Dahlia.
As I gulped down water, still savoring the lasagna Billie had whipped up—it was hands down the best lasagna I'd ever tasted—my husband decided to grace me with his unsolicited commentary. "I hear your social skills were... lacking at the tea party?" he quipped, his glare dripping with enough condescension to drown an unsuspecting Alpha.
Before I could even roll my eyes hard enough to cause permanent damage, Billie jumped in like the sassy savior she was. "You sent me to a table I wasn't invited to. I would've been better off reading a magazine about rocks than enduring that tea party," she snapped, translating my annoyance with Oscar-worthy flair. Honestly, I'd pay her in lasagna for life.
Still, deep down, I wished my husband would make an effort to learn sign language. But why would he, when he could just brood around like a gothic gargoyle? I was the only human here, after all, and the pack treated me like I was a walking mosquito bite—small, irritating, and apparently impossible to ignore.
"Those were the wives and soon-to-be wife of Alphas. Watch yourself around them," he warned, like I'd strolled into some mafia wives' book club. "I don't need a human causing problems for me."
"Oh, perish the thought," I signed, Billie translating every word I said. He caught my eye roll, of course, because nothing escapes his keen, red-eyed gaze. His jaw tightened like he was auditioning for the role of "World's Most Aggravated Werewolf."
I stood, bowed my head in the most sarcastic display of submission I could muster, and left the room. "Thanks for the lasagna, Billie," I tossed a sign over my shoulder. I needed rest—and perhaps a mental cleanse. Gardening was exhausting, and now I had to decide what to plant next. Eggplants seemed fitting. They'd match my mood: purple and over it.
I flopped onto my bed, reaching for a book to distract myself. No more manga. I'd already fallen for one too many broody characters who suspiciously reminded me of my husband. Instead, I picked a book about plants, learning how even they needed more than just water to thrive. Imagine that. Even ferns were getting better care than me.
After a few uninspired minutes of flipping pages, I gave up, tossing the book aside with a sigh. That's when I felt it—the prickly sensation of being watched.
I froze. In the dim corner of the room, a figure emerged like a nightmare on legs. My husband. His eyes glowed red, intense and unsettling, like he moonlit as a haunted lighthouse. How long had he been lurking there? Did he think this was sexy or just terrifying?
"We have a wedding tomorrow," he said, his expression low and gravelly, as if he moonlighted as a face cover for spooky documentaries. "Don't wear anything extravagant, but make sure you turn heads. And don't look cheap. No gothic makeup."
Ah, the classic "look stunning but don't upstage me" trope.I nodded, my heart pounding, because honestly, what else was I supposed to do? Argue with a glowing-eyed werewolf in my pajamas? From the wolf encyclopedia I read, red eyes mean—anger. I didn't manage to piss him off did I? Whoopsie!
Without another word, he disappeared, closing the door behind him like the cryptic drama king he was. I exhaled sharply, unsure if I was relieved, annoyed, or just plain done with this man. Probably all three.
*****
Rath.
"The pack members aren't fond of that human girl," I grumbled, exhaling a cloud of cigar smoke like I was auditioning for a gangster film. The cigar was the only thing keeping me from howling in frustration.
Billie, ever composed, didn't flinch. "I'll protect her. You have my word."
Marrying a human wasn't exactly on my bucket list. Humans were supposed to be prey, their souls delightful trophies to hang on my metaphorical wall—not… roommates, let alone partners. And yet, here I was, chained to one. I leaned back, watching the smoke curl lazily around me like it had better things to do.
"I can't read her mind," I admitted, annoyed at the confession. "She feels… empty. Like there's nothing in her but a heart pumping blood and bad ideas."
Billie smirked, her amusement cutting through the tension. "She grew up in a cult. Explains it, she didn't know what the outside world looks like. But don't underestimate her—she's feisty and doesn't scare easily. Not the fragile type. Also, she's incredibly smart."
"Feisty? Smart? That just makes her a bigger menace. Every day, it's like she's plotting how to get me to dig her grave just a little deeper," I muttered, remembering her stubbornness—and her uncanny ability to irritate me while doing it.
"And her eyes," Billie added. "Sharp. Almost unnervingly so. Have you noticed how fast she reads? It's like she's scanning for your weaknesses."
"Great. A human polyglot ninja with a penchant for causing chaos. Just what I needed," I sighed, already mentally adding "cover my lips while speaking" to my growing list of precautions.
Billie shifted, her tone dropping into serious territory. "That symbol on the sheets? I researched it. It's part of a binding ritual. You're tied to her now. You can't harm her, no matter how much she annoys you. Instead, you'll feel an uncontrollable urge to protect her—whether you like it or not."
Of course. Bound to her. Perfect. Just perfect. And the cherry on top? "You don't own her soul yet," Billie continued. "She has to willingly give it to you. If someone else gets to her first, they'll gain the Lycan's power."
Now I needed her soul. Fantastic. I'd already taken her purity—why couldn't her soul come with a gift receipt?
"And how did you pick up sign language so fast?" I asked Billie, narrowing my eyes.
Billie shrugged, way too casual. "I held her hand to mine, and suddenly I understood. Like I could grasp her meaning instinctively."
I frowned. I'd held her hand plenty of times—begrudgingly, mind you—and her signing still looked like an elaborate game of charades to me. But Billie? Fluent in five minutes? Something wasn't adding up.
"I could grab you some sign language books, sir," Billie offered, her voice dripping with faux innocence.
I sighed, stubbing out my cigar with unnecessary force. "No need. I've got bigger problems. Tomorrow's Alpha Castro's wedding, and I've swallowed more pride than I care to admit to get him to owe me a favor. And for the love of the moon, make sure I pray he doesn't shift in front of my wife. She's still adjusting to the whole demi-human thing, and I don't want her scared to death before she sells me her soul."
Billie smirked. I knew that look. She was about to say something cheeky.
"Don't," I warned, pointing a finger at her. "Just make sure the human girl is dressed decently. No disasters, please. My life's already a circus, and I don't need another act."
Billie gave a mock-serious nod. "Understood, Master."
She bowed, and in an impulsive fit of ridiculousness, I patted her head like I was knighting her into the Royal Order of Fashionable Maids. Then I left, intent on finally getting some sleep.
But curiosity—it's a killer. Before I knew it, I was standing outside the human's room. She was fast asleep, her pink silk bonnet perched atop her head like a crown. The moonlight filtered through the window, casting her in an ethereal glow that made her look like the cover model for Enchanted Sleepers Monthly.
I stood there, staring way longer than was socially acceptable. She was a mystery, wrapped in a riddle, dipped in human oddness, and served with a side of irritation. She didn't belong here. And yet, I couldn't look away.
Ah, the garden incident. Finding her napping among butterflies like some off-brand Disney princess? Absolutely not part of the plan. It was raining, so I had to carry her inside because, obviously, letting her catch a cold before she handed over her soul would just be irresponsible. Still, I couldn't ignore what she'd done to the garden—it had gone from barren wasteland to lush paradise, like something straight out of a "Before & After" reality show.
Seedlings, roses, and even the scent of freshly turned earth—it was like the garden had been resurrected. Honestly, I didn't know whether to be impressed or unnerved. Nothing had ever grown there before, yet somehow, she made it flourish.
It was as if she was plugged into the garden, an aux cord to some supernatural charger. Weird. And mildly irritating.
But there was something seriously weird about how the garden had come to life. It didn't just look alive—it felt alive, like it might suddenly start asking for snacks or sharing its life story. The energy around it was so intense, I half-expected the roses to start clapping when she walked by.
And her? She didn't just grow the garden; she practically adopted it. The plants seemed to worship her, like she was their queen or some gardening deity. Honestly, it was unnerving. If she could revive this cursed patch of dirt, what else could she bring back? Hopefully not my dignity—it's too late for that.
Billie, of course, had her own observations. She's already plotting ways to fatten the girl up. She's as light as a feather. A gust of wind and she'll be airborne. Extra sandwiches might keep her grounded.
She barely weighed anything when I carried her. Not that I noticed. Or cared.
As I turned to leave the garden, a strange shiver ran down my spine, like my instincts were trying to slap me in the face and yell, "You're not alone!" But when I looked around, it was just her, snoring away like she didn't have a single worry. Meanwhile, I was starting to wonder if I was losing it.
Back in my room, I flopped onto my bed, but sleep wouldn't come. Her face was stuck in my head like a song I didn't want to like but couldn't stop humming. There was something about her—something dangerous, maybe. Or maybe it was just infuriating.
Tomorrow's going to be a circus, I told myself. Weddings, politics, and the ever-looming challenge of keeping her from tripping over her own feet. She needed to behave, and I needed to keep my head on straight. But even as I tried to convince myself she was just a pawn in a much bigger game, a tiny voice in the back of my mind whispered something I didn't want to hear.
Maybe she's more than a pawn.
Not that it mattered.
She's mine. And I will get that soul, one way or another.
With a sigh of frustration—because I clearly needed to get a grip—I shut her door as quietly as possible. Tomorrow was going to be chaotic enough without adding sleep deprivation to the mix.
But as I walked away, I couldn't help but glance back at her door, an unsettling thought creeping in. What if she was the one who'd end up owning me?