Chapter 1
CHAPTER
ONE
Iris
“ N ope. Not doing it.”
I stare at the doors to the mansion, Gothic in style. It’s been lit by candles to offer pools of flickering gold in an otherwise oasis of dark and gloom. A summer home for Dracula, if he were real.
“It’s your thing,” Marigold hisses, tugging my dark veil up.
“Veils?” I ask. “Transylvania-chic? That’s my thing?”
“Maaaybe.”
Giving her an epic glare, I tug it back into place. It’s not even a real veil. For starters, it’s black, the netting so thin and fine you can recognize who lays beyond. But her Great Councilness, the Monarch of Sabine, has decreed this Season will be something unlike any of the others.
“Slapping some candles down and naming the Season Dark is Night doesn’t make it cool, punk or goth.” I wrinkle my nose.
“Emo?” Rue asks, bouncing up and into me. “Or…” She trails a hand through the air in an arc, “‘Glamo’?”
God. Now that she’s fifteen, she’s unbearable. Still too bouncy and perky, still too chatty. I quickly grab her and move her back. “Ugh, kill me now. If I’m dead, I’ll be in peace.”
“You’re dressed for the occasion,” she says, grinning.
I roll eyes heavenward. “Actually, don’t kill me.” I look ahead, itching to be at home, anywhere but here where societal norms are chains.
Rue bounces in front of me, her dress a gradient of grays tinged with silver. I want to be mean, but I can’t. She’s too proud of the dress, and the little thorn that she is, she’s still my sister,
“The QB says you’re lucky to be invited, after your stunt last summer with Alicia and the juice,” she says. “Can you believe it? That’s super lucky.”
Yeah, lucky.
“Stop that.” Mom nabs hold of Rue and pulls her back as we wait to be announced. Heath’s standing stiff and annoyed in his black-on-black tux, completely oblivious to the flutter of sighs that run through all the girls who pass him. “Behave, Rue.”
“Mo-om,” Rue whines, “you can’t.” Then she poses, smiling smugly. “I’m an Omega.”
“An Omega who’s about to lose her phone privileges for the entire summer if she doesn’t quit it,” Heath mutters, coming in and staring her down.
That makes Rue clamp her mouth shut.
We’re at our designated spot, waiting for the G last names to be announced. They’re on F right now, and there’s just one Omega girl with a last name starting with F.
This is so stupid.
All of it. Stupid.
I can’t believe I’m here.
Dahlia’s playing with the orchestra later, but she’s here in a dark, dark red.
Something I’m a little jealous of. I’m in black, but the red that’s so dark it could be dried blood is something I’m instantly attracted to.
I mean, hello , it’s totally me. And even Mari looks stunning, but her dress is a dark silver gray.
I miss Violet.
But Stephan has decreed, since she threw up this morning, that she needs rest.
She’s pregnant, not contagious.
My gaze lights up when I catch sight of my best friend, Quinn. I almost go over, but a steel trap catches my arm. I glance up at my older brother.
“Fuck no, Iris, you’re not embarrassing us.”
“Let me go, Heath,” I mutter to him. “I’m not?—”
“I get it. You don’t want to be here; neither do I. But you’ve got all your sisters to think about.”
“Isn’t that what we have Stephan for?” Violet’s mate—the marvelously famous movie star, Asher St. James—was supposed to get me out of this shit. Or at least I had hoped.
“No.” He takes a breath, sets his mouth. “We won’t be the family who’s supported by another Alpha. And if we rest solely on Violet’s new connections, our family drops in stature.”
“That makes no sense.” Violet may have chosen “right,” according to society’s standards.
Hell, Stephan’s not only rich and a star, but he’s also the Monarch’s nephew.
That should be enough for me to skip the Season bullshit all together.
I’m cool with being perpetuality single forever, and I have absolutely no problem being the fun aunt to everyone’s kids.
“Welcome to society.” Then he turns to me, raking his gaze over me like he’s trying to catalog all the places I’ve gone wrong.
I want to push more, but decide against it. Good thing too, because…
“Miss Iris Gardener.” My name’s announced.
I swallow hard. Mari squeezes my hand as I pull my shoulders back and whisper, “Up to the chopping block.”