SPICER GRAY
From where I am lying, I can hear and feel her heart shattering into a million pieces.
The cat is out of the bag.
A part of me is glad that she knows what I did. I feel liberated and alive. I feel uplifted, and the need to beg for her forgiveness so we would ride to the sunset enters me.
A part of me wishes I could jump and say, ‘it is a prank.’ And then she would laugh, wave, and tells me she knew I was joking.
Why? Because I am her mate and she is mine, mates are not supposed to hurt each other. But time after time has proven mate is s**t. Mate means absolutely nothing. Mate rejects. Mate leaves. Mate die. Mate cheats.
So far, there is no relationship I could proudly say, “bravo, moon goddess, indeed this is the perfect thing you gave us as werewolves.”
Mirabel has sai
