Being the princess of all werewolves is not easy, but finding a mate is harder. Annabeth's royal life is turned upside down when she meets her mate, Kate.
Soon, she finds herself stuck between two choices: her duties to her family, and her love for...
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I blink against the dazzling light stinging my eyes. I lost track of time sitting in the kitchen in darkness, hunched on one of the semi-comfortable wooden chairs with a cup of tea between my palms. I blink again, and the clock comes back into view. It's two in the morning.
"Ann? Honey, what are you doing here? Is everything all right?" Rose, Kate's mom, walks through her living room straight up to the table I'm currently brooding on.
"I'm sorry; I just sat down for a moment and must have drifted off a bit." I give her a weak and tired smile and know she will not buy this so quickly.
"Are you waiting for Kate? I think she said something about a party?"
"Actually," I confess, "She had a little too much to drink, and I picked her up and brought her home. She is asleep in her room."
"Oh," she says, surprised, "That's a first. Well, thank you, I bet you had better things to do."
"Don't mention it. I just made sure she got home safely. But I am sorry if I spooked you. How was date night? Did George leave his work at home?" I know that this is one of the things she complains about. We have already talked about it a few times, and I had to promise her never to do that to my husband.
She gives me a look that speaks for itself, and I need to stifle a laugh. She's always been this ray of sunshine even when faced with hard choices or things don't go as planned. It's rare to see her upset or even angry, and she's the kind of woman to talk everything out and never goes to bed grumpy. And yes, that's one of the things George complains about.
"Where is he, by the way?" I try to look past her, but the vast living room is empty, and I am sure he didn't pass me, so he is not upstairs.
"He went to discuss patrol changes with Dean. He should be home any minute."
"This late?" I ask, astonished, but deep down, I know there is never too late or too early in our line of work.
"You can't fool me. You are not even surprised, right?"
"Honestly? No."
"That's what I thought. You workaholics are the worst!" Her tone is friendly, border lining on amused, but I know she still means it. "But what are you still doing here? Not that we don't love having you, but... it's late."
"I needed a place to think and some... some-"
"Peace?"
"Yes, some peace." I let out a shaky breath, still clinging to my mug.
"And you think you can find it in my kitchen?" Her words are as warm and soft as her eyes that roam worryingly over me—not judging or in search of flaws and failure. She is concerned. I can see it now clear as day; she is concerned about me, not because of me.
"I couldn't think of a better place, honestly."
Rose laughs, a light and honest laugh, and I can feel it comes directly from her heart. "This ol' can is the best place you can think of?" Her actions, along with the tone of her voice, contradict her words, however. The way she dreamingly caresses the edge of the
