AllFreeNovel
Share Us
tarp
Her contacts are labeled by titles instead of names. My scent glands strangle when I hit Fuckboi Fiancé.
Internet-translating the multiple languages in their chat doesn’t make it clear if my sister’s accusing this guy of fucking hedgehogs or telling him to sit on the sharp end of a quill, but, “you’ll never touch me with that diseased dick,” is clear enough English.
I remember to breathe.
I can’t fake a relationship with someone who genuinely likes my sister. But the more I dig, the more I realize nobody belongs in that bucket.
When I find Nikolaj’s texts, I need to add brain bleach to her list.
<3 Daddy <3
Your trainer reports you’ve been slacking. Have you gained weight?
No, Daddy
<3 Daddy <3
Be dressed and smiling at 8. I trust you’ve learned the proper way to treat my suppliers?
Yes, Daddy
Yikes on electric trikes.
I thought I was putting on a show of obedience.
The peek behind the curtain clears my doubts about my acting chops.
I’ve done the rehearsals. I’ve practiced the lines and the smiles until my cheeks burn and my anger’s all stuffed down.
Serafina’s role is even easier than my day-to-day, bad gamma schtick. All I have to do is act docile for Nikolaj.
I can call everyone else cunts and cashews without getting fried for insubordination.
I’m pacing, ready for anything when a guard finally calls. “Marie’s here!”
“Send her in.”
When the door cracks, I glance away.
Bishop and Jin wouldn’t be waiting, but it took me all day to restart my heart, and I can’t risk another spiritual earth-shake. I’m busy not getting recognized, ripped apart, and slowly murdered.
“Miss Redfang.” The party planner, Marie, is a forty-something beta with long wavy hair, wearing the same pantsuit Elyse must’ve charmed her out of to fool the guards.
Her gaze is slightly glazed, but she tosses her hair, quickly regaining the rapid-fire pace that must be her original speed. “The venue is divine. Everything has been decorated according to your father’s specifications. Oh. But didn’t we rule out this dress?” She lifts the high-necked gown I left hanging. “Your father wants—”
“Is there a fucking problem?” My voice whip-cracks, sharp as my killer pheromones.
Marie ducks, instantly submissive. “No! That’s not what I— It’s lovely. Truly, truly lovely. No problem at all. Anything you want, Miss Redfang.”
Bitch mode is the best. “Walk me through the final itinerary.”
“My team will do your hair and makeup while your guests enjoy craft cocktails in the smoking lounge. You’ll be announced promptly at nine, when your father escorts you inside. The prospective packs will inspect you and present their offers, followed by your…ah…individual meeting with the victors in the en suite nest.”
“My what?” Years of practice pay off when I squash the panic in my voice, but I can’t pretend I’m not feeling the dread bomb shredding my intestines. “Give me the guest list.”
“Your father—”
