"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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AGAINST my better judgment, I broke curfew for the second time in one night. Dad's guilt-inducing speech was still fresh on my mind, but I knew I could not heed his pointed warning.
Not tonight.
For what it was worth, I faltered before leaving the safety of my childhood home. My breath hitched as I dared to tempt fate a second time in one day. And for a moment, the anxiety I experienced earlier in the day flooded my senses.
My ears rang, and the hairs on the nape of my neck raised. I gulped, choking on my saliva as the wind knocked out of my chest.
The first time I broke curfew today had been unintentional.
This was different.
It was the night before placements. The night before I was to be assigned my place in Bluestrike. I had spent countless months studying for the exam, and I had spent even more time readying my body for the physical part of the exam.
I was prepared, yet my body was alight with a new set of unshakable nerves.
Despite the additional time allotted for placements this year, I still nibbled my fingertips as I awaited a tiny slip of paper that would seal my fate. More accurately, it would seal my fate for the next year, which might as well have been a lifetime.
Bluestrike conducted placements every year—except for last—and as a result, everyone had a chance, both young and old, to take the exam each year if they did not like their results.
I would not be chained down to my placements for an eternity, but it sure felt like I would.
"Are you sick?" Spencer, one of my best friends, asked. My torso twisted at an awkward angle as I tried to jam my body through a narrow basement window. In doing so, my honey-brown hair cascaded down my face, blocking my vision. I huffed but was unable to sweep my hair out of my face. "You don't have the infection or whatever the fuck it's called, right?"
"You do look pale, Vi," Olivia, my other best friend, added.
"She's always pale," Spencer countered.
Olivia let out a disgruntled sound, always pestering Spencer when the opportunity presented itself. Meanwhile, I continued to struggle my way through the small opening.
"Then why did you ask if she was sick?" Olivia remarked.
"Because she smells different."
"Ew!" I heard a light smack in the background while I nearly collapsed back out through the window. "Why are you smelling Violet?"
After a few minutes of struggling, I was able to finally hoist my way into Olivia's basement, tucking my hair behind my ear in the process.
Beneath the window rested a sturdy, wooden bar. My feet landed on the wooden countertop, but I had to step on my tiptoes to prevent shattering the glass birds Olivia's mom had placed all around the surface.
