The Unintentional Alpha

Breakfast

It’s nearly dawn by the time that Bridget brings me back home. Even though I haven’t slept, I feel less tired than I did when we left. I feel my body crunch back into human shape and Bridget and I are both silent as I sneak back through the house and collapse back into my bed. Even though I know I should try to sleep for at least a while, my eyelids keep springing back open like I just drank a cup of coffee, so I just sit up.

I try to focus my attention fully on the room, observing and hopefully not thinking at all. I read the spine of every book on my bookshelf. I count all of the shirts I can see in my closet in the growing light. I even start working through my laundry basket of mismatched socks to see if any pairs exist. I surprise even myself as I make three pairs. My alarm goes off, blaring, which shocks me so much that I nearly fall off the bed, knocking the remaining socks in the laundry basket onto the floor. It’s 7 AM, on my birthday, and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

Like clockwork, my mother, Briana del Sur, dances into the room. She is the most graceful woman that I have ever seen. Before she got pregnant with me, she had been a dancer all her life, and had an audition arranged with one of the most prestigious performing arts schools in the country. As she frequently reminded me, she had sacrificed it all to birth and raise me in the pack where she would eventually become the wellness coordinator of the Pack House. Now, she taught Zumba and yoga to the members and gave private dance lessons to the children of the high-ranking members of the pack.

“Lilith,” she trills, in the sing-song voice she used when she was in a good mood. “The hairdresser will be here any minute. Your dress has just arrived and Cordelia has prepared a delicious breakfast downstairs. Guess what she made?” A small smile creeps across her face as she waits in anticipation of my answer. My mother was nothing if not endearing; if not charming.

“I have no idea,” I reply, trying my best to seem intensely interested. Briana doesn’t wait for me to guess.

“Belgian waffles with strawberries and cream! Your favorite,” she grins, adding a sweep of both arms for embellishment. She spins on one foot, caught up in her own excitement; her floral skirt swirls underneath of her like the open petals of a flower.

“That’s great!” I feign excitement, giving her a double thumbs up. She’s fooled, apparently, and throws a “hurry, please!” over her shoulder as she sweeps out of the room just as quickly as she entered.

I sigh and hear Bridget’s sigh echoed in my head. That makes me chuckle, and unintentionally, snort, and soon I’m laughing, hysterically, alone in the room. I can feel Bridget is bemused and somewhat concerned with my strange outburst but doesn’t say anything.

“You know,” I say out loud, to maybe Bridget, and maybe no one in particular. “That’s not even my favorite breakfast.”

After throwing on a pair of bike shorts and a plain black t-shirt, I slink down the stairs into the kitchen, where Cordelia has prepared a veritable feast of not just waffles, but pancakes and bacon and sausage and eggs and hashbrowns and toast. There might even be a full charcuterie board on the table. I grab a piece of bacon and a slice of toast and slide into my seat.

“Thank you so much for this,” I say awkwardly to Cordelia when she greets me downstairs. “You didn’t need to make so much.” I mentally facepalm as I see her smile falter just a smidge. Oh, God. Now I’ve insulted her. “I mean, it’s perfect! I’m so sorry. It’s all perfect. It’s so great! I just, I’m so nervous. I’m not sure I’ll even be able to eat.” She smiles again, and I hope my social anxiety didn’t offend her.

“Perfectly fine honey,” she responds, “I’ll put the rest in the fridge and you can eat it whenever. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” I repeat, and instantly I remember again what day it is. I wasn’t very religious, but my prayer to the Moon Goddess was so sudden it felt instinctual. “Please, just please, let today be fine. Let me get to the party and please let me wake up tomorrow and everything be fine.” She didn't respond. I don’t know if She could hear me. Was it like Catholicism? Did I have to have Bridget intercede on my behalf? The thought earned a chuckle from my all-too-silent wolf. Before I could try to follow up with another attempt at a joke, my mother twirled into the room with Juliana, the exclusive (read: expensive) hairdresser that the Alpha had so generously contracted to do my hair for the party tonight.

“And here she is!” My mother sang, with a grand flourish toward my average body, hunched over a plate of breakfast food. I was suddenly and embarrassingly aware of how plain I looked. 

Juliana was dressed impeccably in a turquoise blouse tucked into a gray pencil skirt. Both hugged her shape in a way that suggested that they had been tailored specifically to her. Her black strappy heels were designer for sure, but I didn’t know enough about fashion to be able to recognize the symbol.

I looked up from my fashion reverie to see both Briana and Juliana looking at me, clearly waiting for me to speak. If it had been possible, I am sure my mother would’ve shot flames out of her eyes at me. My eyes widened as I stood too abruptly, knocking the plate onto the floor and sending the toast flying.

“So pleased to meet you,” I choked out, and attempted a curtsy like a Victorian child at a finishing school. Dear God. I was really on a roll today. My mother’s eyes grew three sizes in embarrassment, giving me very direct eye contact that very much said “If we were in private right now, you would strongly regret it.” I was very much glad that we were not in private.

“Well, isn’t she a hoot!” Juliana boomed, and let out a laugh. Well, at least she was taking my complete inability to act like a normal human as a shtick. I guess I could work with it. My mother melted back into a smile and laughed in agreement.

“Come with me, honey, we have got our work cut out for us!” Juliana giggled, and both women turned to stroll out to the car that the Alpha had sent. I brushed crumbs from the front of my shirt and, mortifyingly, my hair, and followed meekly behind the two magnetic women who walked me out the door, arms linked, like schoolgirls.