Page 6 of The Careless Alpha

"Coming!" I called back, leaving my post at the window. It was better to be busy.

The kitchen was a whirlwind of activity. Pack members moved in and out, carrying platters and decorations, everyone excited about the celebration. Marshall's twentieth birthday was a big deal. In a few years, when Alpha Orion stepped down, Marshall would officially become our leader. Tonight was practice for that future.

Luna Etta stood over a magnificent ice sculpture shaped like a wolf mid-howl, her brow furrowed in concentration as she adjusted the lighting underneath. The ice caught the light and threw rainbow patterns across the ceiling, beautiful and cold.

"It's perfect," I breathed, meaning it. Luna Etta had real talent for these things.

"I hope Marshall likes it." She stepped back, wiping her hands on her apron. "He's been so... distant lately."

Distant. That was a nice way to put it. Marshall had been avoiding me ever since that night six months ago when I'd brought him dessert and heard Scarlett's laughter echoing from his room. I wasn’t stupid, I knew they’d had sex. The whole floor stank of it. But since then, he'd barely spoken to me, except when pack protocol demanded it.

"He's busy with Alpha training," I offered, the excuse coming automatically. I'd gotten good at making excuses for Marshall. "And pack business."

Luna Etta gave me a look that said she knew exactly what kind of business Marshall had been conducting, and it had nothing to do with leadership. Yes, we both knew. But she didn't say anything. She was too kind to hurt me with the truth I already knew.

"Why don't you go get ready for the party?" she suggested gently. "Wear that blue dress we picked out. It brings out your eyes."

I nodded and headed upstairs to my room, passing Marshall's door on the way. It was closed, as always. I couldhear voices inside, low and intimate. My steps faltered for just a moment before I forced myself to keep walking.

The blue dress Luna Etta had mentioned hung in my closet like a promise. We'd bought it together last month during a rare shopping trip to the human town nearby. It was the first grown-up dress I'd ever owned, with a fitted bodice and a skirt that fell just past my knees. Luna Etta had said it made me look older, more mature.

I hoped she was right.

I was just fastening the tiny buttons up the back when my door burst open without a knock. It was a power play I’d come to expect. Scarlett filed into my room, a queen surveying her domain, with Veronica Kelly and Tiffany Brennan flanking her like wolves in waiting.

“Well, hello, little Luna,” Scarlett said, her voice dripping with a false sweetness that was sharper than any insult. She ran a critical eye over my blue dress. “Getting ready for Marshall’s big night?”

My hands stilled on the buttons. I turned to face them, keeping my expression as neutral as I could manage. “Hello, Scarlett. Veronica. Tiffany.”

I’d learned this lesson the hard way. Luna Etta had taught me that a Luna never loses her composure, never lets anyone see her rattled. It was my armor, and I clung to it.

“That’s a pretty dress,” Veronica said, circling me like a predator sizing up its prey. “Very… young.”

“It’s for a child, so of course it is,” Tiffany added with a snort. “She’s playing dress-up for a man’s party.”

My cheeks burned, but my face remained a mask. They’d been playing this game for months, a constant, grinding campaign to remind me of everything I wasn’t. Old enough. Experienced enough. Woman enough for Marshall.

“Speaking of Marshall,” Scarlett said casually, examining her perfectly manicured nails. “We were just with him. Helping him… relax before his party.” She let the word relax hang in the air, weighted with an intimacy I couldn’t bear to imagine. I could smell it, though. Damn enhanced wolf shifter senses.

But I refused to flinch. I would not give them the satisfaction. “That was kind of you,” I said, my voice even.

Scarlett’s eyes flashed with annoyance. She hated my composure. She wanted tears or anger, and my refusal to break only made her cruelty more direct. She sauntered over and perched on the edge of my bed as if she owned it.

“You know, Annalise, you’re what, thirteen? Nearly fourteen?” she mused.

“Fourteen in June,” I confirmed, my voice a murmur.

“Right. And you’ve made Marshall a gift, I assume?” The question was a trap, and I walked right into it.

“I made him a photo album,” I said, my voice small. “With pictures of the pack, memories from when he was growing up.”

Veronica and Tiffany burst into loud, mocking laughter. Scarlett just smiled, a slow, predatory curving of her lips.

“A picture book,” she said, her voice laced with pity. “How utterly adorable. I’m sure he’ll treasure that almost as much as the gift I’m giving him later tonight.”

“And what’s that?” The question slipped out, a product of some morbid, self-destructive curiosity.

Scarlett’s smile widened, her eyes glittering. “Myself. All of myself. In every way a real woman can give herself to her Alpha.” She stood and smoothed down the front of her dress—a shocking red thing that clung to every curve. “He has needs, little mate. Real, adult needs. And a man like Marshall isn’t going to wait five years for a child with a scrapbook to grow up and learn how to meet them. Why would he ever give up what he has with us?”