The SnowFang Bride (SAMPLE)

SAMPLE : Expectations

Meatloaf grease always had a way of burrowing through the anti-stick barrier and burning itself onto pans. No matter how much spray stuff I used, or how long I let the stupid pans soak overnight, I always ended up scrubbing hard enough to work up a sweat. I didn't object to a solid upper-body workout, but scrubbing pans was not how I liked to get one.

I glared at the glass pan. Stubborn bits of charred grease clung to the corners and mocked me. A lot of unsavory thoughts went through my mind. Just like every morning after meatloaf night.

I didn't hate doing the dishes. I hated to cook. Having to do the dishes afterwards was just insult on injury. It was unspoken in my family that I cooked. This had little to do with me being the sole female, and everything to do with my father and older brother worked. I did not have a job. I was not allowed to have a job.

That was because I was a female. I didn't resent it more than I was resigned to it. If I had been given my choice I'd have gone to college, started a career, had my own life and put this mates business off like humans got to. My mother had been honest with me: for my father's daughter none of that would happen. She had also advised me to not get attached to anyone or any place. When I met my mate, my life would probably change completely, and getting attached to anything before that only made everything harder. She had uprooted herself to be with my father and I had taken her advice to heart. I had always thought I heard a twinge of sadness in her voice, and wondered what she had had to leave behind.

I missed my mother. She probably would been honest with me about this mates business. I understood my father didn't want me to worry over something beyond my control, but I hated waiting in the dark.

Which was exactly why my father dropping that morning's news on me made me yelp like puppy. "What?!"

My father leaned against the counter like this was something that happened everyday. "He'll be here tomorrow."

"He who?" I demanded. Three days ago it had been photographs. Now my father informed me he had invited a potential suitor to our territory to meet me! I wasn't sure if I should be furious or terrified. I decided that terrified was the proper emotion. This had to be bad. This had to be dire. This never happened. This wasn't done. Random males coming to the door was not how it worked.

"His name is Sterling Mortcomb."

I needed a second to process the name. It sounded familiar. It also sent a strange chill along my skin, down my spine, right into my deepest part of me.

I ignored my inexplicable quiver, and sifted through my memories. Sterling Mortcomb had filed a new pack petition the previous summer. The pack, SnowFang, had just barely been granted recognition. My father had spent a great deal of time mulling it over. All I knew was that the three founding members all had murky histories that had given him cause for concern.

Chroniclers only recognized packs founded by wolves in good standing with clean backgrounds. There were many unofficial, unrecognized packs. Being officially recognized came with a measure of prestige and esteem. When my father was skeptical about the wolves in a would-be pack he simply denied the petition. Little packs like SnowFang lived and died all the time, and my father didn't hesitate to deny petitions when a fledgling pack had a questionable member. There were enough packs, he told me.

The SnowFang had been a very rare and weird exception. All the founding wolves were questionable. I had nagged him to tell me why his reasoning but I had gotten barked at. Fair enough. At the time it hadn't been my business. Now it was. There was a storm brewing. Every sense sharpened.

My fingers curled around my sponge. A hundred thoughts rattled around in my brain. I had prepared myself for him to fish from shallow waters, but this seemed completely random. "How- how did this happen?"