Ghosted By Fate: Veronica's Second Chance

Veronica POV “You have huge muscles,” Veronica giggled, as she touched Alpha James’ arm, squeezing his biceps. “That’s not all that's huge,” he winked, causing her to giggle even louder…while his Luna glared at the pair. Mated and marked pairs usually only had eyes for each other. But somehow, Veronica had always been different. Attention came easily. Always had. It was practically her birthright. “Veronica, get over here,” her mother snapped. Veronica rolled her eyes, whispering something flirtatious to the Alpha and winking, before sauntering off to her mother. Her father, Robert Hale, Alpha of the Winding River Pack, was hosting the regional Alpha meeting. It was normally only once every six months, in another allied pack, but there was some kind of problem, so they were meeting sooner. Veronica didn’t know what the problem was… and she didn’t really care. Her world revolved around manicures and spa days. “Remember what I told you? Only when the Luna isn’t looking… we don’t want to start a war!” Isadora hissed, but quickly put on her fake smile when Robert stepped up next to them. “Darling, is everything going well?” she purred. Robert turned to his mate and smiled—his eyes going soft with affection. Veronica had seen it many times before, but there was also something else there. A flicker of something she couldn’t place. “Hmm, we’re just waiting on Alpha Braxton to start,” her father said. Veronica had heard stories about the Alpha of the Whispering Pines pack. He was in his late thirties, all muscle, dark, broody, calculated and cold. His Luna died a few years ago—murdered she’d heard. Suddenly, Veronica caught her reflection in the mirror and what she saw there was pure horror. A curl… was out of place. “Oh my Goddess,” she gasped, her hand snapping to her chest as if she’d just witnessed a murder. “What?!” Her father asked, looking at her with urgency. “I need my hairdresser, it’s an emergency!” she nearly shouted, running off in her heels. “Veronica! Veronica!” her mother called after her. “The meeting is starting!” “Kayla!” Veronica screamed, half hysterical, looking for the omega that usually did her hair—ignoring her parents embarrassed hisses. “I swear, if one more hair falls out of place, I’m calling the Moon Goddess herself and demanding a refund,” Veronica snapped, swatting the stylist’s hands away. “Just fix it, Kayla. I’m going to be late for the boring Alpha meeting and I refuse to walk in looking anything less than divine.” “Miss Hale, you look stunning.” “I know. That’s not the point.” “Oh my Goddess,” Veronica hissed, holding her head. Her father had been trying to get through to her via the mind-link for almost an hour now. He knew how much her looks meant to her! Her head was already pounding from the stress, she really didn’t need any more cause for a headache. Two minutes, Daddy! She linked back. “So, do you think you’re going to meet your mate?” Kayla gushed, spraying Veronica’s hair with extra hairspray. “I mean, it’s possible, with all the new Alphas coming. And we both know that only an Alpha mate is good enough for me.” She scoffed, and she really hoped so. It was time. At age twenty-five, Veronica was embarrassingly late meeting her mate. Where the hell was he?! Kayla gave her one last fluff, and Veronica stood, smoothing the front of her designer dress like she was preparing for a coronation. She was late, obviously—but that was half the charm. Let them wait. She strutted through the hall with practiced grace, heels clicking like a countdown. The ballroom doors were already open, voices murmuring inside. Good. Her entrance would be seen and heard. Veronica stepped inside—and the room stilled. Eyes turned and conversation faltered. Of course it did. Her lips curved into a slow smile as she descended the shallow steps. And then—it happened. The air shifted. Something cracked and realigned inside her rib cage, like her heart had just been rewired. She stopped. One foot hovering over the step, her brows pulled. Then the most delicious smell entered her nostrils. It was a mixture of sandalwood and sin. And across the room—Their eyes connected. Alpha Braxton Dravenwood. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Bearded, but not in a gross homeless man kind of way. No, his beard was trimmed to perfection, giving him a rugged look. The kind of man who looked like he was carved out of mountain stone. And his expression? Absolutely murderous. His nostrils flared as the bond snapped into place, and he didn’t look awed or pleased or even slightly curious. He looked… pissed. “You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered, the words aimed at no one, or maybe the Moon Goddess herself. Veronica blinked. Mate. Was he—was he scowling?