Page 2 of Wynter Abandoned

“Of course. I’ll get dressed and head right over.” What else could I say?

They chattered horrible things about me while they walked away from my leaky shed and back to their comfy, cozy, fireplace-heated bedrooms.

I made my way to the hooks on the wall. No reason to have a closet with only three outfits at my disposal. Changing from my tattered nightgown to my yellowish dress with the white apron, I tried to ignore the aches in my bones and muscles. There wasn’t an inch of my body that wasn’t in pain from day to day.

After getting dressed and tidying up my room—a few more minutes delay would not make them treat me any worse than they would already—I put my hair up in a messy bun and covered it with a green scarf. My stepmama claimed once that she found my hair in her food. It wasn’t true but, ever since, I wore that scarf.

I hadn’t heard a word about hair in the food since.

I made my way across the yard, my too-big shoes sliding against my calloused ankles all the way. I brought in enough wood for their fires and set the logs outside their rooms.

Quickly, I stirred up fresh eggs with milk and cinnamon and sliced the bread from the town baker for the French toast. While the cast-iron pan heated, I also started the kettle for their hot morning drinks. One stepsister demanded a tea for healthy skin and nails, the other green with milk and sugar. My stepmama always had strong black tea: no sugar, no creamer, no nothing but bitterness and a tangy aftertaste.

Kind of like her.

Why did my father like her?

The French toast was golden in no time, and I put square slabs of butter on each slice. I covered them all with more cinnamon and powdered sugar and added three tiny pitchers full of syrup to the tray.

This was the part I hated most—getting a tray full of three breakfasts plus three cups of tea up the stairs. Cumbersome and awkward. I was always afraid I would fall and ruin my hard work.

My stomach rumbled and growled as I made my way up the stairs. The smell of the eggs and sweet cinnamon wafting into my nose was enough to make my mouth water.

Too bad I didn’t get a meal until suppertime.

I didn’t deserve three meals a day.

Chapter Two

Xerxes

“Alpha, the females are here. They are lined up and ready.”

I looked up from the computer for the first time since dawn and scrubbed my hand down my face. “Another lineup? This is ridiculous, Titan. What am I, some pompous, rich alpha who has females brought to me because I can’t sniff out my own mate?”

Titan furrowed his brow. “You don’t really want me to answer that, do you? Besides, it isn’t just for you. You know this.”

I stood, bracing my fists on the desk as leverage. “Then why don’t you go out there and filter through them, so I’m not wasting my time?”

Smoke chuckled in the corner. His hands were clasped in front of his groin. He was looking especially brooding today. Black shirt. Black pants. Black ball cap pulled down low over his brow.

“The council is insistent on you doing this because you’re the alpha and need a luna to balance you and provide an heir. Plus, you asked me to set this up last night. Should I go on?”

“You shouldn’t take orders from me after I’ve had a glass of rum.”

“Is that an order, alpha?” Another low rumble from Smoke.

I growled deep down in my chest, trying to show my disapproval. “I have things to do. Issues to handle in this pack that have nothing to do with females or the council or mating.”

“Xerxes,” Smoke spoke, his bass echoing off the walls of my office. “It’s not just the council, and you know it. The faster you get out there, the faster you can get back to making sure Jimmy shows up for his field work shift or whatever you’re doing.”

He wasn’t wrong. Smoke, Titan, and I had grown up in this pack. We’d bonded as soon as our wolves presented, and there was never a question as to whether or not we would share a mate. We would. Period. Our wolves knew it.

Did the council know that we would share a mate? I had no idea. Didn’t really care. All they cared about was how our pack looked to other packs. A luna gave the alpha and the pack strength. She was the glue and the foundation—the heart of the community. A luna showed a pack’s strength.

“I’m well aware. Is it so wrong to want to meet our mate naturally? Happen upon her in a meadow? Meet her in a store or on the street? Catch a book from falling on her or warn her of a puddle she’s about to step in?”

Titan plopped into one of my leather chairs. Apparently, all of his rush and impatience had vanished. He let out a long sigh, scrubbing a hand through his dark hair. “It’s not wrong, X. But we’ve gone through all those avenues. We’ve had pack runs. Gone to multi-pack meetings. We’ve traveled to other packs and met every female from A-Z. This is our last resort.”

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