Werewolf Compilations novel Chapter 87

Noah is one of the boys who enjoy the gathering, as I said. They talk to girls, laugh, enjoy being together. They're the boys who get into trouble and rant about having to become a guard or anything below leadership. They're the boy's girls want to be mated to.

I can see why. Noah seems likable; he's handsome, he has a sweet smile. If I were any other girl, I would be pleased to be his mate.

"Hope you didn't wait too long."

I shake my head. "No." He gazes off into the trees, and I struggle to conjure up a conversation. Talking to him is harder than talking to girls like Stacey. "So. You don't have a Mate?"

What a lousy way to start things off. The obvious choice, but clearly a delicate topic. It only takes me a second to regret the question, but I can't help but be curious about it. There is nothing wrong with Noah on the surface, so I'm assuming she didn't reject him. Maybe he rejected her.

He lets out a nervous laugh and I want to dash off. It's too late. I've already ruined things. "Well, she actually—she died."

My body sinks into the ground. What have I done?

I swallow and knot my fingers together in my lap. "Oh," I murmur, "oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. Sorry."

"No," he brushes it off, "it's alright. You didn't know. It's been two years, so don't worry too much about it. It's not a fresh wound."

I nod. "How old are you?"

"I'm twenty. I found her when I was eighteen, and she died a few days after. I didn't really know her if that's why you're asking."

A few days. I want to ask how she died, but I know that it would be crossing the line. "Wow," I say, not knowing what else to say, "that's terrible."

Noah nods, and we look forward for a bit before he says, "So. You have a Mate?"

"Uh, yeah," I say as if I'm lying. "I do."

"Does he belong to this pack?"

I suppose it's only fair to talk about James since I asked about his Mate, but I know I can't tell him the entire truth. "He doesn't. He belongs to the Grant Pack."

The diary sits back on my desk and begs me to read. James said it was okay, so the guilty feeling has mostly left, but now that I know she committed suicide, I don't know if I should read it. The diary is addressed to her future self, and I pray to the goddess that it isn't me.

After I eat dinner and change into my nice pajamas and brush my hair and teeth, the diary continues to prod at me until I open it.

December 7th, 1991

I told James I wanted to try again, but he said it was too soon, that I was not actually ready. He is probably right. All I can think about is the life I would have had with my child. I wonder if it was a boy or a girl. I am sure James wanted a boy so he could train him to be Alpha right away, but I wanted a girl. I wanted to brush her hair and braid it and tie little bows into it. I wanted to paint her room the softest pink and get her little shoes with bows on the toes. She would have been a daddy's girl. I know James would have loved her. I would have named her Jane. We would have been Jane, James, and Julianna. It would have been ridiculous but perfect.

I hope the Goddess is happy with my child. I hope she is satisfied with stealing another's baby. I have stopped praying to her. I have stopped believing that she is anything good. She cannot steal a woman's baby and be something worthy of prayers. I wonder if she steals all Luna's babies. I hope not. I hope the woman to come from this bloodline do not have their children taken from them. If I ever have a son, may his mate be careful. May his daughter be careful. May her daughter be careful. To all of them, we cannot trust her.

I close the diary and take a deep breath. The breeze creeps in through my open window, and I quickly get up to close it. The room is dark; the Moon is hidden tonight.

I cannot trust Julianna.