Chapter 1 Honey, You're Home

The day that I was released from prison, all of my fellow inmates lined up to get a hug from me. Some of them nearly crushed my spine from how tightly they squeezed, and others didn’t want to let go. They all knew that Bob was waiting for me on the outside, and we would be starting our life together as soon as I left—in marriage, in business, everything. Then I came to Sydney. She was an older inmate, in for life for killing her abusive husband over a decade ago. We had never really gotten along, and yet there she was, her arms wide open, expecting a hug just like everyone else. I was only happy to oblige. As we squeezed each other tightly, Sydney whispered in my ear, “Do not trust men’s sweet talk.” We pulled apart. I stared at her, confused. What could that mean? Apparently, Sydney hadn’t been quiet enough for the sharp ears of the other inmates, as they all started to share their opinions of her advice. “Oh, don’t be such a buzzkill, Syd!” one said. “Yeah, let the girl have a little hope!” another added. “Boo!” a third simply exclaimed. I grinned at their antics and shook my head. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. I turned to Sydney. “I wish you nothing but the best, Sydney.” Sydney waved me off as the door to the prison yard opened. “C’mon, Blanchard, it’s time to go,” the guard, Tom, called. I gave the other inmates one last wave before I followed the guard out of the prison. * * * With a clear plastic bag of my belongings in hand, I stood at the gate with Tom, ready to leave my literal prison. It could have been worse. At least I had gotten a reduced sentence for good behavior. It felt so good to wear street clothes again. Even if it was only a now slightly faded red dress Bob had gotten me five years ago and a pair of flats, it was still better than that orange jumpsuit and white nurse’s shoes. They still fit me well, too. Tom smiled at me as he held the gate open for me. I gave him a quick hug, one that he hesitantly returned. “If you ever need any help in the future, feel free to contact me,” he said as we parted. I grinned. “Don’t worry, I won’t need to. Bob and I are about to live a happy life together, just as he promised.” Tom’s smile disappeared. He nodded, but he didn’t say anything. “I’ll see you later.” Again, Tom nodded, but he didn’t say anything. As I turned to walk to the curb, I could’ve sworn that I heard him sigh behind me. I stood on the edge of the curb, certain that it wouldn’t be long before Bob pulled up. Bored and without much to do, I looked around curiously at how the world around me had changed. On a towering building across the street, the news played on a LED screen. Though the voices boomed, I couldn’t quite decipher what was being said. The screen, however, told me all that I needed to know: the man on the left was the United States President, and to his right was the Alpha King of the Werewolves. The last I had known, the Alpha King was an old, white-haired man limping on his last leg. This new Alpha King seemed very different. He was tall and elegant, and even without understanding what he was saying, I could feel the charm and charisma pouring off of him. I could not avert my gaze. An eternity must have passed before I finally ripped my eyes away from his beautifully dark features. My, how five years had changed everything! The low-cut necklines I had preferred in my dresses now seemed out of style, replaced by one almost like a turtleneck with a jewel in the center of the throat. So many women in this new fashion craze passed me that I was almost embarrassed to be seen in such an old style—even if it accented my breasts perfectly. Then I saw how many of the men turned my way as they walked by. A few even cat-called and wolf-whistled. I would have normally boxed them for being so publicly inappropriate, but it felt good knowing that I hadn’t lost my looks. “Hey, sweetheart,” one man said as he parked his black Ford mustang beside me. “How’s it going?” “Fine, thank you,” I replied. “What’s someone as pretty as you doing all the way out here by yourself?” The man lowered his sunglasses, and his eyes roved over me. Our eyes met. “Eighty-eight,” Susan, my wolf, said, confirming my suspicions. This man liked what he saw. I wasn’t like most werewolf-hybrids, who got their wolves at 18. Mine did not awaken until I was 22, on the day of my imprisonment. She gave me the ability to assess the level of people’s fondness for me, and I trusted her implicitly. “I’m waiting for my boyfriend,” I said, hoping he would get the hint. “Oh,” he said, disappointed. “I’ll just be on my way, then.” With a slight wave, the man took off. I grinned. Yup, I still had it. * * * Orange and pink gently painted the sky as the sun began to set. My legs ached from standing, and sweat had smeared my already inelegant makeup job. Anxiety ate at my stomach and throat. Where was he? He couldn’t have possibly forgotten. I started pacing to stretch out my legs. Besides, what else was I going to do? Even if he had forgotten, I had nowhere else to go. No, he couldn’t have forgotten. He had promised to be here the minute I was released. I continued to pace as the sky darkened around me. I thought about Sydney’s final words to me and how hesitant Tom had looked after I had brought up my plans with Bob. My heart ached worse than my legs. Bob hadn’t just forgotten me. He had purposefully left me. I sank to the ground as night fell. I had no clue what I was going to do. Why would Bob do this to me? Just as I fell deeper into my dread, a pair of headlights pulled up to the curb, blinding me. After I blinked away the spots in my eyes, I stood up and got a good look at the car: a black Porsche. The window rolled down to reveal Bob’s face. Even after seeing him every week for the past five years, Bob somehow looked both unfamiliar yet familiar. He was better groomed than usual, with his characteristic Van Dyke gone, leaving nothing but smooth skin behind. His typical collared shirt had been replaced by an immaculate three-piece suit. Even the expression he wore was harder than I was accustomed to. “Sorry, Crystal,” he said, although it didn’t sound entirely sincere. “I just finished a meeting. I’ve been really busy—” “Who is she?” I asked, motioning to the woman in the passenger seat. The woman wore the trendiest purple Chanel suit, an expensive gold and diamond-encrusted watch, and enormous dangling diamond earrings. Her makeup was exquisite, as though an entire team had spent the day perfecting her smokey eye. Her dark hair had been pulled back into a tight, impeccable bun with an amethyst scrunchy. She turned her head slightly. Her gaze drifted over me, as though scanning a trash can on the street. Our eyes locked. “Her affinity towards us is zero,” Susan said. I tensed. “She dislikes us.”