"I may be your second chance, Wade, but I will not be your second choice."
Reeling from the death of his mate, Alpha Wade tried everything in his power to bring her back to life. So consumed with raising her from the dead, he almost missed his secon...
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MOM, despite her best efforts, was never able to instill the importance of punctuality in either me or my younger brother, Henry. It was not for a lack of trying on her part, though. Because she never missed an opportunity to talk our ears off about the importance of being on time.
Her frequent speeches fell on deaf ears. Until, eventually, they stopped altogether.
I froze.
A knot lodged in the center of my throat, constricting my airway. However, I was not afforded enough time to properly digest the wave of emotions that cruelly embraced me.
I was late.
Even worse, I was out past curfew.
It was mid-November, which marked the height of Reaper season. Reapers lurked in the shadows, ready to snatch unsuspecting souls. No one knew what they looked like, much less did anyone know where Reapers took their victims.
But, we did know one thing about them: their victims never returned.
I had no intention of adding my name to the long list of those who fell prey to the Reapers.
My family would not be able to stomach another loss.
I knew by succumbing to my wolf's natural inclination to run rampant this afternoon, I dared to tempt fate, walking the fine line between carelessness and foolishness.
Every September through February, Bluestrike implemented a curfew—for children and adults alike. No one was exempt from the restrictive curfew. It was an attempt to keep the death toll low, which was especially important for Bluestrike.
Bluestrike, while a modest-sized pack, had been declining in numbers recently. A sickness—coined Lupoxia—floated around the pack, infecting members without so much so as even the courtesy of a warning. The disease was a death sentence. No one had lived through the festering infection.
Like the Reapers, no one knew where the disease originated. It simply sprouted in Bluestrike over a year ago and showed no signs of relenting.
Dad, who was usually laidback and a tad careless, used to brush off the severity of the disparaging circumstances around us until he was forced to take heed. That was when everything changed.
Again, my throat constricted, and a strange gurgle escaped my lips.
The sun had set, nestling low beneath the horizon. Darkness enveloped me, wrapping around like a fine mist. I tried to clear my throat, but another muffled sound escaped my lips as reality settled.
The Reckoning had begun.
The Reckoning was the business hours of the Reapers. The time when they came out to play, toying with our lives. Throwing caution aside, I pumped my arms at my sides, propelling myself toward my house. I did not have enough time to carefully redress after my impromptu run. Instead, I picked up my wrinkled wad of clothes and sprinted out of the forest.
