Dad looks over his shoulder through the partially open door. Like he wants to be sure nobody’s listening. “How are you? After the bite, I mean? How have you been taking it?”
What a loaded question. “Fine, I think?” I manage, shrugging. “I don’t know what to expect, so I can’t really tell you for sure.”
“He’s left you alone, hasn’t he?” From the sound of his voice, I know what the answer has to be—even if it isn’t the truth, I wouldn’t have a choice but to nod.
“Yes. He hasn’t been anywhere near me in the past few days.”
“That can’t be easy for you to manage. You’re already going through so much after the shift. I remember my first shift.” He laughs ruefully, rubbing the back of his neck, and I don’t have the heart to remind him he’s told me this story a hundred times. “I didn’t know which end was up for weeks. Running around, wanting to mate with everything in sight.”
“Thanks for sharing that,” I murmur, wincing.
“That’s how it is. Why sugarcoat it?”
Maybe because I’m his daughter and don’t want to think about him mating? Just because it’s a fact of life for us doesn’t mean a daughter wants to think of her father that way. “I’m fine, really,” I promise. “Just taking it day by day.”
“Timing is a bitch sometimes, isn’t it? I only wish I had more of it to spend with you right now. I know your mother feels the same, but with all the meetings we’ve—”
“Dad. It’s really okay. I’ll get through it.” Does he see how hard my smile is? How I’m struggling? How can he not? But sometimes, it’s easier to pretend. When you already have a million things on your mind and the future of not just our pack but every pack to worry about, little things like how your daughter is getting through her first shift and her sudden mating bite on the same night tend to fade into the background.
No matter what, it’s like I always fade into the background.
“Don’t forget about the banquet tonight,” he urges on his way out the door. “Otherwise, we got all your things together, right?”
“This is it.” There wasn’t much to pack. I carried most of it in my arms.
“All you have to worry about now is having a good time tonight—while being careful,” he adds.
“What do you mean?”
“The males from the other packs might show an interest, with or without that bite on your neck. It isn’t a true, fated bond,” he explains when I frown in confusion. “They may want to challenge that reckless, thoughtless—”
“I get it,” I say before he has to break out a thesaurus. I figured he would still be upset with who I now know is Wilde for marking me the way he did, seemingly out of nowhere. It’s not like I can tell Dad the truth, that he was only covering his ass.
And mine.
“We might get lucky, though, Liliana. You may find a mate that’s not marked by his darkness. Someone… better.”
Once I’m alone, I take a seat on the sofa and look around. My place. Mine. For once, I have more than a tiny room and a twin bed. I even have a little refrigerator. It seems sad, in a way, that something so simple would make my heart swell with happiness, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s how important the little things can be.
For instance, until now, I had no idea how lucky I was not to constantly be in a state of what I can only think of as extreme arousal. It’s like I’m constantly ready to go morning, noon, and night. Always wet to the point where it’s almost uncomfortable sometimes. To the point where I’ve been spending more time than usual alone in my room because I know everyone will be able to scent it. Even if I shouldn’t be embarrassed, I can’t help it. I don’t love the idea of everybody looking at me and knowing I’m dying to get fucked.
Even though I am. God, am I ever. It’s like what I imagine being addicted to a drug feels like. Every morning I open my eyes, and Wilde is the first thing I think about. Where is he? What’s he doing? Is he going through anything like what I’m struggling with?
It’s bizarre, craving him and wanting to kill him all at once. He left me hanging that night, in what’s now my old room. He was laughing as he left like it was all a big joke. He turned my life upside down after threatening to kill me, and then he had the nerve to laugh at me.
After making me come harder than I ever have. I whimper softly at the memory—right on schedule, my pussy grows wet. Again. “I hate you,” I mutter, standing, determined to explore my suite rather than sit around and pine for somebody who’s entirely wrong in every possible way.