looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.
I couldn’t even smell the lie. He clearly believed his own bullshit.
“Thankfully, I have found a solution that will benefit all of us. There is a pack in Ohio. Their Alpha’s son is only sixteen, but he will need a mate, eventually. A Luna.”
The word hung in the air. My parents sat so still, I was pretty sure they’d stopped breathing.
The offer to join another pack was tempting. I wouldn’t have to worry about my wolf going feral if I was anchored to a pack. Being a Luna, though… I didn’t have it in me anymore. The three wolves in front of me had ensured that.
“They follow the paradigm, like us,” Alpha Mercer continued, enjoying the attention he was getting. “They are diligent wolves, not slaves to their baser desires. You should be grateful that I’ve found such a match for you.”
I hadn’t been allowed to attend pack gatherings since I was a child, but his spiel about “baser desires” apparently hadn’t changed in six years. Alpha Mercer looked at me expectantly, presumably waiting for me to lick his boots or something.
“How generous,” I said wryly. “I’ll take my chances on my own, thanks.”
“Wren,” my father hissed, glaring at me from across the table. “No other paradigm packs want you. Think about what you’re giving up.”
I stared at him blankly because I knew it would unnerve him. Not that he could actually meet my eye, anyway. My parents always made a big deal about the following paradigm shit, but since I’d been cooped up like a dirty little secret for the past few years, I wasn’t super invested in following pack rules.
Besides, I’d seen a documentary on human cults once, and there were some eerily distinctive similarities to how the wolves around here acted.
“I’ll be fine. I have plans.”
“What plans?” my mother whispered nervously.
“Plans.” If they wanted me to confide in them, they shouldn’t have kicked me out.
“Wren.” There was so much anguish in my mother’s voice, I could almost believe it was me she was upset for, not the mistake she thought I was making.
“That is disappointing, Wren. The pack in Ohio were very excited when I told them about you, it would be a shame if they pursued you when you’re out there on your own, without a pack to protect your interests,” Alpha Mercer sighed heavily, like he wasn’t about to immediately run off and tell the Ohio pack that I wasn’t under his protection any longer.
“I’ll leave you to say your goodbyes. You have an hour to leave the territory.” He didn’t give me a chance to reply even if I wanted to before giving me his back. So fucking disrespectful.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” My father was aggressively rubbing his temples, hunched over the table.
“Let’s skip the lecture, hm? I’ve only got an hour,” I replied lightly. “I just need some money for the bus ride north, since I’ve been essentially imprisoned here for six years and haven’t been able to earn any for myself.” I was always hyper-aware of keeping the alpha command out of my voice when I spoke to my parents, so I didn’t force them to do anything against their will.
“How far north?” my mother asked. She looked alarmed, sitting stiff as a board in the seat next to me.
I shrugged because I didn’t have an answer for her. My wolf was pushing for north, so north is where we’d go. Maybe she just wanted a colder climate.
My mother hesitated for a moment, chewing nervously on her bottom lip like she wanted to say more, but her eyes lowered to her lap and I knew I’d lost her.
“Here.” My father pushed an envelope across the table at me. “$500. It’s all we can spare. Contrary to what you may think, we don’t wish for you to suffer, Wren. We have never blamed you for your dominant nature.”
“Good of you,” I remarked drily, picking up the envelope and moving back from the table. “I’m already packed. I imagine you’re looking forward to having unrestricted use of your cabin again, so I’ll be on my way.”
“Our contact details are in there,” my mother added hastily, nodding at the envelope. “Let us know where you end up.” I snorted. Don’t overdo it on the platitudes, Mother.
We didn’t need to say goodbye or talk about our regrets. Every time they’d avoided me over the past six years had been a goodbye. Every shamefaced look had