Forced To Marry The Wolf

THE SUPERNATURAL world is in chaos—again. This wouldn’t be the first time the chaotic life that surrounds the mystical universe—at least, that’s what I like to call our secret world—almost turns the rest of the world from having a boring, bland, intermediate Wednesday office work, into a catastrophic, mind-blowing, and absurd doomsday. It starts with Xanthene, my best babysitter who I’m pretty sure wishes she never took the job, wanting to talk as soon as I can, which has me groaning into my almond milk. The second, Xanthene, says that, I know something isn’t right. It’s been a too-calm two weeks of mundane life without any news from my father. Nothing at all. I was expecting something like “your brother is overdosing on blood again” or my absolute favorite lately, “your sister is in terrible pain because she accidentally forgot her sun ring in the bathroom stall, and now she’s toasted.” Maybe having intimate intercourse in the public restroom isn’t exactly the best and brightest idea for Lenora. But nothing. I should’ve known that it was just a build-up for some alternate life-changing upheaval that was about to happen. “Ramona. I’ve been waiting for your call for nearly two hours.” Xanthene's icy cold voice greeted me as soon as she picks up, which only took one ring, and which made me groan inside because I was hoping that whatever higher power in the sky that Xanthene would for once, in her immortal life, be unprofessional. “Did you just wake up?” “No. I’ve been up for quite some time. I fed Ross, my hedgehog. I’ve watered the flowers. I breathed in the morning air. I ate my overnight oats—” To which Xanthene replies with, I believe something like “repulsive” and I roll my eyes. “—and I cleaned my toilet. Sorry. Lots to do in the morning. Here in the mortal world, there’s only little time you have. Especially when you have to do everything during the day.” I can just imagine her face scrunching in pain. “There’s been an emergency.” “I figure that much. What is it this time? Did someone accidentally drink the blood of a very important politician? A rebel, wanting to secretly expose the Supernatural world? Some lowlife thinking that he can get away from alluring women to believe they’re in love with him and ready to give everything for him including their first-born babies?” “What is wrong with you?” “I don’t know. You tell me. Maybe you dropped me when I was a baby?” I kicked my drawer open and pulled out a black sweater. Putting the phone on the loudspeaker, I get ready to, once again, explore the dreary mortal world. “I never did such a thing!” Xanthene sounded like I had just insulted her entire family tree. “Relax. It’s probably because I get too much sun exposure. You wouldn’t believe how many times I have to apply sunscreen so my skin stays glowing and glimmering perfectly. Honestly, Xanthene. I’m sure you don’t have time to listen to me rambling about being cast out into the human world because you’re too busy trying to take care of Romano’s blood addiction. To what do I own this honor of getting your prestigious phone call?” “We need you here.” “That’s new.” I snort into the phone. After I’m done applying too much sunscreens all over every inch of my skin, I get out into the sun. Basking in the light of the biggest murder weapon of my kind. “Let me guess. You need me to be some kind of a scapegoat again?” “It’s not wrong.” My blood boils. Then I remember that no one in the world deserves that. According to Martha, my favorite human therapist so far, we can’t always control people’s reactions, but we can always control ours. It’s no use to spend our energy on something that doesn’t deserve our energy in the first place. Every time I feel angry and I feel like shouting—in my case, going into a raging blood hunt—I should remember that I have control of my own emotions. If that doesn’t work, I should count to five before I explode. If that still doesn’t work, she advises me to go to my happy place. “What do you want me to do again? Exiling me to this awful impermanent world is not enough?” Xanthene sighs. That’s worse than awful impermanence. I brace myself for yet another doom put into my life, but my only babysitter hesitates over the phone. Another tell that whatever it is, it’s not good. It’s never good about me, anyway. Being the middle child of the High Lord of the Vampyr creature, it’s a tough life. As you fellow middle-children beings, we all know that it’s already too tiring to always be the one ignored, excluded—or in my case, exiled—or even outright neglected because of our birth order. We are often overshadowed by our other siblings and have somewhat different personalities from them. We’re always somewhere in between, if not invisible. It’s a syndrome. And being supernatural doesn’t escape you from it. Can you imagine being a middle-child, and a blood-sucking creature? It’s a disaster. I have a certain characteristic as a result of being the middle child. A raging hormonal Young Adult Vampyr with severe anger issues. “Just get home,” Xanthene is saying. “I’ll tell you in person.” “Oh, so now that all of you need me, I can get home?” My voice is bitter. It’s going to be too long to explain as to why I ended up being exiled to the human world. It’ll need a whole book. But short story, I was the scapegoat for my siblings. Because I was so understanding and didn’t want to hear another second of Lenora screaming, crying, wailing bloody murder under the sun for her mistake, I took the blame and said it was my fault. Including the blood orgy party that Romano had the night before. Our father, the High Lord Vampyr, the most respectable bloodsucker in the world, exiled me for “further notice”. He didn’t even set a time. I guess this is my further notice. “Where are you?” On the side of the road, watching a nice little Corgy peeing. “Somewhere. I’m not going home before you tell me what’s wrong.” I cross the street, smiling at the Corgy, which makes the poor dog whimper in fear. Rude. “It’s best if we talk about it in person.” “I’ll decide what’s best for me.” Ha. That sounds very adult. Maybe being twenty-one in the human age makes me more mature. Xanthene sighs again. “Okay, you’ve been doing that twice. Someone is dead, isn’t it? Did Romano finally overdose from blood? He got so high he couldn’t even stop. What? It was AB negative, wasn’t it?” “No.” She bristles. “Come home.” “Tell me.” “Very well. Someone screws up.” “Who?” “Duncan Atticus.” “Gross,” I gagged. “What did he do?” “A very atrocious thing to do. During the affiliation meeting, he planned an ambush to attack the King. The King,” Xanthene breathes like she’s blowing fire. “Stupid man. Greedy little i***t. Now, affiliation is in peril. The whole deal is in jeopardy. One century pact. Just because some i***t thinks he can undertake the whole Kingdom in one sitting.” I’m pretty sure the word “i***t” doesn’t even exist in Xanthene’s vocabulary, but she said it two times. “But the wolf King is fine?” “The Wolf King is fine. If you think being stabbed by a White Oak Tree is fine. He’s recovering. The Crown Prince is taking over now.” Double gross. “And what is it that is so urgent you want me to come home? Do they proclaim a termination of the affiliation or something?” Xanthene goes awfully quiet. I run my tongue at the roof of my mouth. To think that the Weres even have the audacity to conclude that on their own without agreement from both parties is downright sickening. Who do they think they are? The biggest and most powerful kind in the Supernatural world? Well, yes. But still. “Tell them there will be some cancelation fee requirements.” “This isn’t a joke, Ramona.” There is always something about the way Xanthene says my name. Annoyed. Frustrated. Exhausted. With a little bit hint of affection, but only when I’m being on my absolute behavior. “This isn’t taking cover for your siblings because of their idiotic actions,” she bristles. Again. And with the “i***t” term. Again. “I think I get how important the Affiliation of Vampyr and Werewolf is, Xanthene.” “Then you must understand that we have to do something—anything—to make this right.” “Offered the head of Duncan Atticus, yet?” I’m sure no one will miss him. Being the Grand Diplomat, Duncan Atticus has nothing to offer besides being an absolute degradation. I don’t understand why he is still appointed year after year. It makes sense how he could plan a coup against the Weres party during a meeting. “It’s been slashed and rolled.” No remorse on her side. I shiver. “So?” “It’s not enough. The Weres’ council is still outrageous over the treacherous act. They demand that this Affiliation be terminated. I quote, “to work with such conspirators would be an idiotic move to do. We are no longer tolerant of your kind” or anything like that.” So, that is where she got the word. “So?” “So, we found a way.” “And?” “It includes you.” I sigh. Ten inches away from blowing up, but I’m still counting inside my head. I’m reaching fifty-eight. “Why am I not surprised?” “I’ll explain. Come home.” “No. Tell me now,” I refuse. “I need to know what kind of a bomb I’m heading into.” Xanthene clicks her tongue. Silent. Something moves. “We’re thinking of another way of affiliation. An association that could continue the congenial relationship between us.” Another silent. One second. Two. Maybe three. Xanthene drops the suspense. “We’re thinking about marriage. Of you. And the Crown Prince.” My jaw drops. To the floor. I’m surprised I’m not seething my fangs. I stop in the middle of a crosswalk—until a Honda Civic honks and startles me. My non-beating heart skips a beat. “What—what? What did you just say?” “Come home.” Xanthene is stern. “I’ll explain everything to you face to face.” The call ends. But not the raging bloodsucking monster in my head. They want me to do what? Marry the Crown Prince of the Werewolf Kingdom?!