Impossible Choices

Impossible Choices


After the Alpha and his entourage of confused werewolves finally leave our house, we all stand around in our living room for a few minutes, staring at each other like we're not entirely sure what just happened or whether we're all still alive.

The silence stretches on until Amy breaks it by flopping dramatically onto our couch, which creaks under the sudden impact like it's protesting the entire morning's worth of supernatural chaos.

"Well," she says, her voice muffled by the throw pillow she's currently using to hide her face, "that was terrifying."

"Terrifying," Mom agrees, settling into her favorite chair with the kind of exhausted relief that comes from narrowly avoiding execution by pack justice. "But successful."

"Successful is one way to put it," Dad mutters, running his hands through his hair until it sticks up in about twelve different directions. "I still don't understand how they just... disappeared."

I don't understand it either, but I'm not about to admit that out loud because it would require explaining how I know they were here in the first place, which would lead to questions I definitely don't want to answer.

"Maybe vampires are just really good at hiding," I suggest, which is probably the lamest explanation in the history of supernatural mysteries but is also technically not a lie.

"Vampires don't hide," Dad says grimly. "They attack. They feed. They kill. They don't play supernatural hide-and-seek with werewolf families."

"Maybe these vampires are different," Amy says, her voice still muffled by the pillow.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Dad replies.

The conversation is heading in a direction that makes my stomach clench with anxiety, so I decide to redirect before someone starts asking questions about exactly how different these particular vampires might be.

"You know what?" I say, standing up and stretching like I'm not currently having a low-level panic attack about my family's brush with death. "I think we could all use some time to process this morning's excitement."

"Excitement," Mom repeats faintly. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"I'm calling it a Tuesday," I say, which is technically accurate even if Tuesday has been significantly more dramatic than usual. "Amy, want to head home? You look like you need to lie down somewhere that isn't my living room."

Amy emerges from behind the throw pillow, her red hair sticking up at angles that suggest she's been through some kind of small tornado. "Actually, yeah. I think I need to go home and rest. And maybe eat something that isn't stress-flavored."

"I'll walk with you," I say, because the last thing I want right now is to stay in this house and field questions about vampire biology and supernatural cleaning techniques that I have no reasonable way of knowing.

Amy nods and stands up, stretching in a way that makes several joints pop audibly. "Sounds good. I could use the fresh air."

"Fresh air that doesn't smell like potential vampire invasion," I agree.

We head toward the front door, but before we can make our escape, Mom calls out from her chair.

"Julia, honey?"

I pause with my hand on the doorknob, trying not to look like someone who's desperate to flee the scene of a supernatural crime. "Yeah, Mom?"

"When you get back, we need to have a conversation about... recent events."

The way she says "recent events" makes it clear that she's not talking about the Alpha's visit or Mr. Jingles's spectacular public humiliation. She's talking about the vampire situation that we're all pretending has been resolved.

"Okay," I say, because what else can I say? "I'll be back soon."

"See that you are," Dad adds, using his Beta voice just enough to remind me that I'm still technically under house arrest and probably shouldn't be leaving at all.

But he doesn't actually forbid me from going, which I'm choosing to interpret as permission rather than an oversight on his part.

Amy and I step out into the late morning sunlight, and I immediately feel some of the tension leave my shoulders. There's something about being outside, away from the lingering stress of our living room, that makes everything feel slightly less catastrophic.

"So," Amy says as we start walking down our front path, "that was intense."

"Intense is one word for it," I agree. "Completely terrifying is another phrase that comes to mind."

"I can't believe Mr. Jingles actually saw them," Amy continues, shaking her head in amazement. "Like, what are the odds?"

"Knowing my luck? Pretty high," I mutter.

We reach the end of our driveway and turn toward the woods, taking the shortcut that leads through the trees to Amy's house. It's a path we've walked hundreds of times since we were kids, worn smooth by years of best friend traffic and after-school adventures.

The forest closes around us like a green tunnel, filtering the sunlight into dappled patterns that dance across the ground. Normally, this walk is peaceful, relaxing, a chance to decompress after whatever drama the day has thrown at us.

Today, it feels loaded with unspoken tension.

We walk in silence for a few minutes, our feet automatically following the familiar path while both of us seem lost in our own thoughts. I can practically hear Amy's brain working, processing everything that happened this morning, probably trying to figure out how we all managed to survive it without anyone getting arrested for treason.

Finally, she breaks the silence.

"I have to say, Julia, I really admire you."

I glance over at her, surprised by the sudden shift in her tone. "Admire me? For what? Nearly getting my entire family killed by supernatural politics?"

"For being willing to do the right thing," she says seriously. "For agreeing to reject the mate bond. I know it can't be easy."

My steps falter, and I feel like someone just punched me in the stomach.

Oh, shit.

I'd forgotten that my family thinks I agreed to reject Rowan tonight. I'd forgotten that I'm supposed to be preparing to voluntarily destroy the most important relationship of my life in order to save everyone I care about.

I'd forgotten that I'm supposed to be the kind of person who would actually go through with something like that.