Everyone talks about the fear of rejection. I always said I preferred it. Rejection means people leave you alone. Acceptance brings expectations, and that’s where the real trouble begins.
For years, I believed I was unlovable. It made insults easy to shrug off. For three years, my boss at a dingy bar greeted me with, “You’re a piece of crap, Emma. ” I’d just answer, “I know, right?
” He was right. My parents kicked me out at fifteen. Why would anyone else like me? Then came a guy who actually loved me.
That brought more heartache than rejection ever did. Because now I wasn’t just afraid of losing him. I was afraid of disappointing everyone who came with him. And he came with a lot of people.
A lot of expectations. See, my boyfriend is not fully human. He turns into a wolf. He’s an alpha, a leader, revered by his pack.
And he’s practically perfect. Overnight, I went from being the girl nobody expected anything from to the woman everyone was watching, measuring, comparing. They all assumed he’d end up with Vivien. His best friend.
His sister-in-law. The perfect mate in all but title. Beautiful, poised, elegant, composed. The kind of woman who made being a Luna look effortless.
There is no universe in which I could compare to her. And everyone knew it. I could feel it in the polite smiles that didn’t quite hide the doubt. They were waiting for me to fail.
The worst part? I didn’t know yet if I could prove them wrong. Chapter 1: Emma
The family cottage turned out to be approximately three times the size of my entire freshman dorm building. “Jesus Christ,” I muttered, craning my neck to take in the sprawling mountain mansion before us.
It had actual turrets. Who puts turrets on a cottage? “Chloe, you said cottage. This is not a cottage.
”
Chloe, my best friend, stood next to me, adjusting her scarf. “Well, it’s what everyone calls it. The Harrow Family Cottage. ”
“The Harrow family has a very generous definition of ‘cottage,’” I said flatly.
“This is a small hotel. Do we need key cards? Is there a concierge? ”
“It’s very charming,” Damen offered from behind us.
“Very quaint. ”
I turned to stare at him. Chloe’s vampire boyfriend stood there in what I was pretty sure was a cashmere coat, looking at the massive stone-and-timber structure like it was a garden shed. “Chloe, babe,” I said.
“When you call a property this size ‘quaint,’ you’re just reminding everyone you were raised in an enormous amount of wealth. ”
Damen’s pale cheeks colored slightly. “Right. Sorry.
It’s very large,” he attempted again. I ignored him, which was my default setting with Damen. He was better than Chloe’s ex-boyfriend on account of actually loving her and not being an abusive piece of work. But he was still a vampire who once used his mind-control powers on Harry.
I wasn’t in the business of forgiving people who messed with my mate. Speaking of my mate, I pulled out my phone. Hope fluttered stupidly in my chest. No new messages.
The flutter died. I scowled at the screen like it had personally offended me. Here’s the thing about fated mates nobody tells you. The universe decides you’re perfect for each other, but it doesn’t actually guarantee you’ll get to see each other.
Let me paint you a picture. Girl meets boy. Boy is girl’s infuriatingly hot archaeology professor who’s totally in denial about being into girl. Girl gets hit by a car, falls into a coma, and it turns out only boy can see girl’s ghost.
Oh, and boy’s a werewolf. Wolf shifter, if we’re being technical. Which is exactly why he’s the only one who can see her. They’re fated mates.
Lucky, right? Otherwise, Mr. Stubborn would never have dated girl for dramatic reasons like “too dangerous” and “you’re my student” and “I killed my mother. ”
So now we’re mates.
But he’s been gone for over a week, handling pack business. He promised he’d be here. For Christmas. With his family.
The first family event I’d attend as his mate. And I was about to do it alone if he didn’t show up soon. A massive crashing sound erupted from somewhere downstairs. Even from up here, with walls and floors between us, I heard it clearly.
“What was that? ” I asked, already moving toward the stairs. Chloe shook her head. “I have no idea.
”
We hurried downstairs, following the noise and the smell of something burning. Multiple somethings burning. The acrid scent hit my nose before we even got to the kitchen, making my eyes water. We rounded the corner and stopped dead in the doorway.
The kitchen looked like a war zone. No, worse. Like a war zone where the losing side was armed exclusively with baking supplies. There were not one but two small fires, actual flames crackling in two different pans on the stove.
Flour coated every surface like freshly fallen snow, but less magical and more apocalyptic. Eggs were smashed on the floor, yolks spreading in bright yellow pools. Something that might have once been vegetables was scattered across the counter. There was a pot boiling over, sending starchy water cascading onto the stove top with an angry hiss.
In the middle of this chaos stood Jake, his blonde hair dusted white with flour. “Jake, what is happening? ” I asked, my voice climbing despite my best efforts to stay calm. Chloe was already moving, grabbing a fire extinguisher with the efficiency of someone who’d been through pack disaster training.
“Fuck if I know,” Jake said. “The catering staff left me this list, right? They were like, ‘Jake, you just need to do these simple things. ’ And they gave me this whole list of times and temperatures and ‘let it rest’ and ‘baste every 15 minutes.
’ And I was like, okay, sure, I can handle that. ”
Chloe sprayed white foam over the fires. They sizzled and died. “But then,” Jake continued, clearly spiraling, “Vivien came in and gave me additional instructions, which were different.
She was all, ‘the lamb needs to be at 325°, but the caterer said 350. ’ And then she said something about the roasting vegetables needing to be stirred. And I tried to do both and then everything started burning at once. ”
“Jake, just tell me what happened to the food.
”
Chloe checked the ovens. She opened the first one and a wave of smoke poured out. She coughed, waving it away. “Your three roasts have been carbonized,” she observed, setting the pan down with a dull thunk.
Jake’s face crumbled. “Well, at least there’s a fourth one. ”
Chloe checked the other oven. “Nah, it’s burnt too.
”
“Fuck,” Jake slammed his hand on the counter, sending up a poof of flour. The kitchen door swung open. Damen entered, Rose trailing behind him. They both stopped short, taking in the scene.
“Oh my god,” Rose breathed. “What happened here? ”
“We’re basically out of food,” Jake said, his voice cracking slightly. “The caterers left us with all the preparation done, and I’ve burnt it.
All of it. We have 50 people coming in less than 2 hours and we have nothing to feed them. Vivien is going to kill me. Or worse, leave me here.
”
Damen had already moved to the bar area. He was mixing something, pouring an amber concoction into a glass. He handed it to Jake. “Down this, mate,” Damen said.
“Looks like you’ll be needing it. ”
Jake knocked it back in one swallow. “Good stuff,” he said automatically, then went right back to panicking. “But seriously, what are we going to do?
Everyone’s going to arrive expecting this amazing feast, and we have nothing. ”
“Okay,” I interrupted, opening cabinets, checking the fridge. “What’s actually salvageable? ”
Chloe joined me.
Together we took inventory. Most of the roasts were burnt beyond recognition. But there were vegetables that were only slightly charred. We could work with those.
There was bread that was untouched. Cheese. Some appetizers that were pre-made and just needed to be plated. It wasn’t great.
It wasn’t anywhere near enough for 50 people. But it was something. “Okay,” I turned to face the group. “Jake, you’re going to plate these appetizers.
Make them look nice. Use the fancy plates. We need to start serving something in the next 30 minutes. ”
Jake nodded, looking grateful for clear instructions.
“Chloe, you’re going to help me salvage what we can from the vegetables. We’ll call them rustic and roasted and hope nobody asks questions. ”
“On it,” Chloe agreed. I turned to Damen.
“Cocktails. Can you make everyone loads of cocktails? ”
Damen’s face lit up. “Of course.
What did you have in mind? ”
“Make a big pot of mulled wine. Eggnog. And Pimm’s.
Can you make Pimm’s, darling? ”
Damen actually grinned. “I can make anything. ”
Chloe appeared at my elbow.
“Just a heads up. Shifters don’t get easily drunk, so you’ll need to use the special alcohol. ” She pointed to a cabinet. “It’s marked.
But also, don’t taste it at all. ”
Damen looked scandalized. “Don’t taste it? How am I supposed to know if it’s properly balanced?
”
“Damen,” Chloe interrupted, giving him a look. “Make it work. ”
Rose had been quietly observing all of this. Now she stepped forward.
“What can I do? ”
I looked at her. Sixteen years old, human, probably had no idea what she’d gotten herself into by coming here. I knew the feeling.
“Help Damen,” I decided. “Keep him from tasting things. ”
Rose nodded, taking her assignment seriously. “Okay, Jake said.
“But what about the main course? We can’t just serve appetizers. ”
He was right. We couldn’t.
“I think we need to ask for Vivien’s opinion, Jake,” I told him. “I’m sorry. ”
Jake’s expression crumbled. “No, you’re right.
We should tell her. She needs to know. ” A pause. “Can you tell her?
”
I wanted to say no. But looking at him, flour-covered, panic-stricken, clearly at the end of his rope, I couldn’t. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll find Vivien.
I suppose it might be fun telling her the father of her child destroyed Christmas dinner. For once, none of this mess is my fault. ”
Great. Just great.
I tried her scent first. That particular combination of jasmine and something sharp I couldn’t quite name. But it was like being at a perfume counter after someone sprayed every single bottle. An olfactory assault.
I checked the main hall. Not there. The sitting room. Empty.
The formal dining room where people were starting to gather. No. “Vivien? ” A voice grabbed my arm.
Luna. An older woman with silver-streaked hair looked at me like I was a life raft. “Where should we put the gifts? Harry usually designates a specific table.
”
“By the tree,” I said without stopping. I kept moving. “Emma. ” A man I didn’t recognize waved me over.
“We’re having a debate about whether to set up the children’s activities in the sun room or the library. ”
“Sunroom,” I said without stopping. More people kept arriving. I could hear the front door opening and closing.
Hear the greetings and exclamations. Hear the growing noise level. And everyone asked the same question. “Where’s Harry?
”
“When is the alpha arriving? ”
“Have you seen him, Emma? ”
I don’t know. I wanted to yell.
Maybe he’s stuck in traffic. Maybe he’s fighting a vampire-shifter hybrid. Maybe he’s decided to become a hermit and live in the woods. All equally plausible at this point.
I pulled out my phone again. Checked. Still nothing. I told myself I didn’t care.
I told myself I was mad at him anyway. When he did arrive, I was going to ignore him completely. Make him work for my attention. Oh, who was I kidding?
The second he walked through that door, I was going to tackle him or punch him. Could go either way, really. “Emma. ” Another voice.
I turned to find a woman I vaguely recognized from pack gatherings. Late 30s, elegant in a silk blouse and tailored pants. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun that looked like it was giving her a facelift through sheer tension alone. “Hi,” I said, trying to place her.
Someone important, I thought. Someone always near the senior pack members at events. “So good to see you,” she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. It looked painted on, like she’d practiced it in a mirror while saying, “I’m definitely not judging you.
” “So, I’ve been meaning to ask. What are you getting Harry for Christmas? ”
The question caught me off guard. “Oh, um, nothing big.
” I shrugged because it was true. She laughed. It sounded like wind chimes made of condescension. “I completely understand.
He’s impossible to shop for, isn’t he? Like he doesn’t like anything. ”
My eyebrows went up. “Excuse me.
He does like things. ” I started feeling defensive. He liked—
“It must be so hard,” she interrupted, not listening. “Having to find him a gift when you’ve only been together for what, a few months.
I remember when Harry and I were dating. I could never figure out what to get him either. ”
Wait. Hold up.
She dated Harry? My brain screeched to a halt like a car hitting black ice. This woman, with her paint-by-numbers smile and her bun so tight it could double as a medieval torture device, dated my mate. I looked at her with new eyes, trying to picture Harry with her.
Nope. Can’t do it. My brain was refusing to cooperate. “But if you want,” she continued, “I could give you some advice.
I probably know him better than—”
Oh no. She didn’t. “I know what my mate likes,” I interrupted. “Thank you, though.
”
I turned away before I said something I’d regret. Or more likely, before I said something I wouldn’t regret, but everyone else would think I should, because apparently no one appreciated crass sexual innuendos anymore. I was still coming up with good ones when there was a massive cracking sound from outside. Everyone stopped.
Went quiet. Because outside, the enormous 15-foot Christmas tree that someone had spent all afternoon decorating had committed suicide via gravity. Through the window, I saw lights tangled, ornaments scattered like the aftermath of a glitter bomb, branches splayed across the driveway. “Oh my god,” someone whispered.
“How did that even… Where’s Harry? ” I heard someone ask. “Harry would’ve checked the stand. ”
I rolled my eyes.
And there it was again. Harry would’ve. Harry could’ve. Seriously, did these people need Harry to tell them when to go to the toilet too?
I mean, at this point, he was my mate. The literal other half of my soul. And even I was more independent from him than this crowd. I saw someone coming near me, ready to ask a question.
I could already guess. “You know what? No, Harry isn’t here. And yes, the tree fell,” I said before he could speak.
“Deal with it. Keep calm. Move on. ”
We were just having a rustic Christmas, I told myself.
Very authentic. Very “things go wrong but we persevere. ” Honestly, it beat last year’s bar and the elf costume. Didn’t beat binging the Die Hard trilogy with ice cream.
But then again, what did? “Miss Emma? ” The guy who’d come to find me attempted. “I was sent to tell you that he doesn’t…” He didn’t finish.
All the lights went out. All of them. The entire house plunged into darkness. Someone screamed.
“Calm down,” I shouted. “Everyone stay calm. It’s probably just a blown fuse or the generator’s out. ”
Someone yelled from deeper in the house.
“The backup’s not kicking in! ”
“Of course it’s not. Why would anything work properly today? Does anyone have a flashlight?
” I called into the darkness. “I’ve got one on my phone,” someone answered. Small lights started appearing. Phone flashlights creating little pools of illumination in the dark.
“Okay,” I said. “Someone go check the generator. Someone else find candles. Everyone else, just stay where you are and chill, I guess.
”
Meanwhile, I was internally screaming. We were supposed to be keeping food warm in the ovens. We needed light for people to see their drinks. And I had no idea where Harry was.
“Candles. ” Someone appeared with an armful. “I found the emergency candles. ”
“Great,” I said.
“Start lighting them everywhere. Make this place look romantic and intentional instead of like we’re having a power crisis. ”
“Intentional? ” the guy asked, confused.
“It’s called fake it till you make it, buddy. Trust me, I’m an expert. ”
People started moving. Lighting candles.
Soon, the house was glowing with warm flickering light. Shadowy and atmospheric. It actually looked kind of beautiful. Conversations dropped to hushed tones.
Maybe I was some kind of event-planning genius instead of someone frantically improvising. Who knew? I was surveying the candle-lit room when Damen appeared. He was carrying a tray laden with drinks.
Steaming mugs that smelled like cinnamon and alcohol and Christmas. Chloe was behind him, along with a guy from the pack. They were all carrying trays filled with drinks. “I can’t find Vivien,” I told them quietly.
“Well,” Chloe replied, “we finished a few appetizers, but there’s barely enough for everyone. We’d need more and an actual main course. ”
I turned to survey the room. People were settling in, talking, adjusting to the candlelight.
The fallen tree had been temporarily forgotten. The lack of dinner hadn’t been noticed yet. But they would notice. People could only drink so much before they realized there was no actual food.
“Keep making eggnog,” I told Damen. “It’s filling. And hopefully the guests will be too wasted to notice the lack of food. ”
“Wasted enough to notice the lack of food?
” He finished. I met his gaze. “Can you make it happen? ”
Damen nodded, committed.
“It would be my honor. I’ll make everything extra strong and hide the taste. They won’t know what hit them. ”
“Great.
” I squared my shoulders. “And I’m going to go find Jake and tell him we should get pizza. ”
I saw no way out other than pizza, unless Jake knew the address for a catering service not only open on Christmas Eve but still available at 7 p. m.
Let’s be honest. He probably didn’t. Harry was going to walk in and find his Christmas event had devolved into drunk shifters eating Domino’s by candlelight. Oh well.
If he wanted things done a certain way, he should have at least called. Texted. Shared his itinerary. I wasn’t bitter.
I shoved my phone away and started tracking Jake by scent. Following his particular pine-and-whiskey smell through the maze of other scents. Look at me, using my shifter nose like a perfectly competent person. Who’s useless now, Vivien?
His scent led me upstairs. Away from the main party. Down a hallway lined with family photos. Generations of Harrows staring down at me with serious expressions.
Probably judging me for the pizza plan. “Whatever,” I muttered. “You’re all dead. You don’t get a vote.
”
I followed Jake’s scent to a door that was slightly ajar. A private reception room, smaller and more intimate than the main gathering spaces. I was reaching for the handle when I heard voices inside. Vivien’s voice.
High-pitched. Hysterical. Oh great. Pregnant lady breakdown.
Just what this night needed. “I can’t do it anymore, Jake,” I heard her say. “I can’t keep this to myself. I have to tell them.
”
Jake’s voice responded, lower, urgent. “You do not have to tell them. ”
“I can’t keep lying to Harry. ” Vivien’s voice cracked.
She sounded close to tears. My hand froze at the door. Did she just say she was lying to Harry? “I’m telling him,” Vivien said.
“I’m telling him I purposely broke him off with Emma in the alternate timeline. And that I nearly killed her. ”
My hand dropped from the door. I stood there, frozen in the hallway, my heart hammering so hard I could hear it in my ears.
Vivien nearly killed me in an alternate timeline. What the heck does that mean?
