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It's a gift for whoever becomes my mate. This is what they'll wear when they claim me as their own. It's tradition. An ancient promise. It means that I belong to them.
That I'm not alone anymore.
I look up at my parents, and their smiles are sincere. I try to smile back, but I don't feel like celebrating. My stomach is churning, and I wish I could just crawl into bed and skip this day altogether.
"What's wrong?" Mom asks.
Shaking my head, I shrug. "Nothing."
I don't want to fight with them. Not again. We've had this argument a hundred times already. I'll pick a mate when I'm ready and not a second sooner. I refuse to be forced into a relationship just for the sake of popping out babies.
Nothing they say is going to convince me otherwise. They know that, but Dad isn't going to let it go easily. He’s determined to keep pushing until I cave. "You're angry because you're not getting your way," he says quietly.
I give him a hard glare. I hate it when he reads me so well.
Sighing, he shakes his head. "I need you to think about what's good for the pack." His tone is stern, but his eyes are sad.
For once, I can’t get mad at him. Deep inside me, my wolf rumbles his approval. My parents care deeply about our people and only want what's best for everyone in the pack. Even if we disagree on this point, they're still my family, and we all still love each other. It's a rare thing these days.
"We'll talk more later." Mom touches my cheek with her cool hand. "For now, enjoy your party."
But no matter how hard I try, I can't stop thinking about my future.
I’ll eventually lose the war.
I'm destined to become the mate of someone I don't love, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.
2
JORDAN
I wake up with a pounding headache and a cramped neck. My head is throbbing, and it won’t stop. Groaning, I roll over and push myself up onto my elbows.
My phone is on the ground next to me, flashing bright blue against the white carpet. When I check the screen, I see a bunch of missed calls and texts from my parents. They all say some version of the same thing.
"Where are you?" "Call your mother ASAP." "Stop avoiding us, Jordan."
Slowly sitting up, I glance around the silent office where I crashed last night. Lately, I've been spending more time in this tiny, rented space than I have at home. But I'm actually trying to avoid them. I'm just busy. Extremely busy. So busy that I can't be bothered to make the hour-long commute from the city to the rural community of cabins that my pack calls home.
Which is why they're calling me, again.
I rub my throbbing forehead and then reach back to scratch my scalp.When was the last time I took a shower? How many days have I gone without washing my hair?I cringe as I realize it's been too long. I'm starting to smell.
Staggering to my feet, I squint at the blindingly bright screen of my phone. Not that I need to read the caller ID. I already know it's my mom.
Holding a groan inside my chest, I answer the call and try to sound more awake than I actually am. "Hello?"
"Jordan! Where are you? Why didn't you come home last night?"
Dammit. "Mom..."
"Your father and I have been worried sick about you!"
"I know." I can already hear the lecture coming. Nothing is ever good enough for them. Not my grades. Not my appearance. Not even my app. It's always criticism and disapproval. "I'm fine. Just really busy."
"I went to see your friends yesterday," she continues. "And they told me you never showed up to the barbecue. Your dad and I were worried."
"Yeah, well, I got caught up in work stuff and lost track of time."
