go?” I moan, and she throws a shoe at my head. “Rude!” I shout, and she chuckles.

“Yes, you have to go. I have to go, which means you have to go, Til.”

“Right. That whole sidekick gig. Got it.” I roll my eyes. Anna stops what she is doing and offers me a concerned frown.

“It can’t be that bad. I heard the Moon Warriors pack members are gifts from heaven themselves.” She says, trying to deflect.

“Wow. And the rest of us are what? Sprung from the rocks by the lake?” I lift a brow and she trains the next shoe on my face and I surrender “Ok! Ok! Yeesh! You are extra violent today.”

“I get violent when I’m happy. You know that,”

I grimace. Oh, I know all too well how violent she gets when she is happy. She slaps and squeals and tackles and giggles. It doesn’t turn bloody, but I swear it’s almost always damn near fatal.

“Yep.” I mutter.

“Anyway. I have my eyes on Alpha Onyx. Or his Beta Atticus. My dad had a faceTime meeting with them and I couldn’t look away. Fallen angels. Both of them. Now to decipher which one is which,” she mumbles to herself more than to me. 

“And I bet they have personalities to match their angelic looks.” I joke and she snorts. 

“Who knows, maybe one of them will be my mate! Or yours!” she glows at the thought and I frown. As much as I want out of this pack and away from my parents, who think I’m not good enough for them… I hate the thought of leaving Beckham behind. I don’t want him turning into them. Cold callous robots who don’t pay attention to anyone or anything less than stellar. 

“Shit.” Anna mutters, looking at the clock on my wall. “I need to meet my mom for dinner. Do not think about putting your normal workout gear in here or I’ll burn your bags and you will train naked.” I don’t even have time to complain before she flounces out the door, calling out a jubilus goodbye to Beckham.

I glare at the invitation in my hand. The longer I look at it, the more panicked I feel. There is no shaking the feeling of utter loss at the news that I am being required to go. They invite only five warriors from each pack to the Warrior’s Elite training. The four top warriors and the one hopeless one. Me being that lucky number one who doesn’t get an option.

The worst part? If I don’t improve and finish a timed obstacle course at the end, I’m not only kicked out of the program, I’m forced into the life of a rogue. 

Last year only two of the low rungs actually made it. Out of ten lowers, only two succeeded. So I have a twenty percent chance of actually making it. This is where having brains sucks. I know my odds and they aren’t looking good. Not even a little bit.

A loud bang resonates through the house, and I gasp in shock before running for my bedroom door. An eerie silence coats the hallway and shivers run up my spine. Something is seriously wrong and my brain senses are telling me to run. My survival instincts are much stronger than my fighting instincts. I hear grunting and a pained groan, and my stomach churns. 

Beckham is somewhere in the house. Abandoning all logic, I rush down the stairs, tripping and riding down them roughly on my ass before finding my footing and rushing to the noise where I see two large men corner my baby brother. Cold, hard fear slams into all my senses, my hands sweating and my chest pumping fiercely.

“Run!” Beckham says when he notices me standing in the doorway hyperventilating. His left eye is swollen shut and bloody, and I can see bite marks on his arm. Beckham is only sixteen. He doesn’t have a wolf yet, nor the strength of these two grown ass men. If this boy thinks for a second I will leave him with these two dickheads, he severely underestimates how much he means to me.

So I do the only thing a girl with no fighting ability and only brains can do. I launch the nearest inanimate object at the guy closest to me. Then I instantly regret my life choices as the wooden spoon bounces off his noggin, and he turns his dirty face to me.

Remember that whole monologue about me having brains? Yeah, well, I may have lied. I guess I don’t have those either.