1
Malin
The invitation came not through email or social media messaging, but in the real hand-delivered mail. A physical envelope with my name and address printed in neat, steady handwriting. A fun-looking card with colorful balloons on the front.
I took it into both hands and started to crumple it. It flew open. Inside, more neat handwriting. Larger print told me at a glance what I already knew.
You are cordially invitedto attend Remington’s 4thbirthday party on….
It gavea date and a time and an address.
The neat handwriting was not from Dad. It was from that set omega of his that he’d deigned to marry. That interloper. That worthless wolf. Kirion.
Malin:
I hopethis reaches you and that you are well. A lot of time has passed since we last saw you. Tane and I would enjoy having you as a guest at Remington’s birthday celebration. You have yet to meet your brother and your father would love to see you, as well.
Please think about coming. You will be received with open arms.
Sincerely,
Kirion
So many liescontained in so few lines. I was very sure Kirion did not hope “you are well” and would not “enjoy having” me as a guest. Plus, Remington was my half-brother, not my brother. And would Dad love to see me? I think not. The open arms bit at the end of the note was laughable.
After everything that had happened when Kirion came to live with Dad, it was clear they despised me. That was okay by me. I despised them. None of us had spoken in over six years.
I still lived off my trust. I still got into a few skirmishes. A year ago, I’d had a fight with one of my bar-hopping friends. He spent the night at a hospital and I did a night in jail before he dropped assault charges. Then there had been another fight with another alpha three months later….
I was a bad boy and a playboy. Since omegas were rare, I slated my thirsts on big, willing alphas. Sometimes things got out of hand. My temper easily fumed, a dragon temper, out of control. Especially if I’d been drinking. There were reasons. I couldn’t help it.
A sharpness pressed at the backs of my eyes.
Every day I woke remembering when I was ten and my omega father, Rupert, had died. I still blamed Dad. Father wouldn’t have gone flying that day with a storm on the horizon if they hadn’t argued. I was sure of it.
The last time I saw Dad I was twenty-one. He’d kicked me out of his mansion. The blame, the shame, the arguing—I was happy to leave.
Crumpling the stupid invitation, I tossed it in the kitchen trash. I didn’t realize how hard I’d been biting the insides of my cheeks until I tasted blood. I closed my eyes against the heat starting to form in my vision, strode to the living room bar and poured myself a drink. Vodka. I downed it in three gulps, the flames behind my eyes growing only stronger.
I needed more of a distraction than that. Besides, it was never fun drinking alone. Grabbing my phone, I texted my friend Bish.
Malin:Party still on for tonight?
Bish:Yep. But you said you weren’t coming, asshole.
Malin:Changed my mind.
Bish:I know you always arrive in some fancy designer couture, but bar and catering are by the pool. Bring a swimsuit.
Malin:Hey spikeass, I’ll wear whatever I want to wear.
Bish:You haven’t been drinking already, have you?
Malin:Fuck you.
Bish:Which translates to you’re coming, right?
He knew me well.
