Millie
About a year after my friend’s wedding, I finished my own degrees. Plural. Unlike Isella, I had no need to rush and the longer I studied, the less time I had to spend with my sleuth. And wasn’t that sad. The leadership had questioned me, but I showed them that my studies were precisely in line with what they wanted, to increase my value, and since they couldn’t get rid of me until I presented as an omega at twenty-five, and I was not the easiest female to deal with, they threw up their hands and left me to study my domestic science, accounting, and other things that would make me a real asset to whoever they sold me to.
But once I finished my four bachelor’s degrees, I had no choice but to return to the sleuth and live under their minute-to-minute scrutiny. To say I hated it would be the understatement of the century. At school, I’d been an A student whose spare time was spent as a teaching assistant to offset the additional tuition and other costs of my multiple degrees. My professors respected my intelligence and hard work, friends enjoyed my company, and I’d expanded my horizons in a way I’d never dreamed possible.
But the moment I accepted the scrolls and walked off the stage, my steps turned toward the bus stop where I caught a ride home. Or to the sleuth. Not sure it ever felt like home. Not since Mom passed away.
All my friends had great plans for their lives after graduation. Job offers, vacations, full-on careers. But not me. I had signed on the dotted line in order to be allowed to go to school. And now that it was over, I would take up my place at home. And there, I would do the only job allowedfemales. Cooking, cleaning, and sewing. Laundry. Canning and dehydrating produce. Butchering chickens. All the glamour jobs.
Domestic science courses made them sound good. Like you could run your home as a business. Use sanitation and creativity to make everyone happy. Somehow in the middle of the twenty-first century, I had found a degree suitable for the 1950s. Not going to say it was the same everywhere. Other schools might have had a better handle on the topic, but the one closest to us, the one I was allowed to attend, did not. I also had a fine arts degree, which I’d explained would allow me to make our homes beautiful, the accounting/business degree, and one in agriculture. Basically, I was qualified to run the pack lands.
So, how did they make use of all these skills?
Did they ask me to paint art for the alpha house? Organize emergency supplies? Handle the bookkeeping? Apply modern agricultural techniques?
None of the above.
They handed me a toilet brush and told me when the bathrooms were clean, there were a lot of vegetables that needed cutting up for soup. Every day was more menial tasks under the supervision of people who didn’t have anything like the skill set I did. It was demeaning and frustrating and drew every negative emotion I had. If I complained, I was told I was receiving training and that soon enough, I’d be in my own home in my own sleuth. With my education, they were pretty sure they could sell me to an alpha with great prestige.
Nobody ever mentioned a fated mate. Our sleuth didn’t believe in them.
Another thing my education provided was a worse relationship with anyone there than before. Not that it had been great in the past, but now, the other females treated me as if I’d stolen sleuth funds for my personal pleasure. They called me spoiled as I scrubbed those toilet bowls.
Only one positive kept me going after a year of this painful existence.
My nocturnal wanderings had changed. No longer was I seeing the worst that life could offer. Instead of having dreams that predicted death and disaster, I saw three bears each night—a disgraced alpha, a former royal bodyguard, and an accountant. Each so different from the others and all three calling to my ear. Instead of being exhausted every day as I had been in school, I hurried to finish my tasks every night so I could go to bed and see these bears.
They began to be very real to me. In the past, my dreams had been nightmares, but certain ones, the repeats, had come true. Was it possible that a good one could also be foreshadowing?
With my birthday coming up and the leadership taking bids for me, it wouldn’t be long before my fate was sealed. And something told me that these bears were not the type to purchase an unwilling female as their mate.
I knew better than to get my hopes up. It wasn’t like the other dreams. Just a way to soothe my broken soul. A little happiness before my real life began.
Except what if it isn’t. What if they are mine?
Chapter Four
Felix
I insisted our guest or our new sleuth brother sit while we did most of the work. When Cannon and I met, he had zero clues about how to cook anything. Not even scrambled eggs. Thank goodness he was a quick learner. My job could be demanding. Regular accounting was a breeze. Tedious but a breeze. But sometimes I was contracted to do forensic accounting jobs. Under the table. For cash. Those kept me up until all hours and into the mornings. They paid the bills.
The last thing I wanted to do was cook for Mr. Grumpy Alpha Pants.
Tyrone would be good for us. He balanced us out. The air was less thick now that he was here.
And if I did say so myself, the chili and cornbread were going to taste better.
“Smells good,” Tyrone said from where he sat at the bar. We had a dining room table. We picked it up off the side of the road and refinished it. It was the first thing we did together without arguing. Even so, we never sat at it to eat.
“Thanks. It’s ready.”
We filled our own bowls of piping-hot venison chili and sat around the island.
Everyone dug in, and a quiet fell over the cabin. That meant the food was good.
“So we’re doing this,” Cannon said after we’d all finished one bowl. He went after a second, but Tyrone and I didn’t. Instead, our new sleuth mate took a second piece of cornbread and slathered it with butter and honey.
Tyrone and I both nodded. I thought the agreement was solid, but Cannon sometimes needed to reiterate things. He took a while to process.
