Page 21 of Wynter Abandoned

“You’re doing fine. I’m not much for all the grand gestures anyway. You live in a household of shifters, don’t you?”

She nodded. “Yes. My stepmother and sisters are shifters as well. They come to the runs and meetings.”

I let out a chuckle. Yeah, Violet and Calla made themselves known and not in the good way. “They do.”

Her shoulders fell and she stepped back. “They are very eager about the ball.”

Stepping toward her, I reached out to touch her shoulder but pulled back at the last second. My heart pounded. “So your household did receive the invitation. You saw it.”

She nodded. “I did.”

“You’ll come? Is that why you’re here? Getting those things for the ball?”

Tears welled in her icy eyes as she shook her head. “No. These are for my sisters. They are attending the ball.”

“Why aren’t you?” I asked, trying to quell the desperation in my voice. She was my mate. If it wasn’t for the rules of the council and their never-ending business-minding, I would cancel the whole damned party and claim her as mine.

“I don’t…it’s not for females like me.”

“It’s for all females who are shifters. All of them. And…especially you. I want to see you at the ball, Wynter.”

“You want to see me? Why?” A car blew its horn right behind her and she jumped a mile high. “I have to go. My sisters will be upset if I’m late. The last thing I need is more trouble.”

“Wait!” I yelled and gently gripped her arm. “Will you be at the ball?”

“I have to go.” She took off at a sprint, darting through traffic until she reached a car that drove away, leaving me there, wondering, wanting, and still knowing nothing other than her name.

Chapter Twenty-One

Wynter

Of course they had a car for the night of the ball. No way would they show up in their “outdated” sedan. What would the alphas think? I had some ideas about that. My experience was less than most about pack life, but what I remembered from being young was that usually everyone was pretty casual about everything. Most wolves preferred a pickup truck or SUV for their usefulness to any kind of expensive vehicle. But perhaps this pack, since they were holding a ball, expected things to be a little fancier, at least for the early part of the evening.

I couldn’t know for sure.

But in the days before the ball, I spent every spare moment trying to fix the dress my stepsister had so easily stuffed into the laundry hamper. Fortunately, I’d gotten it out before it had a chance to mildew because that would have been beyond my ability to repair. As it was, I had to use a combination of sponging and steaming and gentle ironing that I feared the dress wouldn’t tolerate. But, to my amazement, when I hung it on a hanger on one of my wall hooks, the gown looked like new. Of course, that was only step one because after that, I faced the prospect of making alterations. My stepsisters were better fed than I and also worse in that they had unlimited junk food anytime they chose.

And as the event approached, my time was more and more taken up with helping them with a series of questionable “beauty treatments” they’d seen on TikTok. Self-care, they called it, but there was nothing they would not smear on their faces. Mud, oatmeal, smashed-up herbs, even meat ground into a paste.

They reeked, and I couldn’t imagine how they would unstink themselves by the time they went to the dance.

They bathed in milk, champagne, and a few other things, waxed off every body hair, and required massages every time I came through the room. But I somehow managed to get them “beautified” and still take in the dress with enough fabric left to make a scarf to wrap around my shoulders if it was a little cool at the ball.

Where I was not going.

And when the day came, when the limo arrived, I followed them outside then stood in the drive and waved as the three of them rode away to the ball. The sun was just setting, and that meant they would be arriving quite early, but they opined that the early girl gets the alpha. Turning back to my shed, I had a wild idea of my own. No, I wasn’t going to the event, but with the family gone until the wee hours, what harm could come of pretending? Despite Calla’s and Violet’s confidence in meeting their mates, I feared they were in for a big disappointment. Which they would take out on me.

I carried my dress and the few items of makeup I’d purchased to the house and went upstairs to take a bubble bath. When the water cooled, I stood and washed my hair then wrapped up in big fluffy towels that were never to be used by me.

Having gone this far, I daringly continued. Maybe I could just see how I would look if I were allowed to attend the dance. I dried and styled my hair then applied the light makeup I’d purchased. I didn’t have pretty lingerie, and of course nothing belonging to my stepsisters would fit me, but even if I were going to the ball—which I was not—nobody would see my underwear anyway.

Shoes were a different matter, and after I slipped on the dress and wriggled it down over my hips, I padded into Violet’s room to see what I might be able to borrow. We wore the same size, and in her closet, I found a pair of high-heeled strappy silver sandals. Brand new, never worn, like so many other itemsthere. She’d probably never miss them, but I’d still be putting them back in a few minutes.

Passing the full-length mirror on her door, I jumped back, startled at the person who stared at me there. Usually I avoided mirrors because the ragamuffin image I saw in them wiped out what little confidence I had left. But this girl? The one with the wide, dark-lashed eyes and long silky curls?

“You are going to a ball,” I told her. “If I can just figure out how we can get there before it’s all over.” The sedan was in the driveway, but somehow using it seemed too daring. Like…what if they did come home early and report it stolen? I couldn’t walk in time, and if I shifted and ran, I would lose all the hard work I did just to get looking this way.

So…what, then?

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