6

Their flashy clothes clung to their lithe, muscular frames and showed off their assets to any interested male. And there were plenty of men who were interested. They wore the latest in human fashion, unlike me and Mom, whose wardrobe consisted mostly of hand-me-downs.

“Ew,” Trish dusted off her shoulder as if coming into contact with me had left a residue. “A rat.”

“Someone ought to call an exterminator before it becomes an infestation,” Tanya added.

Tara covered her glossy, pink lips with her hand and snickered.

I’m surprised you notice anything beyond that massive ego, Trish. I kept the thought to myself and schooled my expression into a neutral mask. After years of this treatment, it took much more than this to crack through my shield. Though inside, as always, the insults pelted me raw. These were the Terrible T’s, as I thought of them, and they had bullied me almost as horribly as Troy.

“It’s a shame that Alpha Gregor is dead,” Tanya said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Troy will be alone without his family to help him through this. But I’m sure you’ll be there for Troy, right, Trish?”

Trish’s laugh was the sound of an ice cube crunching between teeth. “Of course. I’ll visit him as soon as he’s feeling up to it.”

The girls giggled, and I wished the ceiling could cave down on me or that I would spontaneously combust—anything to avoid having to entertain the possibility of Trish and Troy ruling the pack together. Dying would be preferable to enduring their torment twenty-four seven. Trish and her friends knew that, which was why they were talking about it in front of me.

“Oh, you’re still here?” Tara asked as if she’d completely forgotten about my presence. “Can’t you take a hint?”

Trish’s hand, lightning quick, suddenly grabbed my shoulder. I winced under her viselike grip, which caused the other girls to laugh.

“Such a fragile thing, aren’t you?” Trish said, her long, flaxen hair spilling in perfect waves over her shoulders as she bent toward me. “Better scurry along now, little rat, before one of us accidentally crushes you.”

The moment Trish released my shoulder, I accepted the dismissal and hurried the rest of the way to Mom. My shoulder throbbed. I knew I’d have an awful bruise tomorrow, but considering how badly that could have gone, it was a small price to pay for colliding with the Terrible T’s. I’d learned that it was always better to stay silent and unseen when they were around. News of the Alpha’s passing must have made me careless.

I took my spot beside Mom, who leaned in close to speak to me. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “I’m fine. Let’s just get this morning over with.”

“Agreed. Things are about to get very busy around the pack.”

I tried to focus on passing out bowls of oatmeal. I kept my eye on the door, dreading the moment when Troy or one of his friends would walk in, but to my surprise (and relief), he never showed. In fact, as I looked around the dining hall, I noticed that half the normal number of wolves were gathered around the tables. Word of Alpha Gregor’s passing must’ve made the rounds. News like that wouldn’t take long to spread. Many wolves would have rushed home to prepare for the days of mourning.

In addition to the celebrations, the older wolves would share stories of the bravery and valor of the old Alpha. Young male wolves would fight each other to impress Troy in hopes of being promoted to be his beta or at least part of his inner circle. The of-age females, including some older unmated ones, would primp and preen and flaunt their bodies in front of Troy. For these hopefuls, there was much to do around their homes.

Breakfast was over sooner than usual because of Gregor’s sudden passing. After the dishes were clean, Mom and I headed home.

“Mom, what will we do for the days of mourning?” I asked.

“We’ll harvest all the fruits and vegetables we’ll need for the feasts.” She set her gaze on me, a knowing gentleness in her eyes. “You don’t have to worry about Troy. I doubt you’ll come in contact with him at all because of his father’s passing. He’ll be far too busy with preparations.”

I gave her a small smile. It was a relief to hear that I wouldn’t have to worry about Troy. Most of the pack worshipped the ground the Redwolfs walked on, so the thought of having to watch Troy’s already overinflated ego grow even larger left a sour taste in my mouth.

Keeping my focus on the garden would also allow me to think of an action plan for my escape. I had five days, and I needed to use that time wisely.

Mom and I went immediately to the community garden, which was visible from our house. Mom wanted me to look at the peppers and do some prep work for the time of mourning. I walked through the wooden gate that Mom had built before I was even a part of her life, and the welcome smell of fresh vegetables greeted me. Mom’s green thumb was supernatural.

I had heard talk around the pack that Mom had always possessed a spiritual, magical connection that allowed her to know the land like no one else. When I was younger, I had imagined that she was a fairy or a nymph—like the creatures in the fairy tales I loved to read. I believed that Mom’s fey blood allowed her to grow plants even in the winter. As I grew, I understood that whatever connection she had to the earth, it wasn’t fey.

No, Mom was a shifter through and through. Still, the respect and dedication she showed to the land and the care with which she looked after not just the plants in the community garden but also the vegetation and fauna that surrounded the pack grounds—these were the things that allowed Mom to form her bond with the land.