Written with Love

A Wolf's Heart

"Tighter." I breathe out.

She pulls once more.

"Abigail, if I can still breath perfectly, it's not enough," I say, barely above a whisper.

I can practically hear Mother's voice, "A true lady would never even whisper near her mate."

I sniff my arm, making sure I still smell like the lavender soap Father purchased me yesterday.

Her next tug is long and hard. Perfectly unbearable.

I nod in return to her questioning eyebrows in the mirror.

Usually, I am not so tough on poor Abigail, but tonight is not a night for breathing. Tonight is the first time I will be eligible to find my mate.

The starting age for females normally is twenty-one, but I receive a head start of nineteen as an Alpha's child.

When I was young and immature, I complained about the mating laws, but today I have seen just how much joy they bring.

The staff of the manor has been running cleaning, taste testing, mending broken objects. The whole mansion is in an excited frenzy.

Including me.

Obviously, yes, I am thrilled to attend the ceremony tonight, but I am incredibly nervous as well.

Father received an offering two weeks ago for my hand in marriage. The offer was sent by the Alpha of the Lunar Withers pack, one of our most problematic rivals.

The offer would fix everything; our packs would merge, our economy would heighten, and we would finally have peace.

Father told me this news with such hope in his eyes I could not bear to say no. So I agreed that I would marry the future alpha.

Father quickly saw past my fake excitement. He gave me this ceremony to find my mate. If I do not find him here, I shall marry the future Alpha, Gavin, from the bid.

This is why I am not allowing any mistakes. I will look my best, appeal to every unmated male, and find my soulmate.

I gently place my left hand over my stomach and set my right hand on the stair rail. The elegant descent of a true proper lady.

When I was young, Mother spent hours teaching me proper walking technics.

"Hold your chin up. Not too far where you appear snotty. Good, good. Now...stop! See, when you pause, you almost fall! Again!"

She was a strict woman, but she knew what she was talking about.

"Miss, Delight!" A maid calls from my left.

"Yes?"

"There appears to have been a mixup with the table napkins." She holds two slightly different table cloths in front of me, "This," she moves the pure white with gold outlines napkin on top, "Is the one that matches the rest of the theme. But this," another pure white, but with a stunning silver lining, "Is the one we have double of."

Mother would know what to do.

Think, come on!

"Um," I almost slap my forehead. No, not 'um' Mother said never say 'Um.' It makes you sound inexperienced and stupid.

"How much of the gold do we have?"

"Half of the number of guests." The maid explains, clearly exasperated.

I am tempted to remark that she is not the one whose freedom is on the line; she has no reason to be overwhelmed.

"Set the gold ones at every other place, then place the silver in the empty seats. Tell Lumix," Our pastry chef, "to add little silver art to the deserts. Do not let it appear sloppy. As far as our guests know, this was not a mistake; this is perfect."