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March 21 - March 21, 2025
Killian’s words ring in my ears. What have I done for this pack? Endured it for twenty-seven years. Cooked their food. Cleaned their lodge. Washed their clothes. And in between I taught myself—and then the other lone females—how to make preserves, and keep bees, and dry herbs, and raise hens for eggs, and forage for mushrooms. I figured out how to drive and how to sell our goods at the human market, and then I figured out the internet. I made money. Money for phones and books and whatever we want. Money so that we don’t have to ask the males for anything, and we owe them nothing.
Everyone in the world wants something from me. Approval. Status. Protection. And they’re trying to hide shit, too. Failings. Weakness. Ambition. Not Una Hayes. She would like me to fuck myself, and she makes no effort to conceal the fact.
My wolf alerts, his fur prickling up my spine. He’s not mad. He’s ready for a challenge that he can actually win. He’s on a solid losing streak with Una Hayes.