Page 4 of Wynter Abandoned

My stepsisters were already tossing clothing, hanger by hanger, piece by piece, from their closets and making another mess for me to clean up.

While I washed dishes, I gathered their uneaten food to give it to the pig, Goliath. I’d named him myself. It was a mistake, of course, to name him that. If I had known my stepmama intended to have him roasted whole for Christmas, I would’ve named him Lovey or something similar, a name that would make one stop to think if they really wanted to slaughter an innocent creature for their own gluttony. He was gray and white, and I’d convinced myself that he smiled when he saw me coming near. He would have French toast this morning since most of the breakfast had been refused after the invitation came in the mail. I was not allowed to eat their breakfast leftovers, since my stepmama said I got too fat if I ate more than once a day. Not that I wanted their messes anyway.

I heard Violet say her pants were too tight.

Maybe the extra butter and syrup weren’t such a good idea after all.

After the breakfast mess was cleaned up, I sighed. This was only the beginning of my day. I threw in a load of washing and took the rest out of the dryer. Each member of the family had a different way they wanted things folded. I had made myself a guide in case I forgot. My stepmama had to have everything hung, even her satin panties and bras. Calla wanted all her clothes ironed, including underthings and sheets. Violet was somewhat easy but would throw a fit if her socks were rolled instead of folded in half.

They were quite particular for people who did nothing but lie around all day.

“Wynter, get up here!” At the ear-piercing scream, I ran up the stairs as fast as I could. They were gathered together, all trying on clothes and complaining about muffin tops and shrinking fabric. The only thing shrinking around here was my will to live.

“Did you wash all of our clothes in hot water? We told you to hang these shirts to dry!” Violet growled.

I took a breath to correct my tone. Tone was everything to them. “I did as you asked,” I replied.

Calla couldn’t even get her newest pair of jeans zipped at the top. She had boasted to me that they cost more than my entire shed, and here she was trying to fit too much sausage into too little casing.

Violet lay on the bed, trying to zip her own pants and then giving up. “Read it again, Mama. I want to hear it again.” Her gaze darted to me. She didn’t want to have it read to her again; she wanted me to hear it.

“The Iron Prowlers invite you to a ball with run to follow. All are invited regardless of age or status, but particularly single females.”

I was not sure who the Iron Prowlers were, and it was the most pragmatic of invitations on the face of the earth and yet,my stepsisters shrieked again and kicked their legs as Stepmama read it.

A boldness bubbled inside me. The invitation said any age or status. That meant all shifters in the area.

“Can I go?” I knew my mistake as soon as the last word kissed my lips as it exited my mouth.

Silence filled the air.

Calla and Violet burst into laughter and changed their focus from their clothes to me.

“Oh, Wynter, of course you can,” Stepmama said.

My heart nearly pushed through my chest and flopped onto the floor.

“When Goliath flies.” Her mouth pulled up on one side in a snide smile. “Did you really think they meant you? Look at yourself in the mirror, Wynter. If you showed up, they would think you were one of the cleaning staff. Besides, you know better. You are forbidden to shift.”

Chapter Four

Titan

Xerxes had refused any more lineups for the day and, I had to admit, I was relieved. My alpha and best friend was right—having females line up to be scented was no way to meet the person who was supposed to be made for you by Fate.

That was, if you believed in those things. The longer it took for us to find our mate, the more my belief shrank. We were all in our late twenties, and most males found their females when they came of age, about eighteen.

No wonder the council was on Xerxes’ ass.

Personally, I didn’t care for any of the reasons the pack had for wanting a luna. I was tired of sleeping in a bed without a female next to me—in my arms.

Sure, I could go out and get a female for a night or two and quell some of my need but for a few years now, I simply hadn’t seen the point. Sex with any other woman wouldn’t even come close to the same act with our mate.

Everything else was a cheap version of what could’ve been.

I had no other duties until late that night, and I didn’t want to hang around and hear the other pack members give me unsolicited advice on how to find my mate, so, a run would do.

Becoming my wolf and running him until my paws were sore and I was out of breath was one of the only things I had left that made me let go of some of the stress we were carrying. As though running a pack weren’t enough.

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