Page 1 of The SnowFang Storm

Cupcakes Everywhere

I looked like an upside down cupcake.

“Really, Mint?”

Mint lounged in one of the chairs surrounding the little dais upon which I stood, smirking at me like a cheshire cat, amused by my predicament. A less-amused grumpy attendant pinned the hem of the blue gown she had strapped onto me.

“Really,” he said with a little smile. “Your first year in society and two formal dress parties. Quite the little sensation, aren’t you.”

Sensational. Right. That’s how I felt. Sensational. “It has nothing to do with me. Those invites had Sterling’s name on them.”

Mint’s smile widened into a smirk. “Not one of them.”

The woman in the yellow dress from the uterus painting party had been so charmed by me that she had dashed off an invitation to her ultra-formal, ultra-exclusive New Year’s party out in Central Park. It had arrived by courier as a hand-written note stating Sterling and I simply must come.

No true student of modern art would dare to skip that particular event. I had an appearance to maintain, after all.

If I wanted to lie to myself that everything was fine, and embrace the life of a socialite, hand me my champagne flute and send me down the carpet. My life as Winter, Luna of SnowFang, was a confusing jumble of broken pieces with dangerously sharp edges.

Eight days earlier, the AmberHowl had threatened Sterling’s father over his pending purchase of a parcel of land too close to their own territory. Demetrius’ threat to strip Garrett of his human privilege was real, but from what Sterling had told me, Garrett barely qualified as a human ally. Garrett and Cerys lived in the relatively werewolf-free state of Florida and the only wolf they spoke to on a regular basis was Sterling.

Twenty years ago, my father had defied convention and accepted a DNA paternity test to prove the topside of Sterling’s pedigree, presumably in a bid to give the last descendant of a dying female line a chance at legitimacy and preserve sorely needed genetic diversity. Rumors abounded Sterling was not who or what his mother claimed. Marcella had warned me it wasn’t going to go away… and it was probably going to get much worse.

While Sterling and I had retreated to our room after AmberHowl, our three packmates had ordered pizza and gotten into the wedding beer and worked up a good head of steam conjuring conspiracy theories about Sterling, myself, if we were really mates, his parents, my parents, and probably even the Moon landing. Breakfast had decayed into shouting, flailing, flinging bacon, and shattered plates before Sterling shouted everyone down.

Sterling had grown up with humans, and little humans got DNA tests all the time. He’d never been in a situation where a fellow werewolf pup had revealed the Toothfairy wasn’t real. Finding out that he had always been at the center of a massive political shitstorm had hit him as hard as Jun.

Sterling and I had cleaned up the maple syrup and bacon grease, put everything away, then sat on the floor of the kitchen to wonder if they’d come back at all.

They had. Nothing had been said. Seemed like we had all collectively agreed to forget about the Bacon Incident.

I glimpsed myself in the mirrors, and paused, caught off guard by my own reflection. The woman who looked back at me was me, but… it was like I was a foreign alphabet, and by rote I could recognize, pronounce, and write each character, but not spell nor read a single word. An alphabet without a language, nothing but a jumble of symbols and sounds.

My vision blurred from the sting of tears. The mirror shimmered and melted like a heat haze. I bit down hard against sobs or even a shaky breath. The tears receded, and my vision cleared.

In my reflection, a delicate silver chain hung around my neck. The blue pendant from my dream vision sat between my breasts.

What the hell?

Dazed, I reached up to touch it. My fingers closed around it in the reflection, but only beads and fabric met my fingers.

“Winter.”

The world popped like I had broken the surface of water. I gasped, looked at my reflection, but no necklace.

Mint swung his legs onto the floor and stood, straightening his jacket out of habit, and stepped up onto the dais. He gestured for the attendant to leave, which she did, but only after a little huff.

Mint touched the greenish bruise on my right shoulder. He hadn’t asked about it until now. “You want to talk about it?”

“It’s from jiu-jitsu.” I glanced at my reflection. No necklace.

“Jiu-jitsu?” Mint pressed. “Since when did you train in martial arts?”

“Since always,” I replied. I’d gotten a little banged up proving I wasn’t a white belt that needed to be in the baby classes.

“Winter,” he whispered, “you can be honest with me. Even if all you need is someone to listen.”

But I can’t tell you anything. “Sterling’s not like that, Mint.”

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