My Unwanted Mate

Chapter 9. Black Birthdays

Veronica

I wake up around nine in the morning, my hair tangled around my neck and suffocating me. I am covered in sweat and my heart is heavy with the nightmares I had the entire night. The stupid irrational fear that I might turn into a monster any minute now doesn’t want to leave me even as the bright sun creeps under the heavy curtains.

I sit up in Geneva’s enormous bed and can’t help but feel like a s*hit for stealing her life. It doesn’t matter that her life didn’t belong to her anyway. Maybe exactly because of that I realise how bad of an idea this whole thing was. I stare at my backpack, thinking about the little cash I’ve got there - it is not that much, but it will be enough to get a ticket to a place where no one knows me and using Geneva’s fake ID I might be able to start a new life.

The thought is alluring and the coward in me wants me to take the easy way out. Just pack up and leave and never come back. But is it the right thing to do? I am the only person in the world who knows what really happened to my sister. I can’t let her life go just like that. She had dreams and hopes, and fears of her own. She deserves to be honoured and avenged. She found me because she dreamt of a different, better life, a life where she could make her own choices and live like a normal person without the pressure of her family obligations. But instead of finding a second chance, she lost her life. And it happened because of me. I can’t give her her life back, but I can help change things in her name.

Anyway, if this lycan thing turns out to be real, it wouldn’t matter much if I ran away or not, it would find me wherever I am.

I get out of the bed and head to the bathroom attached to the back of the room. I still avoid looking myself at the mirror as I take a quick shower in the exquisite large space with white marble walls and golden elements. It feels like I am in an actual castle and everything feels new and too fancy. I am the poppet in this story and I can’t help but feel small and stupid. All my life I’ve spent in a tiny smelly apartment fearing for my mother’s life, and then for mine. I am not used to large rooms and bottles of shampoo that cost the monthly salary from my part time jobs.

I am not used to the fancy clothes in the wardrobe either. Even Geneva’s leisure time attire seems like taken from the cover of a posh magazine. All these skirts and dresses, and silk tops are something so different from my usual jeans and hoodies. Not that I don’t like them, I am fascinated. I am just not used to them and having to wear them makes me feel like a thief all over again, and the guilt overflows me.

I hesitate for the longest time in front of the wardrobe, until I finally chose a delicate summer dress in soft yellow color. I put on some makeup and tie my hair in a loose ponytail, realizing with regret that I will soon have to cut it - there is no way I can explain how it got so long in such a short time.

When I finally look at the final result in the mirror, chills creep down my spine. I do look exactly like the girl from the pictures. The uptight, haughty princess everyone sees when they look at my sister. I know that she is not like this - not because I read her diary. She was never like that with me, no matter how short was the time in which I knew her.

Her phone buzzes and I check the screen before I go out.

Be blessed, b*itch. U know I love you. Enjoy your adulthood.

The text is from Ian. For some reason it irritates the s*hit out of me. I don’t know how this whole best friend thing works, but this is not it. Not when I read Geneva’s words on the subject.

Try harder, b*itch I text him back. Aren’t you coming to see me?

He doesn’t respond for the longest time and I almost forget about him as I finally head towards the hallway. Want it or not, I have to deal with this entire day, and the rest of my life. I am the one who got myself in this mess, now I have to own it.

Everyone I meet greets me and promises to have a big party once my grounding is over. Not that I know the terms, but I only smile and accept the best wishes, trying to be as friendly as possible and ignore the weirded looks some of them give me - like they don’t expect kindness from me.

I know most of the people I come across, even though I am surprised to see everybody in the dining room for breakfast. I am also surprised to find that the dining room looks a lot like the cafeteria in my public school - there are around three or four large tables and as I stare closely, I notice they are ierarchilly placed.

Genevieve, Victor and Adrien are positioned on the largest, most expensive looking one in the centre. It is elevated on something like a podium and reminds me a bit of the way royal halls in medieval movies are arranged - with the king and his family on top, and the rest dining separately in the lower levels of the large halls.

There is only one other set of cutlery and I realise it is for me as I head there, smiling nervously at everyone who turns to greet me from the other three tables. Everyone is here. Mara, the lady with the towels from last night, gives me a friendly wink and squeezes my hand as I walk past her, and I squeeze back, grateful for her support.

“Geneva, my darling,” Genevieve stands up from her place, on Victor’s right, and hugs me tightly. Her soft scent of lilac floods my senses and I try not to flinch. I hate the aroma of lilac, always have - it reminds me of the detergent I used to clean my blood after Bart beat the s*hit out of me. It’s not this woman’s fault, I try to remind myself but I don’t like it anyway.

“Happy birthday, my precious child.” She leaves a ghost of a kiss on my cheek and smiles lovingly at me and I feel guilty for a second for judging her so harshly. But only until her next words. “That dress looks so lovely on you. But don’t you have something more festive, that matches the occasion?”

It is Victor’s turn to jump to his feet and squeeze me in a bear hug, making me smile and forget Genevieve’s words.

“You look perfect,” he whispers in my ear. I hug him back, wishing beyond everything he was hugging me, but the person I was died, so that Geneva could live. And one can’t wish a dead girl a happy birthday, can he?

“Thanks,” I reply and finally take my place between my brother and grandmother on the master’s table.

Suddenly the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes, and scrambled eggs with bacon invades my senses and my mind blurs as my stomach grumbles with hunger, reminding me I haven’t put anything in my mouth for more than two days. I reach for the coffee and pour myself a large cup which I almost devour, not even caring it is black and I hate black coffee.

The silence that follows my movements makes me stop in my tracks as I just focused my attention to drench the pancakes in my plate with maple syrup. I lift my eyes from my task and look back, filled with confusion. Every man, woman and kid stares at me like I just pulled off some circus stunt or something. I immediately put back the jar and smile uncomfortably, hoping that my dimple is visible enough to distract them. God knows Geneva could pull it off effortlessly.

“What?” I shrug innocently and leave the bootle back on the table. My eyes dart nervously to Victor, but he is also watching me with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Why the hell are all these people staring at me? What did I do now?

“Well?” My brother prompts me, giving me a knowing look, like I should have any idea what they expect from me.

“Well,” I roll my eyes the way Geneva used to do, and smile cluelessly again, “I haven’t eaten the whole day yesterday, I am starving.” I shrug again and then give them a narrowed look. “Like, I was expecting a cake at least, but I will manage with what I have I guess…”

A few people stare at me with lifted eyebrows, as if straight up telling me they don’t buy my act, but I have no idea why. The rest just stare, waiting.

“Genie…” Victor grins widely now, having fun with my cluelessness, and completely oblivious to the uncomfortable way people look at me. “So, is she?”

“Is she… what?” I blink, worry suddenly creeping in my chest.

“Is she here yet?” He clarifies, and even Genevieve smirks delicately as she wipes her perfectly shaped lips with her linen napkin. “Your wolf?”

It takes a minute the question to process, but when it finally does, my entire face goes red and I suddenly want to sink in my chair. How could I forget about that, for f*ucks sake? I try to dig deep inside myself, but there is nothing different I feel about me.

“Oh, leave her alone,” it is Genevieve who steps in and saves me. “You all know that one’s wolf might not come out immediately. The stronger the lycan, the harder the wolf to come to them.”

I blink stupidly, and can’t help but feel grateful for her intervening. So, all these people believe in the werewolf fairy tale. Not only believe, but expect me to be one of them. And as I actually am, I can’t help but wonder if it is really a matter of time until I turn into a monster myself. Suddenly, another horrifying thought creeps at the back of my mind. I never, not until this moment, took that lycan story for real. But what if it is? There are around thirty people here and they all seem to believe it. They all wait me to turn, like in front of them or something, like it is the most normal thing in the world. God, this is what I should’ve googled last night, this is what I should’ve dug through Geneva’s journals, not who her friends are or the tons of pictures of Luca Moretti I looked up as I fell asleep.

“Well, I hope it gets sooner than later so I will be done with the fuzz,” I shrug pretending it is all a good joke. I really, really don’t want to delve on the topic.

Thankfully by the end of the day no turning takes place and no wolf, spiritual or physical ,comes to haunt me. I do have my picnic as Victor promises me. We go to the large garden at the back fo the house and I finally get a cake and there is a table full of gifts just for me, for Geneva. I couldn’t care less for the damn material things, this whole place is filled with more than one might need for a life time, but I still smile and pretend I am glad.

“I know you don’t give a crap about all that,” Victor shrugs, pointing aimlessly at the nicely decorated boxes and cards with happy birthday wishes. “It is nice to know people care though.”

“I guess,” I murmur.

As we finish our dinner and cake, Victors says he is going for a run, I wave him off.

And then he f*ucking starts to undress until he is in his underwear seconds before he just disappears in front of my eyes. Instead, I see a big grey wolf in his place. I try to suppress the scream as I stare at him wide-eyed, and my mind goes completely blank before it starts running like crazy. Did he just shift in front of me? But yeah, yeah he did. And not only that, he… that big beast is approaching me, its head nuzzling my palm to pet it. It seems playful and… it… he. Victor called his wolf Lorkan. Is this Lorkan?

I try to smile around my nervousness, and not to flinch at the feel of the thick fur under my palm. It seems surreal, impossible. But who am I to judge? Why should that be more impossible than me not dying every time my heart stopped after Bart’s harsh beatings and then came back to life hours later?

As I stare, I realise that wolf in front of me is beautiful, noble and… a bit naughty. He nibs at my hand, then darts off, leaving me totally alone in the large garden with my glass of champagne and my inappropriate summer dress, and the pile of gifts I neither want nor need.

Victor doesn’t come back that night and after a while I hear howling from the forest surrounding the house - it is not only one, but many wolves howling and I can’t help but wonder who else joined him. The thought that I share the same blood and that I too am bound to turn at some point is both terrifying and exciting at the same time. One might think I should be frozen with horror, but I really am not. Not after I saw it with my own eyes and remember how casual everyone around me is about it.

I am not eager to have to live through that. Thankfully I don’t have to, at least not right away. A week passes and nothing. I am same old me, awkward and clumsy but at least I slowly learn how to navigate through my new life - I do make mistakes and one or two times I mix up names or relationships but still it is not that bad. Mainly I keep to myself and people don’t mind it, as if Geneva was not much different than I am. Or maybe she was such a royal pain in the a*ss that no one wants to interact with her. Somehow I don’t believe that.

I’ve seen all possible pictures and videos of Geneva I could find online or stored on her laptop and I have gone through all the possible expressions, practicing late at night in front of the mirror. I have learned by heart every word in her diary to the point where I somehow convince myself her thoughts are my thoughts and even though I still haven’t figured out what that BS thing is she mentions so often. I don’t need to know.

As the next Monday approaches, I start to feel nervous though. It is the first day of her senior year in high school. She planned to graduate on top of her class and go to the best college possible, and I can’t help but worry. I will have to study twice as hard as she would’ve, because I’ve never been a good student. It just never was a priority between working two jobs so that I wouldn’t die of starvation, or worrying when Bart will come home in the mood to beat the s*hit out of me.

I know I act like a villain. But I somehow justify my actions as helplessness and fear as I stare at myself in the mirror the morning of my first day of school. I am about to drive myself there and even though I have some basic knowledge how to do that, Geneva’s SUV is not something I am confident I will manage to not hurt myself with.

With a sigh, I put the sunglasses on, then tie the straps of the fancy heels I choose, and walk out, surrounded by a cloud of expensive perfume. I have no idea why, but as I go towards the vehicle, saying hi to the people helping with the house, omegas as they call them, I feel like it is the real death of me. I am going to face the outside world today, as Geneva. No one will ever call me Veronica again. Anyway the only two people who I cared about, the only two people who knew me, are dead - both my mother and my sister died next to me. And now, I died too.

I get into the car and Veronica’s ghost fades away with the faint fog lingering above the grass in the lycan mansion’s fancy garden. The girl who starts the engine is called Geneva Valentine and she’s never heard of a Veronica Birnam.