My Unwanted Mate

Veronica The girl sits across from me at the diner table, the fading sun reflecting in her cerulean eyes, and the wide smile on her lips has me transfixed. I stare at her, barely hearing what she has to tell me. She is showing me pictures on her phone - pictures of people she knows and can’t wait for me to meet, places she wants us to visit together. She seems happy and content, and free, and I can’t help but wonder how that might feel. God knows my life is anything but happy. It is filled with constant fear and despair, and pain. She tucks a loose strand of her long luscious blond hair behind her ear and I trace the motion with hungry curious eyes as the sun catches on the delicate golden ring on her finger and illuminates it. “What?” Her eyes are wary now as she searches my face for the source of my guarded behavior but somehow the smile on her lips becomes even wider and warmer. I let out a breath and try to smile back even though, for some reason, I don’t feel like smiling at all. I am glad she is here. Even though we still barely know each other, she is the closest person I have left in this world. She actually feels like a ray of sunshine in a sea of darkness, my lost twin sister who came into my life in a blaze, but I can’t stop thinking about what Bart would do if he knew about her. My stepfather hates the sight of me, so what would he say if he found out there were two of us now? I doubt my mother ever told him she had another child somewhere in the world when they got together. Blinking away the dark unhappy thoughts, I look at my sister and, for the hundredth time today, my breath catches at the dazzling resemblance between us. One would expect identical twins to look well, identical, but it is still so fresh and new for me. We’ve never met before today. It’s like watching in a mirror at a better, happier version of myself and I can’t shake the feeling that it is all wrong. Like, literally three weeks ago we didn’t know about each other’s existence, and now she is here in my city, talking about a family I never knew I had and promising to take me away with her to her brother’s mansion. It is a beautiful picture she paints with her words, but when you live in the shadow of constant abuse and torment, it is really hard to believe there is a better life out there. I am afraid to believe that there is something good waiting for me at the end of the tunnel and let myself hope, so instead, I focus on the way she looks. Her hair is almost the same color as mine - honey blond, almost golden when the sun shines through it as it does right now. It is shorter and comes down her shoulders in delicate waves, not a hair out of place. Mine is always tucked in a high mess of a bun. I can’t afford to wear it down or in a ponytail - the bun makes it harder to be grabbed and pulled by hungry vengeful fists. Geneva wears delicate makeup which only accents her natural glow. She is not exactly beautiful, but she has a nice face with a delicate nose and a pouting upper lip. If we smile really wide, you can see dimples in our cheeks. Mine are almost never seen as I usually don’t smile, but my sister? I have known her for only one day, but she just can’t help herself, she is always, always smiling. It should be illegal for someone to smile that much really. For some reason, it makes me feel light-hearted and actually happy. “Veronica?” Geneva prompts waving at me to draw my attention. “Sorry,” I murmur and look away as I sip from my cup of coffee pretending to be occupied. Finally, when she doesn’t give up, I sigh under her scrutinizing gaze. “Well, it feels so weird looking at you…” “I know, right?” She scrunches her nose at me, her eyes going over my face, the amused glint never leaving them. “Like… it’s as if I am staring at a twisted mirror or something. Like that time dad took me to the fair and I got lost in the mirror house.” I can’t help but flinch at the mention of the word dad. I know I shouldn’t, but my entire life I’ve hated that father of mine who abandoned me and my mom to Bart and never cared about us. Deep down I despise him with passion beyond reason, even though I’ve never met him and mom never mentioned him. The way Geneva speaks about him now, with all the love and sadness a daughter should feel for a lost parent, makes me hate the guy even more. He gave her the dream life and left me in the gutter without any explanation. So, why should I care about him? “Oh, s**t, sorry,” my sister coughs embarrassed as if she read on my face exactly how I feel talking about the guy. We’ve already talked about our parents when we met online. They are both gone now, so it doesn’t matter why they did what they did - why they separated us and never came looking for the one they left behind. Geneva told me our father died a few years ago and our older brother, his son from a first marriage, took over the family business, not that I know what this business is exactly - she only mentioned something about lawyers and a large property like a ranch or something. We also have a grandmother who acts as a Luna, whatever the hell that means, as neither our father nor our brother Victor, are married. That part of Geneva’s story doesn’t make any sense to me and I haven’t got a chance to ask properly yet. “It’s fine,” I tell her, trying to force a crooked smile even though I’m sure she already knows how to read me like an open book despite the fact we just met. “You are allowed to have fond memories of your dad. Tell me more.” “Really?” Geneva asks with hesitation and I just shrug. The fact is, I do want to know about her family. I may not be able to believe it is possible to leave with her just like that, but it is kind of nice to at least dream about it. “Alright then. So… hm, dad… he was the alpha, and people in our pack really loved him. He… was a good, generous man. Sometimes I’d catch him looking at me with tears in his eyes, but when I asked, he always told me I reminded him of my mom. He never spoke of her and Victor and grandma never does either. It’s weird, like… like she never existed, but…” “But here we are,” I finish the sentence for her. I am trying not to judge, I really am. It is not Geneva’s fault for whatever happened between our parents and that she got lucky when we were separated, staying with our father’s family. The one thing that bugs me though is how the grandmother and the brother don’t know anything about mom. “So, our brother’s name is Victor, and our grandmother’s name is Luna. Who else is there?” But Geneva doesn’t answer me right away. She just stares at me for the longest moment before she finally blinks and tries for another smile, but this one is kind of forced. “Grams isn’t called Luna, her name is Genevieve.” “But didn’t you say…” “Luna is her job title. She helps manage the pack house until Victor finds his mate…” my sister explains with a cautious tone as if she is trying to feel the ground, to see if I have any idea what she is talking about. Nothing of what she says makes sense to me. All I can say is that calling someone’s future spouse ‘mate’ sounds weird. “Okay, alright,” I put my cup on the diner table and lean back in the red leather seat narrowing my eyes at her, laughing it off because it does sound like a joke. “What does it mean? Luna, packhouse, alpha, mate. It sounds like you think of yourselves as a wolf pack or something. You must be really tight I guess.” It does seem a bit dorky, but who am I to say how a normal loving family is supposed to function? Geneva’s brows scrunch together as she leans towards me over the tiny table. “We are a wolf pack, Veronica,” she whispers as her eyes roam over my face. I try to keep a straight face but suddenly it is really hard and my lips stretch in a disbelieving smile. “Yeah, you are all a bunch of werewolves who shift at full moon,” I mock because, of course, she is kidding. Either that or she is crazy. An alarming bell rings at the back of my mind. It’s not like I don’t believe in the impossible, I have my own oddities to account for, but I do draw the line at f*ucking werewolves. “Eurgh, no,” my sister scoffs with disregard. “We are lycans.” “Yeah, that makes it sound so much better…” I shrug, completely sure it is just a joke. “You don’t know about us?” Geneva seems discouraged and I immediately regret the dismissive way I spoke to her. Does she really believe what she says? “Thank goddess I found you before our birthday,” she continues, and I am pretty sure the look on her face says she feels really sorry for me. Geneva takes a look around the people at the diner. There are not many customers right now at the end of the day and all, but she seems cautious. “You are serious,” I mutter in disbelief. “Let’s talk about something else. When head home I promise to tell you everything.” Geneva reaches out and grabs my hand in hers, squeezing gently. For a second I stare at our hands. Her skin is paler than mine, as if she usually hides from the sun, while I am always out running errands during my part time jobs almost the whole time, thus mine is more tanned. “Alright, but you really have to explain that,” I say after a moment. “I don’t want to wake up bitten and become a broody werewolf and all.” “Goddess, stop saying that word,” Geneva flinches, almost appalled. Like werewolf is a dirty word in her head. ’Cause that makes sense. We talk a bit more and make a plan how to get me away from Bart’s house. I am technically still not eighteen and Bart is my legal guardian, so I can’t just get up and leave his apartment for good. I am pretty sure he won’t miss me, but he will definitely get interested when my state allowance doesn’t come through as I don’t show for my senior year in high school. I don’t want problems with him and the cops. When I leave I want it to be for good, so I have to be careful about it and try not to get my sister into trouble. As I head towards my second part-time job at the local grocery store later that evening, I can’t shake the giddy feeling inside. I am hopeful for the first time since forever. Leaving with Geneva might actually work, there might be a way for me to get out of this s*hit hole my current life is. I didn’t dare to think about the possibilities when she first texted me all those weeks ago. I am perfectly aware of the dangers of the online world and at first I even thought she was some shady scammer who was grooming me to take my money or snatch me away in the night. That’s why I took with a grain of disbelief everything she told me online before we started video chatting and at first I played along just for fun. But when I saw her on camera, when my own face came through the screen, I knew right then and there she was for real. Seeing her in person just solidified my belief. She had already told me she’d been searching for mom for a while now, and she finally found some shady dude in her high school, some guy, who was supposed to be bad news but helped her with hunting down mom’s name through the records. Illegally, of course. I can’t forget the disgusted way she spoke of him, which only made me laugh at her royal a*ssholeness, but she assured me that in time I’d find for myself that she was absolutely right. My shift ends at around twelve a.m. and I walk the short distance to Bart’s home. The August night is chilly, reminding me of the nearing autumn, and I hide my hands in the pockets of my hoodie. It takes me less than five minutes to get home - a dark ugly abomination of a building, but it is cheap, so, of course, we live here - and head towards the third floor with a heavy heart. The staircase is empty and dark as it usually is. The air smells of piss and stale fried food, and something else I really don’t want to name. I take the steps two at a time until I reach my floor and fish out my keys with a heavy heart. I pray to whoever listens that Bart is not home. I really don’t want to deal with him right now. I am hardened to the beatings and his vicious mouth at this point like he can’t really break me anymore, but I want to cling to the feeling of happiness that meeting Geneva brought me, just a little bit more. A sudden chill runs down my spine as I unlock the door and the familiar darkness welcomes me. Suddenly, I feel like I don’t want to cross the threshold. Something deep inside me, something carnal and feral screams at me to run. The alarms ring in my head even as I try to shove them away because, after all, this place is dangerous. This is where Bart used to beat my mom for years, and then, when she died, he took it on me to make me pay for her trying to leave. This is where I die every night from his punches and his kicks, and the burn of his belt. But I know it is not just that this time. There is some metallic smell lingering in the air around me and as I do make that first step inside, I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand with horror. The place is too quiet, like there is nothing alive inside. The shadows that the street lights paint over the walls seem more twisted than usual, they seem as if they try to warn me about something. I make a few steps in, leaving my keys on the small table next to the front door. I am headed to my room, hoping I stay unnoticed even though I know I am alone here. Because there is nothing alive in this apartment. I almost miss the huge pile of stuff in the middle of the living room. Almost. But with the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of blond hair and my heart freezes in my chest. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look a voice in my head tells me as if it tries to protect me from what I am about to see. I ignore it. The bad feeling builds as I step towards the bundle of clothes on the floor, but I know it is not a bundle of clothes. There is no breath in my lungs when I lean next to the body lying on the floor and reach to remove the hair covering the face. Honey-blond and damp with blood, it feels sticky to my fingers. When Geneva’s unmoving eyes stare into me, all I can do is scream with horror.