The Guest

Camille

“I love to watch the sun set. Certainly not for it's beauty or breathtaking spectacle, but because I hope tomorrow arrives, and I can witness it fade without it becoming my end.”

She inscribed these words into her old, battered diary, a cherished gift from her grandmother, before snapping it shut with a soft finality.

Camille had no clue what sparked these thoughts, but she'd cultivated a habit of jotting down whatever floated through her mind.

You could call it a small act of rebellion or refuge. She had no idea which was wielding her thoughts.

Moving a thumb over her temple, she tried to soothe the pounding headache threatening to fracture her skull as she made her way toward the balcony of the pack’s den.

She was fine. Truly. An indifferent sort of fine, tinged with a flicker of anxiety.

At least, she’d like to believe she had been better before her mother’s abrupt summons pulled her downstairs, abruptly canceling her carefully planned practice with Devon.

Rosalind dismissed her frown as she relayed a sudden meeting with her father, ignoring the storm of emotions flickering behind Camille's eyes..

Recalling the letter from the academy made her face brighten with pride. Getting accepted into the academy wasn’t just an achievement; it was a milestone—like a precious gem finally unearthed from her dreams.

She wondered which border of the pack’s territory the patrol team was guarding now. It was already four hours since they set out for hunting, led by her brother—Devon Loeka, the formidable Alpha heir of WhiteMoon pack and Conrad, the spitting mirror image of Alpha Loeka; the most handsome man in our pack. At least, that’s what the women believed, and they would go to any length to end up in his bed. Yes, her nemesis.

She was the odd one. Her features looked nothing like Rosalind nor alpha Loeka.

Like her father, Conrad’s disappointment on the night of her shameful shifting ceremony had twisted into a bitter disdain for her very existence. She was reduced to a thing, an object: worthless, undeserving, for being deviant, for bringing disgrace upon the family.

“Lost in one of your silly daydreams again?” Rosalind's question sliced through her thoughts, snapping everything into sharp focus, save for her pounding heart.

Camille felt her pulse quicken at the familiar uneasiness that always stirred when she was around Rosalind. Rosalind's gaze burned into the back of Camille's head, icy and cruel.

Gruesome. Malevolent. However it was, Camille had learned to conceal her true feelings, to mask the turmoil beneath her surface, just as she had learned to hide parts of her life from the world.

Turning with practiced aloofness, she said, “Better than wasting my time at a pointless tea party, chattering aimlessly, dear mother,” emphasizing the last words with a deliberate stretch, a subtle reminder of the relationship she clearly did not have with Rosalind.

“You little devil…” Rosalind yelled, her eyes widening with disbelief.

Rosalind was a strange sight. A beauty wrapped in unthinking complacency; a woman who lacked her own voice, her own will. Camille's insides churned at the thought as she stared at her mother. How could anyone endure living like this?

"You’d better mend that rotten tongue of yours before I…” Camille cut her off before she could finish.

“You want your little one to come after me? I’ve had a long day, and I need this meeting with Father to be over so I can do something else,” She said her face and emotionless mask..

“No wonder the goddess took away your wolf,” Rosalind snapped, a jab aimed straight at her feelings—a subtle reminder of the pain she carried daily.

Rosalind continued, “With a tongue as poisonous and rotten as yours, you clearly don’t deserve a wolf,” she retorted, her fury bubbling over.

She kept talking, but Camille tuned her out, her mind drifting into the woods, something that made her happy—recalling each hunt she’d embarked on. Each moment that had brought her peace

“Are you listening?” Rosalind demanded, frustration thick in her voice as she yanked at Camille's arm, jolting her out of her reverie.

“Obviously not,” Camille replied with a feigned yawn.

“That’s very unfortunate for you,” Rosalind sneered, resentment curling her words.

The wind tousled strands of Camille's hair over her face as she watched Rosalind, refusing to let her mother's usual tirades break her today.

This night was cool, the air crisp and calm. There was no need for the heated exchange. Not today.

“Your father has requested your presence. Be ready in ten minutes,” Rosalind said grimly. “Oh, and put on something nice so the guests don’t think you’re one of the servants,” she added, turning toward the door.

“Guest? Who said anything about a guest, huh?” Camille asked furrowing a brow, her mind fixated on the latter part of Rosalind's command.

“What guest are you talking about?” She asked, irritation flickering in her voice.

“Not that it’s any of your business, Camille. At least for now,” Rosalind replied tersely. “But you’ll see for yourself when you get your fat ass ready.”

What was going on?

Camille should have suspected from the moment alpha Loeka asked to see her alone. That was unusual and certainly a first.