The Alpha Girl and Her Rogue Mate

Preparations

The next few days pass in a blur. I barely feel like I’ve blinked and it’s the day of the full moon. I do have a distinct memory of Rosa gleefully taking my $20, gloating about it, buying a bunch of coffee with it and then after she’d let me dangle for about 15 minutes, pulling out a box of donuts she’d bought for us to split.

But other than that, my classes and evenings seem to have made no lasting impression in my memory.

I’m staring deep into my closet at 8:30 in the evening. My parents called me out of school this morning when, just as Rosa had said, I started having sudden pains and waves of the heat. They let me stay in bed, but for the majority of the day I was in a cold shower, which was the only thing that seemed to quell the pain. I was also ravenously hungry, and my parents had Tulip bringing me snacks very often. 

The pain began to fade around 4, which gave me time to wash up and eat dinner, but for the last two hours I’ve been trying to get myself together and presentable. Most people try to look their best for their first shift. After all, tonight could be the night I very well meet my mate. I’ve done my hair, twisting my long reddish brown locks into a braid that twisted into a bun at the nape of my neck. But I can’t do my makeup until I’ve picked out an outfit, and I can’t pick out an outfit because I feel uncharacteristically indecisive.

I know it’s partially meaningless, since we will change from our clothes into our ceremonial robes after the ceremony begins. But since we will spend about a half an hour with the rest of the pack before that happens, I want to look nice. But I have no idea how to do that. It’s early September, so it’ll be cool but not cold, and I can wear almost anything. Most girls wear dresses, but as I thumb through all of mine, I suddenly hate them all. The red lace dress is too formal, the black t-shirt dress too informal. My pink sundress will be a bit too chilly, but the long sleeved maxi dress might be too warm. 

I sigh and turn in my closet, to my left side where my button downs and sweaters hang. A cardigan? Is that too stuffy? I wonder this to myself as I vaguely rub a hand over the fabrics. I consider a sweater dress that’s hanging with the sweaters for some reason, as I move it over to where the dresses are. But it never hit my waist properly. It looks fine on me, but not show stopping. 

And I’m peering at a grey sweater that’s a little low cut, but very flattering on my large bust, I hear my door open. Rosa comes in like a tornado, throwing her bag on my bed and her coat on the floor. I’m so used to it I don’t even have to turn around because the sounds are so familiar.

“You aren’t dressed?” I hear from behind me. I turn and see her holding out a latte. I grin and take it from her, sipping it to find it’s the perfect temperature. Rosa is wearing a stunning yellow dress, which is cinched with a white belt at her waist and decorated with small blue flowers. The dress hugs her body so tightly I can’t imagine how she got into it, and she’s wearing white heels. She’s always been better at walking in heels than I am, even though she’s shockingly clumsy for a wolf. Her hair is loose and floating around her shoulders, the dark, nearly black color contrasting nicely with the dress. Her hazel eyes are sharply lined and she’s wearing sparkly false lashes. On anyone else, it would look like too much, but she was a vision.

“I don’t know what to wear,” I groan into my latte.

“I take it you don’t want to go in those PJs?” she snickers, eyeing my pink silk boy shorts and oversized “Columbia” t-shirt that I stole from my mother, who went to medical school there. The shirt is old, and the lettering faded. There’s a small rip in one side and several stains have been there as long as I can remember. The shirt is so large that if I stand a certain way, you can’t tell I have shorts on at all. I’m not wearing a bra, or underwear, or shoes, any makeup, or jewelry. The shirt has some damp spots from my hair when I got out of the shower.

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” I say as I turn back to my sweaters.

“You can’t wear a sweater to your first shift, Skylar.” Rosa sounds exasperated. “And, we have like, an hour before we have to leave for the ceremony. What about that peach dress?” She gestures vaguely toward my dresses.

“Too short,” I say, pulling it out to show her.

“That can be a good thing,” she giggles, indicating the length of her own skirt. It’s not the shortest skirt I’ve ever seen her in, but it can’t be longer than halfway to her knees.

“On you, sure,” I say, “you have legs for days.”

She rolls her eyes, “Please, Sky, you’re hot. If you aren’t sure, you should ask James Greene.”

I smile. James is a year older than us, but he hasn’t shifted yet. He’s very cute, and Rosa is convinced he likes me, although I’m not so sure. He’s certainly never said anything about it to me. He’s a bit of a unique case, too. His father, Allen, left the pack to live as a Rogue because he fell in love with a human woman. He never found a wolf mate, either. They had James, but then his mother died of complications from childbirth. About a year afterward, James’s father decided to ask my father to accept him back into the pack because he wanted his son to be raised among wolves, in case he was a wolf himself. 

I don’t say anything, so Rosa continues, “he’s always checking you out when you aren’t looking.”

“Fine,” I laugh, “I’m a supermodel. I still want something a little longer, so the peach is out.”

She rolls her eyes and crosses the floor past me to the back of the closet to where the dresses lined the wall.

“What color do you want to wear?” 

“I don’t know. Black?”

“Oh come on, don’t wear black, everyone wears black. Don’t you want to stand out?”

“Shouldn’t I let you do the standing out?” I ask her, nodding at her dress, “Let me guess, you want to impress Gamma Redbrook?”

She blushes deeply, but she doesn’t miss a beat as she continues to flick through my wardrobe. “Well, he isn’t the only one I want to impress.”

“Oh? Who else?”

She mumbles something under her breath, practically sticking her entire body into my clothes to muffle the sound.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that,” I say. She doesn’t turn around but the blush is spreading to the back of her neck, and she is hyper-focused on her search.

“I…” and she trails off. I wait, knowing she will burst like a dam if I let the silence linger.

She holds up surprisingly well, letting a few minutes pass. But she finally cracks, and turns to face me, saying, “Rian Blake,” her entire face awash in pink.

I’m a little surprised. Rian Blake is one of the only other wolves in our class who is very academic. He and I study together a lot, which is, as far as I know, the only time she interacts with him. But something in her face tells me she isn’t done. 

“Okay, is that it?”

“I, well,” she looks down, “I like, kind of like Celeste. I guess.”

This one is even more of a surprise to me. Celeste is a blonde Omega who works in the hotel my pack runs nearby. She’s two years older than us.

“Oh, cool. She’s very pretty,” I say. “And Rian is cute too. Sounds like you have a lot of options, then,” I try to keep my voice even, because truthfully I have a bit of a crush on Rian myself. I think that’s why she was so hesitant to tell me.

“I know you, uh--” Rosa starts, but I cut her off.

“It’s cool, yeah, I mean he’s cute and I like his taste in books, but it’s fine. I mean, we can just see what happens. He might not like either of us. Or worse, he’ll like me and then turn out to be your mate or something.”

The blush starts to recede, but her face is still a little pink. “Well, if he’s your mate I promise not to steal him,” she jokes, and with a little laugh the moment of awkwardness passes.

“You look really gorgeous,” I tell her, “I bet all three of them fall at your feet.”

She has already turned back toward my dresses but I can tell that she is smiling. A few minutes pass and I’m looking through my drawers at t-shirts when I hear Rosa shout, “ah! This one!”

I turn and she is holding a silky cream dress with green, leafy detailing on the waist and edges of the cap sleeves. It’s one of my favorites, but I don’t have an occasion to wear it very often. It reminds me of the forest at sundown, when I like to run.

“Oh, you think?” I say, “I mean, white isn’t exactly the usual color for a shift,” which is true, most people wear darker colors. Rosa is right about standing out, she definitely will in yellow and I might even more than her in white. 

“The green matches your eyes!” she says, walking over to me with the dress, “And it’s a gorgeous dress. Plus I can do your makeup nicely, it’ll be great. Trust me?”

I hesitate. “It’ll get dirty,” I eventually say.

“You can leave it in my bag when we change.”

“Okay, I’ll try it on.” I finally cave. I have to admit, I love the dress.

A few minutes later, I emerge from the closet where Rosa is waiting for me on one of my lounge chairs. She’s selected a pair of moss green sandals with a slight wedge for me to wear with the dress, and I spent several minutes staring at myself in the closet’s mirror. I think I might look the best I have ever looked, but I don’t want to tell Rosa she knocked it out of the park. I feel a little self conscious about the color, but I realize it has to be the one. 

“Look at you!” Rosa crows. I don’t have to tell her she was right. I can tell she knows already. “That’s it, for sure. Sit at your vanity and I’ll do your makeup.”

I sit down obligingly and Rosa stares at my makeup collection with dismay. “You really need to buy more makeup,” she clucks at me, rooting around for my foundation.

“Why? Are you saying I’m ugly?”

She chucks a blender sitting out on the vanity at me. “You know I’m not. You look great without makeup but you don’t have any for special occasions! Like this! But luckily, I brought some with me. I had a feeling you wouldn’t be prepared.”

She’s found my foundation, eyeliner, and mascara and lined them up in front of me. Behind me, she’s now searching her bag and pulling out various brushes, wands, and compacts filled with creams and powders. When she’s satisfied with whatever it is she’s gathered, she marches back to me.

“Close your eyes,” she says, and I obey immediately. I feel the gentle tickle of the brushes as she goes to work. Rosa is an excellent makeup artist, and I often let her experiment on me, so I am very used to this sensation. I actually find it relaxing. I drift off in my mind, filled with a strange mixture of anxiety and excitement.

“Done!” she exclaims a few minutes later. I open my eyes and I can barely recognize myself. She’s pulled a few wisps of hair out of my bun and they float around my face. She’s done my eyeshadow in a green color that somehow manages to fade and change into a bronze color as it moves toward my brows and out to the corners of my eyes, and my lips are a dark red. I look beautiful. I have to touch my face to believe that it’s me.

“I love it,” I tell her softly.

“I tried to match the shadow to your eyes, but your eyes are a bit lighter than the end result. Still, I think it came together really nicely. You look pretty!”

“Prettier than Celeste?” I tease. She blushes slightly.

“Well, only if you don’t tell her I said so,” she says with a laugh.

I stand up. The shoes that Rosa chose for me are very maneuverable, and the dress is floaty and light without being so thin that I’ll be chilly. She holds out a black peacoat she pulled from my wardrobe, just in case.

“Ready?” She asks.

I realize I am. I don’t say anything, I just take the peacoat from her and I put my hand on the doorknob. With one glance back to make sure she has her stuff and is ready to leave, I twist the knob and step into the second floor hallway, knowing my parents are waiting downstairs with Rosa’s mom to escort us to the ceremony.