Pup-pup
1754 Words
SOMA
“Mason,” I breathe.
My voice comes out squeaky, but my face lights up at the sight of him. We jump apart, and I reach for the paper bag in his hand, sliding it back into the bicycle’s front basket with mumbled gratitude.
He winks. “You’re welcome.”
Mason is the only werewolf in Shadowspire who doesn’t dismiss me. We’ve been friends since we were kids. While I’ve remained scrawny, short, and awkward, Mason has only grown taller and sexier with thick, well-defined muscles that many girls drool over. His height always comes in handy against my bullies.
Too bad he’s powerless where my cousins are concerned. But for as long as I can remember, there’s always been Mason Thorne in my corner. He’s the one and only friend I can count on to cheer me up.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him.
Rather than answer, he cups my cheek. I hold back a whimper when his finger brushes the bruise inflicted by Maeve.
His eyes narrow. “What happened to you?”
“Oh, that?” I try to play it cool with a casual shrug, but he tenses. “It’s nothing serious. Burned myself while making lunch. Held the pot too close to my face.”
“Burn? That looks like someone forgot their hand on your face, and that’s a nice way to put it,” he states. My cheeks flush, but he watches me with a seriousness that makes it impossible to look away. “Seriously, Soma, did those bitchy cousins of yours hit you again? Or was it your aunt this time? Which of them hurt you?”
“It’s nothing,” I insist.
“Who hurt you, Soma?” he growls.
Stepping back, I rub a hand over that cheek, and his eyes darken. He looks like he’s two seconds away from marching over to Aunt Helen’s house. What can he do? He might have a wolf, but it’s not strong.
“Drop it,” I tell him. His mouth opens, but I cut him off. “No good will come out of talking about this. I’ll just focus on keeping my head down. It’s the only thing I can do right now.”
“Soma—”
“Soon, the Luna selection will be over,” I continue as if he didn’t interrupt. “Maeve or Sheila will be mated to the crown prince and will move into the palace. I’ll be free. Until then, this is really nothing.”
Mason sighs, his gaze softening. “Even if they leave, you’ll be stuck with your aunt. That’s hardly better.”
People brush past us without a second glance because we are inconsequential nobodies, and I straighten my bicycle. I don’t climb it, but start walking toward the palace with him. His worries are valid, but it’s nothing.
“I hate this,” Mason murmurs.
He passes me a bar of chocolate, and I almost sob with gratitude. I chew it slowly, savoring each bite.
“Thanks,” I tell him.
“No problem. I hate living in this—”
“Mason,” I whisper, nudging him in the ribs with my elbow. Though no one is paying us attention, we can’t tell who’s listening. I finish the chocolate and slip the empty wrapper into my pocket. “Anyone can hear you. I would hate for you to get in trouble for running your mouth.”
He pouts. “But it’s the truth.”
No one cares about facts or truth where an orphaned omega is concerned, but it’s not a discussion I want to have with him. In a pack where power matters, being an omega is the worst thing that can happen to anyone.
“How about we meet up later? Saturday morning?” I ask, eager for a change in topic. The selection happens at midnight. His footsteps falter, but I continue, picking up speed when the palace gates appear. “At our usual spot. The Luna selection ceremony should be over by then. Maeve and Sheila will probably still be in the palace, and Aunt Helen will be too tired to stay awake. I can sneak out. What do you say?”
A grin breaks out on his lips, and something warm fills my chest, easing the ache of my harsh reality.
“My Saturday morning alone with you? In the woods?” He makes it sound naughtier than it actually is. We haven’t even kissed yet. “It’s a date, Somadina Bello.”
Heat creeps up my cheeks. I roll my eyes, but my smile expands. “You’re yet to tell me why you’re headed to the palace.”
“About that, I landed this big gig with the decorators for tomorrow’s ceremony. Some guy came to the store and was talking about it. Didn’t think I’d get a spot.”
Just like me, Mason is an orphan. He was brought up by Old Man Jimmy, a grump who runs the local liquor store.
Jimmy is more of a grumpy boss to him than a father. They argue at least twice a week, which always results in Mason spending the night out in the woods. On days I know about it, I sneak him into my room. Most times, Jimmy makes me appreciate Aunt Helen. As horrible as she is, she’s never kicked me out of the house.
“Nice,” I mutter.
“The pay is great, too. A week’s wage in one day.” He pauses, as if hit by a thought, and I slow down. When his hand clamps over my shoulder, and his expression grows serious, I try not to panic. “Hey. What if we split my earnings? I know for a fact that you need a new wardrobe.”
“What? No, Mason. I can’t do that to you.” He arches a brow, saying so much with his eyes while his mouth stays closed. I shrug his hand off. I’m not only in need of a new wardrobe. I’m also in need of a new family. We fall into step, pausing a few feet from the wide-open palace gates. “It’s your money. You deserve it.”
“So do you,” he presses. He runs a hand through his black hair, his annoyance growing. I know he wants to help, but I can’t take the little he has from him when we are both struggling. “At least let me treat you to a nice meal this weekend. It’s the least that I can do.”
“But you need the money,” I protest.
He puts his hands together, blinking slowly. “Please?”
“Look at you, Mason,” I tease, because teasing my best friend is a better alternative than crying at his kindness. “A few years ago, you were crying over your broken arm. Now, you’re treating girls to nice meals.”
“Oh, shut up,” he murmurs.
Throwing an arm around my shoulders, he smiles, and I pocket the image in the deepest corner of my heart for later when life gets too hard. We continue past the palace guards standing at attention at the entrance, watching everyone who enters with unreadable faces.
The palace looms ahead of us like something out of a dream. Elegant yet imposing, ancient yet modern, with a perfect blend of glass, steel, and polished stone. Wide floor-to-ceiling windows reflect the surrounding hills, and sleek balconies shoot out with sharp precision.
Everything about it screams power and wealth. From the perfectly trimmed hedges lining the walkway to the towering banners fluttering in the late afternoon breeze, and the wide parking space for visitors’ and royal cars.
Mason leads me to the back of the palace, where the servants’ quarters are located. Two female servants exit the back door, their heads bowed low as they hurry to handle whatever errands they’ve been tasked with.
He glances up at the tall building, and I gulp audibly.
“Thanks,” I tell him, resting my bicycle against the wall. Picking up the paper bag, I wave it at him. “I’ll come find you after dropping this off with my cousins.”
“Alright, Pup-Pup. See you later.”
He’s been calling me that since I turned ten. Now I’m nineteen, and he still does. I have stopped trying to get him to stop. If anything, I find it endearing now. It’s nice to have someone care about you for who you are.
We part ways, and I push the door open. Voices and muffled conversations pause halfway as I step into the kitchen. I ask for directions from the maid closest to the door, and she points at the empty hallway, rattling out instructions like she’s in a hurry to get rid of me.
Holding the package to my chest, I climb the steps and hurry past guards stationed at different posts. They are clad in black leather jackets, clutching guns that are no doubt filled with wolfsbane or silver bullets. My head stays down until I reach the third floor.
A huge chandelier glistens from the ceiling, reflecting the beauty of the interior. I trudge toward the drawing room. It’s the third door on the left. Out of habit, I knock before pushing it open.
Beautiful, rich she-wolves prance around the room, perfecting their routines for tomorrow’s ceremony. A few of them glance at the door, while others continue, focused. I find my cousins easily, and my heart clenches as Sheila tries to perfect a twirl on her toes.
They look… different. Happy. For the umpteenth time, I wonder what it must feel like to have everything at their feet. To live their age.
That thought vanishes as Maeve stalks toward me. She snatches the paper bag, pulling it down to inspect the glow oil.
“Took you long enough,” she spits.
“I’m sorry.” When she stays quiet, I ask, “Can I leave now? You mentioned that I have to help with the decorations here. I’d like to get started immediately.”
“Get a move on. I need them singing our praises,” she mutters. I take a step back, but she raises a hand to stop me. “Whatever you do, Soma, don’t embarrass us.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
My cousins are not royalty, but I’m so used to serving them I bow before taking my leave.
- Writer
