Chapter 1

I try to recall how I felt when I penned the words by running my hands over the indentations on the page where they were written. Thoughts like "exhilarated" and "terrified" cross my mind, but no matter how hard I try, I can't relive that day.

That day marked a major change in my life. The day I opted to quit our group and lead a mortal existence for a period of five years as opposed to merely embracing the shift and turning fully into a werewolf

My old diary, which has been waiting for my return for the past five years, was placed back in the bedside drawer as the intercom gently announced breakfast. I'm not the same age I was when I left, which was seventeen. In that girl's bedroom, with its soft pink canopy bed drapes and dazzling white furniture, I'm a grown-up stranger.

You just returned from home, I tell myself. Allow some time.

I go to the vanity, where I spent countless hours as a teenager honing my eyeliner techniques and giving my face a Kardashian-like contour. Back then, before I learned about the Right of Accord, things were much easier. Despite the fact that I arrived in the middle of the night, Vivianne Dixon demands that her kids always look "acceptable" in her eyes. I quickly apply makeup and search through one of my wardrobe trunks for a silk floral peasant shirt and dark-wash jeans.

My parents had a dated "modern" mansion custom built for me in the late 1980s, years before I was even born. Our species—their species, till I make up my mind—live long enough to make a lot of poor fashion decisions. The white, oblong dining room, where mother and father have already finished their breakfast, is completely empty. Mother looks up from eating a helping of mixed fruits from one of the square white dishes that are arranged on the black Lucite dining table. Her grey hair is surrounded by a silver halo as the chilly morning light pours down from the octagonal skylight.

I wasn't expecting to see you this morning, darling. You didn't arrive until almost four, according to Hudson. She waits for me to sag so she can kiss the air next to my cheek without getting up from her seat. That top is fascinating.

"Thanks." I go around the table and give my father a half-hug while acting as though she really means it. I have already returned to my seat by the time he has finished his toast and wiped his mouth with his serviette. I spread my own linen serviette across my lap after shaking it out. I did arrive late.

Father says, "Well, it's a long flight from London," and that's probably all he'll say for the duration of breakfast.

Mom will make it up to you. In spite of the delay, how was your flight, exactly?

"It was good," My stomach is still upset from the salmon I ate on the aircraft, so I take a croissant and some fruit. It didn't agree with me. For the most part, I dozed off.

"Good. You won't be too jet-lagged for tonight if you do it.

"Mother—" She doesn't even turn to look at me as I start to butter the first half of the English muffin. She can act as if I haven't protested if she doesn't look at me.

Of course, we could have gotten you something appropriate to wear if your flight had arrived on schedule. She raises an eyebrow and briefly pouts her lips. "No problem. I asked Tara to send a few dresses over before she put on all of that weight.

Despite the fact that I haven't seen my sister in five years, I've seen plenty of pictures of her on F******k. She may have gained one dress size.

Absolutely inappropriate behaviour for Vivianne Dixon's daughter.

"Look, I just got in, and the ball is a lot—"

The question, "A lot of work?" My mother cuts me off. "Yes. It is. It is what makes it a duty. Additionally, it's the ideal time to introduce a new member to the pack. To demonstrate to them that your brief, wandering existence is now complete.

I haven't... I intervened. I've only been with my parents for a few minutes, and now my mom is driving me crazy. I'm not going to start a fight on my first morning back.

She waves her hand and says, "You haven't had time to unpack or do anything with your hair."

I hesitantly touch my blonde hair that has just been straightened.

She continues, "I've scheduled JoOrion for two hours with you today." There isn't enough time to repair those highlights, but I'm confident he can create something.

She makes oblique signals at my trouble spots while I clench my fists beneath the table. Which is everything I am to her.

"Listen…" I make a hesitant start. Making myself sound argumentative will not help. " I am aware of how important the ball is and how much time has been spent getting ready for it. I don't want to bring you all down or hurt your reputation.

Father calmly responds, "Nonsense, puppy," while looking at his iPad in the same manner that dad used to look away from us to read the newspaper. You could never harm our reputation.

Mother chokes on her coffee while pretending to chuckle softly and jestingly. "Well. That one tiny little moment was there.

I used this opportunity to assert my right to independent thought and refuse to accept change as my fate. The first time I ventured to put my name before Dixon's

"But all of that is in the past. You've arrived at your house. The cautionary smile of the mother, Ashton, has been asking about you, too.

Despite the superior salmon, something else makes my stomach turn. "Oh?"

She continues, a sigh in her voice, "He's never given up on you." Very romantic, in my opinion.

Or pitiful, if she had asked me—which she did not. I don't tell anyone. The prospect of going back to my previous life and fate, even though it has been delayed by five years, is not particularly romantic. I believed that by refusing the metamorphosis, I was also rejecting Ashton Daniels.

I had anticipated that he would have a partner by now. Hoped. I hoped he had a partner by this point. However, if he didn't

"No. Even after your brief rage, he has never given up his claim to you.

"It wasn't a temper tantrum, it was—" I control my groan of exasperation, stop myself, and attempt another grin. I only wished he hadn't been hanging around for me and had instead gone on and found happiness.

That guilt, I think, is something you'll just have to put up with. The implication in my mother's statements is that I shouldn't just feel awful about upsetting my ex-finance. It's possible that he has pardoned you.

Father adds helpfully, "And it's conceivable he hasn't, and he'll reveal that tonight, in front of everyone.

Mama nods. You'll have to cross this bridge when we get there, Emily. The poor man was publicly humiliated by you.

At the time, I felt awful about asserting his rights because he was a poor youngster. He may have, however. If he truly wanted to be with me, he could have exercised his right to come.

Fortunately, he didn't.

And I'm willing to take that if he chooses to publicly reject me in retaliation tonight. Furthermore, the least he can do for us both is to call off our engagement.

My mother assures me that "he wouldn't dare." The importance of the fealty rite prohibits risking creating a stir.

One more caution. I'm not supposed to screw anything up tonight for her. In front of the others, I had already shattered her carefully constructed reputation.

Before I left for London, Mother and Father engaged thrall Hudson to be our butler. He enters dragging a cart with two trays on it that are covered in silver domes.

The idea that werewolves can't handle silver is untrue.