I gagged, and not just figuratively. I actually gagged. When that didn't deter her, I launched into an exaggerated coughing fit to drive the point home. The last thing I needed was to hear about Martha's extensive, and often disturbing, fantasies, especially her fixation on the Oarca pack males.

"You can act grossed out all you want now," she quipped, pausing from her makeup application to glance at me in the mirror, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "One day, Mackenzie Adkins, you'll find someone attractive. And when you do, I'll be there to rub it in your face."

I rolled my eyes. I was skeptical, to say the least. Martha fully embraced her sexuality, while I had little interest in the matter. Yet somehow, we managed to get along despite being polar opposites.

"Yeah, whatever," I replied, standing up and grabbing my black jacket. "I'll see you later."

Martha raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow, the other barely visible under her makeup. "Where are you going?"

"I have to help clean up for the party," I answered with bitterness in my voice. "Another celebration for that mightier-than-thou asshole, I'm assuming. Who knows what it's for this time." Just the thought of dealing with Francisco made my blood boil, and the idea of spending the rest of the day with him made my hair stand on end.

Martha laughed, finding my disdain for Francisco endlessly entertaining. I, on the other hand, didn't share her amusement. Just the sight of him made me homicidal.

"Feel free to come with me," she chimed cheerfully, wiggling her one visible eyebrow.

I snorted and turned to leave. "Laugh it up, Martha. You're next on the list."

...

The sun's warmth envelops my back, creating an illusion of mild autumn rather than early winter.

"You missed a spot," Francisco nags for what feels like the millionth time from below.

My patience teeters on the brink of collapse. "Can't you see I'm not finished?" I shoot a fiery glare in his direction, where he stands, holding the ladder steady and offering critiques on my every move. Even the sight of his head, covered in moderately long, brown hair, irritates me.

I've never had any fondness for Francisco. He's the sort of person who could provoke a Buddhist monk into taking a swing at him. I'm not entirely sure why fate continually pairs me with him, whether it's for pack errands or border patrols.

"No, but you should get it before you forget. Right there, up in the corner." His innocent and utterly oblivious tone only serves to intensify my annoyance.

I squeeze the sponge tighter, causing water to spill over my arm. "Shouldn't you be busy with the ribbons or something?"

"I'm just trying to help, okay? This party is for you, you know." He points to yet another spot on the second-story window, which I've been cleaning for half an hour because it's impossible to satisfy his exacting standards.

"For me? What do you mean for me? It's for Wyatt, just like everything else," I mutter, attacking the window with a vengeance.

Wyatt is the Alpha's son, and on top of turning 18, he's poised to inherit the title. Like all Alpha offspring, Wyatt is thoroughly spoiled, and every pack activity revolves around him. Once, his father even had us throw a dinner party to celebrate his first chest hair. I couldn't eat a thing that night without the absurdity of it all making me sick to my stomach.

"You haven't heard? Wyatt picked you as his Luna."

At that moment, my foot slips off the ladder, and I plummet downward. My stomach scrapes against the steps before my hands manage to grip where my feet once were.

"WHAT?!" I sputter, struggling to regain my footing.

"I thought you would've known by now," he says with a casual shrug.

"No. There's nothing to know because it's not happening." I state firmly and start descending the ladder.

"What are you doing? Mackenzie, we're not done! Mackenzie!" His cries fall on deaf ears because there's no way I'm returning to that task or allowing this to happen to me.

A lump lodges itself in my throat, and I'm seething with anger, my jaw quivering when not clenched. My stomach is twisted into knots, but not the excited kind—instead, they're the type that hints at an impending bout of nausea.

I march toward the Alpha's house with determination, my sights set on a certain ego-inflated soon-to-be Alpha. My swift, furious pace attracts concerned stares from pack members as I traverse our small village. I try to ignore them as I make a beeline for the house. In retrospect, everyone has been treating me differently lately. I've been on the receiving end of dirty looks and sidelong glances all week, and I'm only just beginning to notice.

Their thoughts can only fall into one of two categories: "Why her?" or "Thank the gods, it's not me."

My cheeks blaze with embarrassment and a painful sense of ignorance. It turns out that everyone else was well aware of my fate, leaving me in the dark until now. But that changes at this moment.

With unwavering determination, I push open the door to the Alpha's house, not pausing for a moment, and make my way toward the stairs, knowing his office is up there. I march down the hallway, my footsteps echoing, until I'm abruptly brought to a halt by the sound of heated voices.

"That lunatic is still out there! How can I assume control of him lurking, waiting to pounce?" I recognize the whiny yet self-satisfied voice of the infamous Wyatt Swelter.

Since I need to speak with him anyway, loitering by the slightly open door shouldn't be that wrong, should it? I've never been one to shy away from eavesdropping, so what's different now?

That's my rationale as I stealthily creep closer to the door, pressing my ear against the wall to let my heightened hearing work its magic.

"He's less likely to be a nuisance if we have two leaders. You already have a Luna in mind, right?" Alpha Matias's composed voice reaches my ears.

"I want Mackenzie," Wyatt promptly responds, causing me to struggle to suppress a gag. At the mere mention of my name, color drains from my face. "She's the one, and I've grown tired of waiting for both her and my title."

A deep hum follows, a sound Alpha Matias often makes when contemplating something. "Then wait no longer. We'll move the wedding up to Thursday. Since there's no mate bond to bind you, vows will suffice. Plus, it'll give you more time to get to know her. Perhaps even—"

"There won't be a wedding," I declare firmly, bursting into the room on a whim. There's no way I can stand out there, silently listening as my future is decided for me. I refuse to be a passive observer in my own life any longer.

Two pairs of eyes swivel in my direction. One belongs to Wyatt, a light blue that complements his neatly combed black hair. The other pair, a darker blue, belongs to his father, whose once-jet-black hair is now peppered with gray—a testament to the stress that accompanies his position.

"Pardon me?" Alpha Matias rises from his leather office chair, standing tall with squared shoulders. One thing is undeniable: he's accustomed to looking down on people, not the other way around. He levels that same disapproving gaze he's perfected over the years, capable of making even the proudest wolves feel shame.

I swallow hard, struggling to keep my attitude in check. I've spoken out against him one too many times and witnessed the consequences. Yet maintaining this newfound resolve is proving to be an immense challenge.

"I won't marry him or anyone else," I seethe again, planting my feet firmly. Surely, he doesn't think he can force me into this. There must be a line he won't cross. There has to be. He's held control over my life for so long, but this... this is too much. I refuse to accept it.

To my right, Wyatt lets out a frustrated moan. "Why can't you just cooperate for once?" he whines, glaring at me. "I thought we were past this. I can give you everything you want! Who turns down the title of Luna?" He turns to his father, pleading yet demanding with his eyes for support.

He hasn't grown up at all. He's still the same child who threatened to throw a tantrum if denied dessert or who menaced me with finger amputation if I dared to touch one of his forgotten toys.

"You can't give me anything, or you wouldn't have treated me like this my entire life," I shoot back, feeling a growl building deep within my chest. Wyatt has always regarded himself as royalty, with everyone else beneath him. But in my eyes, a king without a crown isn't a king at all.

Alpha Matias growls in response to my defiance. "Mind your tongue," he snaps before turning to his son, oozing confidence. "She'll obey me."

He settles back into his chair, leaning back and studying me with a calculating gaze that reminds me of a snake slithering in the grass, its beady eyes fixated on its prey.

"Wouldn't you, Mackenzie?" he asks in that sickly sweet, ominous tone. I loathe that voice, that tone, with every fiber of my being. It turns my stomach more than the thought of a future with Wyatt.

I clench my jaw, my fists tightening. "And if I don't?"

Alpha Matias tilts his head slightly, a dark smile playing on his lips as he clasps his hands together. "Then you'll be locked up once more. You wouldn't want that, would you? I'd imagine it gets awfully lonely down there."

My blood turns to ice, and I suddenly feel a chill that goes bone-deep. It's as though I can already sense the cold stone against my skin and the deafening silence enveloping me.

I hide my fear behind a scoff, striving to maintain a facade of defiance, even as I'm inwardly on the verge of breaking down, dropping to my knees, and begging to retain my freedom.

"You wouldn't," I force my words to sound like a challenge, but deep inside, I feel like crumbling, like begging to keep my liberty.

Alpha Matias smiles again, his eyes gleaming with twisted amusement. "Oh, but I would."

He revels in this. There's no doubt about it; he derives pleasure from my predicament.

I find myself gazing down at my shoes, a surge of heat coloring my cheeks. It's humiliating how easily he can manipulate me with a single threat.

This can't be real...

"The wedding is set for Thursday," the Alpha's words cut through me like a chilling gust of wind, dispelling any hope that this might be a nightmare. "That should give you ample time. Now, off you go. I believe you have a ceremony to prepare for."

Of course, forced into an enAdkinsment, and I'm still the one tasked with arranging the party I want nothing to do with.

My feet move mechanically toward the door, eager to escape. However, not before I knock a potted plant off a nearby table. The crash of shattering clay echoes in the room's thick silence.

"Bitch," I mutter under my breath.

"What did you say?" Wyatt snaps, surprising me that he doesn't delegate this to his father either.

I consider offering a sarcastically sweet reply, but instead, I opt for honesty. There's no reason to hold my tongue any longer.

I pivot sharply on my heel to face him, locking eyes with him and delivering my words like venom-tipped arrows. "Bitch. That's what I said," I declare, loud and clear. "You're a damn bitch, and I fervently hope that one day your rotting, eyeless corpse is discovered floating in a river because the fish have already feasted on your eyes."

My skin feels like it's ablaze, and my lungs yearn for air. I mean every word I say, and my tone drips with not just hatred, but a seething, visceral loathing.

Without waiting to see if he'll further belittle me or if his father will condemn me to the depths again for my insolence, I slam the door behind me with enough force to leave a prominent crack across the wood.

Rather than returning to prepare for the party as ordered, I make a beeline for one of the small cabins in the village, heading straight to my bedroom, which resembles a loft.

Fairy lights twinkle along the tops of dark grey walls. The room bathes in natural light from a large window, adjacent to my bed. I flop onto it, burying myself in the sheets.

Just forget it. Forget everything.

Forgetting is always easier. Except this time, I can't chase away the dreadful thoughts.

The wedding is on Thursday. That leaves me with four days. Four days left of freedom. Four days left to figure out how to save myself.

Then, in a random recollection, I remember what Wyatt mentioned before I burst into the room.

"That lunatic is still out there! How can I assume control of him lurking, waiting to pounce?"

What lunatic was he referring to? And how does this relate to his urgent need for a Luna before becoming the Alpha?