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I reached into my basket and pulled out the first ball of yarn I could get my hands on—a pretty pastel pink. I’d done this so many times before, I was sure I could do it with my eyes closed.
My downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Masterson, had once suggested knitting as a way to make a little extra money; hand-knitted blankets and scarves were expensive, after all. Eventually, it had become less about the money I was making from my pieces and more about how relaxing it was to sit and watch something form from nothing.
It required very little brain power from me at this point, so, as I sat back and let my hands follow their own pattern whenever they held the needles, I began to tell Rebecca about how I had lost my job. And not because I called the future CEO a cocksucker, but because he managed to convince the HR Manager that I was a fallen-blood wolf.
“Your archnemesis is Sariel fucking Ambrose?”
Rebecca was gaping at me by the time I finished. When I nodded, she drained her glass in a single gulp, then hopped up to get the bottle from the kitchen.
I leaned forward to take my cup and swallow another mouthful of the delicious wine.
“And he— that littlefucker,” she cursed, angry now. While it was entertaining to watch her pace the length of her apartment, I knew nothing would come out of her anger, as was par for the course of most blessed-blood wolves. Sure, she would experience the emotion, but only for about five minutes at best.
“I guess that means you have to start looking for another job, huh?” she asked as she returned to her seat next to me, relaxed.
Case in point.
I nodded, glancing down at my needles quickly before turning to her again. “Yup. Maybe I can apply to another media house.”
“Assuming your blood work doesn’t immediately out you as a fallen-blood wolf.” She pursed her lips and eyed me sadly. “Remember, your AMH results were an accident, and we have no idea what stars, planets, or galaxies aligned that allowed your blessed blood to appear dominant.”
Right. Because nothing could ever be easy for me.
Sometimes, I wish Ihadmet my birth parents, specifically so I could have given them a piece of my mind. What kind of people took risks like they had, knowing the consequences could be dire for their offspring? Why would they subject their child to a lifetime of rejection, barely any opportunities, and almost no future?
I understood that they might have been in love, but it still felt so selfish, because it implied that they’d never even considered the kind of life I would have. And that thought alone made me incredibly sad.
Even though I knew my frustration with them was pointless, I still needed to feel it sometimes, to remind myself why I was working so hard to secure my future. I’d worked through online school, waiting tables, tutoring rich human kids online, writing,and blogging, then graduated with a bachelor’s degree in journalism and mass communication,thengot my master’s right afterward. I wasn’t unqualified, I was just a coward, and very few major media houses would hire someone remotely without first meeting them in person.
AMH had been a shot in the dark; I hadn’t even cared that the position was for a receptionist, not a journalist, nor a job I was properly qualified for. That congratulatory email had had me crying like a baby out of disbelief, as I couldn’t believe the company I had only fantasized about working at had hired me.
I sighed, long and deep, disturbing the silence that had fallen between Rebecca and I.
She turned to me. “You know mom and dad would be proud of you, right?”
Her words surprised me so much that I jerked, failing my next stitch. I froze with the needles in my hand, eyes wide as she smiled softly at me.
“Their little girl, all grown up, getting fired from her first office job, experiencing corporate hell.” She chuckled weakly, and I could feel my bottom lip tremble. “They’d be so proud of you, Aria.”
There was no stopping my tears. I hadn't thought about mom and dad in weeks. Too busy trying to stay alive to wonder what they’d think of me now.
“Oh, Aria.”
Rebecca closed the distance between us, prying the needles from my hands before hugging me to her. Her arms wrapped around me and made me sob, a vast, ugly, hiccuping outcry. It was a catalyst, because when I started, I couldn’t stop.
I cried for my parents, the best ones a girl like me could have ever asked for. I cried because their love for me had gotten them killed. I cried for the job I’d lost and the injustice of this stupidfucking society, and I cried because, seriously?Fuckthe Grigori, fuck their goddamned pride, and fuck their wayward libidos.
I cried until I was taking in huge gasping breaths and hiccuping wetly. Rebecca silently rubbed gentle circles into my back until I calmed, and then she forced me to finish my cup of wine, which she then refilled.
“Listen to me,” she said afterwards, her hands cupping both of mine. “This is not the end of the world for you. You’re young and talented, and someone who sees your potential will hire you.”
I nodded along.
“If I were you, I’d send an application to their rival. What’s their name, again?”
“De Ville Media,” I breathed. It was like a light bulb went off in my head. “Rebecca, you genius.”
She smirked at me. “I know.”
