Into the Wild Unknown with the Exiled Alpha

I gagged, and not just figuratively. I actually gagged. When that didn't deter her, I launched into an exaggerated coughing fit to drive the point home. The last thing I needed was to hear about Martha's extensive, and often disturbing, fantasies, especially her fixation on the Oarca pack males.

"You can act grossed out all you want now," she quipped, pausing from her makeup application to glance at me in the mirror, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "One day, Mackenzie Adkins, you'll find someone attractive. And when you do, I'll be there to rub it in your face."

I rolled my eyes. I was skeptical, to say the least. Martha fully embraced her sexuality, while I had little interest in the matter. Yet somehow, we managed to get along despite being polar opposites.

"Yeah, whatever," I replied, standing up and grabbing my black jacket. "I'll see you later."

Martha raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow, the other barely visible under her makeup. "Where are you going?"

"I have to help clean up for the party," I answered with bitterness in my voice. "Another celebration for that mightier-than-thou asshole, I'm assuming. Who knows what it's for this time." Just the thought of dealing with Francisco made my blood boil, and the idea of spending the rest of the day with him made my hair stand on end.

Martha laughed, finding my disdain for Francisco endlessly entertaining. I, on the other hand, didn't share her amusement. Just the sight of him made me homicidal.

"Feel free to come with me," she chimed cheerfully, wiggling her one visible eyebrow.

I snorted and turned to leave. "Laugh it up, Martha. You're next on the list."

...

The sun's warmth envelops my back, creating an illusion of mild autumn rather than early winter.

"You missed a spot," Francisco nags for what feels like the millionth time from below.

My patience teeters on the brink of collapse. "Can't you see I'm not finished?" I shoot a fiery glare in his direction, where he stands, holding the ladder steady and offering critiques on my every move. Even the sight of his head, covered in moderately long, brown hair, irritates me.

I've never had any fondness for Francisco. He's the sort of person who could provoke a Buddhist monk into taking a swing at him. I'm not entirely sure why fate continually pairs me with him, whether it's for pack errands or border patrols.

"No, but you should get it before you forget. Right there, up in the corner." His innocent and utterly oblivious tone only serves to intensify my annoyance.

I squeeze the sponge tighter, causing water to spill over my arm. "Shouldn't you be busy with the ribbons or something?"

"I'm just trying to help, okay? This party is for you, you know." He points to yet another spot on the second-story window, which I've been cleaning for half an hour because it's impossible to satisfy his exacting standards.

"For me? What do you mean for me? It's for Wyatt, just like everything else," I mutter, attacking the window with a vengeance.

Wyatt is the Alpha's son, and on top of turning 18, he's poised to inherit the title. Like all Alpha offspring, Wyatt is thoroughly spoiled, and every pack activity revolves around him. Once, his father even had us throw a dinner party to celebrate his first chest hair. I couldn't eat a thing that night without the absurdity of it all making me sick to my stomach.

"You haven't heard? Wyatt picked you as his Luna."

At that moment, my foot slips off the ladder, and I plummet downward. My stomach scrapes against the steps before my hands manage to grip where my feet once were.

"WHAT?!" I sputter, struggling to regain my footing.

"I thought you would've known by now," he says with a casual shrug.

"No. There's nothing to know because it's not happening." I state firmly and start descending the ladder.

"What are you doing? Mackenzie, we're not done! Mackenzie!" His cries fall on deaf ears because there's no way I'm returning to that task or allowing this to happen to me.

A lump lodges itself in my throat, and I'm seething with anger, my jaw quivering when not clenched. My stomach is twisted into knots, but not the excited kind—instead, they're the type that hints at an impending bout of nausea.

I march toward the Alpha's house with determination, my sights set on a certain ego-inflated soon-to-be Alpha. My swift, furious pace attracts concerned stares from pack members as I traverse our small village. I try to ignore them as I make a beeline for the house. In retrospect, everyone has been treating me differently lately. I've been on the receiving end of dirty looks and sidelong glances all week, and I'm only just beginning to notice.

Their thoughts can only fall into one of two categories: "Why her?" or "Thank the gods, it's not me."