I should have known better last night.
The words are out before I can stop them, the rest just thoughts that I can’t bring myself to speak.
The laughter returns, easy and cruel, and I let it wash over me until I can’t hear the echo of what I just said.
Later, I’ll tell myself it was necessary, that it meant nothing. I’m leaving in two days, anyway.
But standing there, watching the water dry on the concrete, I already know it’s a lie.
Because I can still smell her on my skin, and it feels like guilt gnawing on my vest and my insides, and whatever happened since last night will haunt me for the rest of my days.
I couldn’t help myself. It’s not like it’s my fault, Cecelia Morales, the wolfless Omega, is irresistible. But falling victim to temptation comes at a price, and black ops is going to feel more like exile than respite.
What did I get myself into?
Chapter 1 - Cecelia
I sigh as I lift another white sheet from the basket, whipping it out to straighten the creases before flinging it over the line. As I’m about to secure it on the rod with a wooden peg, I notice a faint, yellow stain in the corner in the shape of a sunflower.
Absentmindedly, the tip of my index finger skims the outline of the stain, tracing the shape of a flower meant to symbolize hope and new beginnings. For a brief moment, I imagine that I can find that hope for myself, even if I’m doing the most monotonous task known to the Lunaris Pack.
Another heavy sigh escapes my lips, a faint smile lifting the corners as I shake my head at my unfathomable ability to see the bright side of things. Besides, the stain probably points to another werewolf’s busy night before they threw the sheet in the communal laundry basket to wash away the evidence of a passionate night with another.
It’s not like that’s something I’d want for myself.Ever again.Opening my legs for a male werewolf, only to be dismissed or ridiculed for the act, isn’t at the top of my to-do list. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt ripped off my body as if I didn’t even have enough honor to remain decent. As an omega, I’m bound to the lowest rank in the hierarchy that dictates the benefits I’m permitted to enjoy, of which there are very few.
I’m not even allowed to question my low standing in the pack. I just have to accept it and pretend that I enjoy being a domesticated she-wolf who does the communal laundry. Even though no one is watching now as I pick up another damp sheet from the basket, I plaster a fake smile on my face, the way I would in front of the other members of the pack. It’s somethingI have to do to stay out of trouble. She-wolves can be mean, and they’ve never failed to remind me that I’m supposed to smile and be grateful that I’m still alive with a roof over my head.
It’s more than any half-breed is deserving of, and they’ll never stop reminding me that I have to earn my right to live with every sheet and item of clothing I have to wash with my own hands. It’s as if they purposely soil their socks just to make my job harder than it already is, the dirt as impossible to scrub away as it is to get the stain off my name.
“Cecelia!” a cheery voice jolts me out of my routine daze, and I turn my head in the direction of a hummingbird with the only face I find pleasant in Nightmist.
“Donna!” I chirp back, my smile quickly turning from forced to genuine as my best friend skips over with free, light steps, like a fairy floating forward. Her sparkling brown eyes catch the April sunlight and twinkle with her broad smile. Even her hair catches the sun, the crown of her head glowing with traces of red. Her warm presence is what truly sparks my hope, my ease, my comfort during the harshest times, and I throw the sheet back into the basket to free my arms for her delightful embrace.
“What are you doing here?” I ask when I pull back, our arms still tangled from the hug, neither of us wanting to let go. “I thought you had classes…”
Donna giggles lightly. “I have the day off, and I thought we could spend it together.”
“Well, I don’t have the luxury of an off-day,” I also giggle in response, but my tongue is laced with the contempt I feel. Unlike Donna, I’m not allowed to attend the local college, even if those my age fought for their rights to mingle with the humans while keeping their identity as werewolves hidden.
The uprising that happened a few years ago stemmed from the werewolves’ drive to achieve more in their lives than just exist within the confines of a pack. There was a need to live a more fulfilled life with true purpose, and they demanded that they be allowed outside the restrictions of the Nightmist border. The freedom they fought for was something a hybrid could never enjoy, and that’s why I’m treated more like a slave than one of them. As a hybrid, I can’t be considered trustworthy enough not to reveal my identity to the humans and get our supernatural world discovered.
“Oh, come on, Cece!” Donna insists as she grabs my arm when I’m about to go back to my task. “You can slip away for a little while. No one’s gonna care.”
“Trust me, Agatha is gonna care,” I chuckle dryly, rolling my eyes at the thought of the pack center’s manager, who’ll use any opportunity to start a smear campaign against me. One that the elders will probably lap up, because they have nothing better to do than hang onto their authority as if it’s slipping through their fingers.
The uprising, when the younger wolves voted in favor of attending college classes like normal youth, was already enough to shake the foundation that had been standing firm for decades, and the elders seemed troubled by the cracks left behind. As the only hybrid in the pack, I’m the easiest target they have, like a punching bag that never tires from all the blows I receive.
In some ways, the act of caring what Agatha thinks is calculated, just so I don't get into any trouble.
The last thing I need is to find myself under scrutiny for another round of punches if they discover I didn’t hang up all of today’s washing.
“That old lady is on the brink of becoming blind!” Donna squeaks, waving a dismissive hand through the air, even as she helps me hang the rest of the washing on the line. She might vocalize her defiance, but even she knows better than to make a stand on her own. Her peers were only able to get a pass to go to college because they stood together. None of them will stand to defend me.
I’m their punching bag, too, when they need to let off some steam.
“Then why are you helping me?”
“Because”—Donna blows out a breath through puckered lips—“I’m clearing your conscience so you can enjoy the beach with me. I know you won’t do that unless you’ve done your chores.”
