Page 102 of Villainous Fate

Anger builds again, and I shred my pillow.

As feathers fall, I see the gift Marcus brought for my birthday. I picked it up from the sidewalk when he left. I still couldn’t open it. Even receiving the gift felt like a betrayal to Deacon.

My eighteenth birthday was supposed to be the best day of my life. Becoming an adult meant making my own decisions, learning to drive a car, and running away with Deacon.

Instead, I'm sobbing in a green dress I took from my dad's closet that once belonged to my mother.

I hate dresses. I rarely wear them, but today was supposed to be remarkable.

It is special—our Mate.

For one guilt-engrossing moment when it first happened, I couldn’t believe how happy it made me. In a world where I never met Deacon, this would have been the best day of my life. Finding out my Mate was Marcus, an Alpha with an honest heart. I should be thanking the Fates.

But Deacon does exist.

He’s the boy who opened my eyes to what loyalty was. He defended me and showed me how love should feel. He sat with me when my mom left, and I didn’t speak for days. He held me when the nicknames started about my appearance. He made me feel beautiful when society joked that I had no soul. He built me a home when mine fell apart and left his pack to build us a future.

And I betray him by even considering accepting my fate.

The phone ringing in the dining room pulls me from my wallowing almost two hours later, and I panic.

What do I say to him?

How can I keep this from him?

What if Marcus tells him first?

I don’t have time to overanalyze it as I race to the receiver and pick it up, aiming to sound as normal as possible.

“Hello?” It’s breathy, and I sit in the chair to slow my heart rate.

“Happy Birthday, Tails!” he shouts excitedly before singing the entire birthday song into my ear.

I clap my hands for him, and my heart swells knowing he is in the packhouse main room, so odds are, other people just heard that.

‘I’d do anything for you, Tails. Name it, and it's done,’

The memory of the words turns the knife in my heart, opening the wound there with a new rush of pain.

“Thank you, D. How are you? How is everything there?” I ask, trying to keep the focus off me so I don’t slip up.

I won’t lie to him.

But I can’t tell him like this.

“Different. It’s not days like home sleeping in at the treehouse. Amato has his fingers everywhere. There’s more work than workers, and nothing falls through the cracks,” he says. His voice carries a bit of awe, and it sparks worry in me.

“You sound like you’re impressed by them. I thought they weren’t good people?” I ask tentatively, not wanting to get him in trouble on the tapped line but curious about his change of tone.

“It’s not like that, Tails. They’re just a well-oiled machine. Efficient.”

“Okay,” I say, not knowing where to take the conversation.

I can’t remember the last time I struggled to talk to him.

That’s because you don’t keep things from him; you haven’t had to filter before.

I hate this.

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