CHAPTER 1
EMME
The thing about “temporary”is that it sometimes lasts forever.
Or at least 361 days.
That’s how long I’ve been living in the apartment above Gran’s garage—a sparkly pink sanctuary that was supposed to be a pit stop after my relationship imploded and has become my favorite place in the world.
It’s all me up here. Fuzzy pink blankets, opal drawer pulls, prisms hanging in the windows that scatter rainbows across the wood floors and white marble countertops. Well, when they’re not speckled with frosting.
Wrinkles crease around Gran’s eyes as she watches me, silver curls puffed like spun sugar around her face. She’s all rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes, and there’s always been something Mrs. Claus-ish about her—warm, wise, and just mischievous enough to make my cousins and me wonder if she’s hiding true magickal abilities.
“Emmeline…” She studies me with a look that’s equal parts amused and concerned.
I push the plate of sugar cookies covered in hot pink frosting and coarse sugar crystals in front of her to ward off the upcoming lecture.
“Solstice is for couples,” I announce, plucking a cookie off the plate. “For fate to smile down on them, and to have their bond approved by the Elders and then live a lifetime of mated bliss.” I pause, take a bite, and add, “Not for people like me who get their hearts publicly demolished in front of literally everyone they’ve ever known.”
My chest feels tight, my words too loud in the cozy space. “He didn’t even apologize,” I mumble, falling back into the same conversation I’ve had with myself, (and anyone else who will listen) for the past year. “Just said it wasn’t personal. That fate had ‘spoken.’ Like I was a placeholder. A practice run before the real deal showed up.”
“We’re not going down this road again, Emmeline.” Gran doesn’t say anything else for a moment, and the silence between us fills with all the points she’s made before. All the things I know are true but don’t want to hear.
Tears sting my eyes, and an ache presses at my throat. “Totally.” I force a smile, big, bright, and sugary sweet. “And you’ll be happy to know that I’ve sworn off men entirely and am devoting myself to baked goods.”
I pop the rest of the cookie in my mouth, then lick frosting from my fingertips.
Gran makes a quiet, disapproving hum. “Shifters should be with shifters during Winer Solstice, if no other time.”
Her hand covers mine, warm and soft as powdered sugar. “I’m not saying you have to come for the whole week,” she continues, squeezing lightly. “Just for the peak of Solstice.”
“Thepeak?” I snort. “When every single member of every pack will be in attendance and the Elders announce new mates? Hard pass. I’m not embarrassing myself again.”
Gran tilts her head. “No one’s asking you to embarrass yourself now, and you didn’t embarrass yourself before.”
“Didn’t I?”
“You were in the throes of passion,” she says, and I can’t help but cringe at her use of the wordpassion. “And passion”—there it is again, another full-body cringe—“has made buffoons of us all at least once in life. Fate simply didn’t feel that Brandt was your true mate. And good riddance. I heard he’s already gone soft around the middle and that mate of his has him selling those vitamin packs for that pyramid scheme. I meanMLM. Or whatever they’re calling it nowadays to dodge tax fraud.” She shakes her head. “They’ve even started doing those lives on TikTok, bless their hearts. It’s like watching a car wreck in slow motion. You don’t want to look, but you just can’t help yourself.”
A laugh bursts out of me.
Gran smiles, victorious, and lifts her teacup for a slow, satisfied sip. “But who knows what might happen this year?”
“Nothing will happen this year,” I say, reaching for another cookie mostly to avoid eye contact. “Because I’m not going.”
“Not even to keep an old woman company?”
“Mm, interesting. You’re ‘seventy years young’ until you need something, and suddenly it’s allwoe is me, my brittle bones.” I crunch a pink sugar crystal between my teeth. “Max and Libby and the rest of the cousins will be there. You won’t even notice I’m not.”
“It would mean a lot to me if you came, Emmeline. Just for the peak. The aurora borealis will be beautiful this year. They say it’ll light up the entire clearing.”
“‘They,’ huh?” I raise a brow. “Who’sthey? Big Aurora?”
Her teacup hits the saucer with a loud clink. “Emmeline Lark, if you do not get your little fox butt there, I’m liable to?—”
“Gran,” I interrupt, holding up both hands. “I’m twenty-two. I’m an adult. You can’t force me to go.”
She narrows her eyes, and the corners crinkle in that deceptively sweet way that says she absolutely could force me to go, probably without even leaving her chair. There’s a whole storm of ancient fox magick and maternal guilt swirling behind that look, and I can practically feel my free will shriveling under her gaze.
