Chapter Six

Wynter

At least while I sat mending it was peaceful, since I was the only person at home. But nothing lasted forever, and, after a few hours, my family came bustling home, tossing bags of clothing and shoes and purses and I didn’t know what all, all over the living room. They could have carried it all upstairs and, gasp , even put it away, but why would they do that when I was handy and had nothing better to do than “help them out”?

Nobody ever suggested that I was an employee or anything crazy like that. No…then they would have had to pay me for my work. I was just a member of the family, who was either lazy or liked to help, depending on who they were talking to. And which version they thought would make them look better. Almost every version did end with, “And we keep her here out of the goodness of our hearts. She’s not very bright, the poor dear.” I was expected to serve coffee and cake or whatever Stepmama had in mind, to their guests while being subjected to such insults.

Every time, I fisted my hands so tight I made dents in my palms. Since I had to wait on them all, I couldn’t even retreat to the barn or to my shed until I was dismissed. I could only imagine what was said after that point. Actually, I preferred not to imagine.

Tonight, we weren’t expecting company, and on my chore list was a specific menu to be served at six precisely. So, as the sun dipped in the west, I set aside the pointless mending and went inside to cook dinner. As it was my only meal of the day, I put a little extra effort into it. Today, they were having grilled inch-thick chops, roasted potatoes, fresh asparagus, and, for after, a spiced apple cake. The scents made my mouth water and my stomach rumble, but when I took the chops off the grill, I had not found time to put away their purchases. Knowing I would not be allowed to sit down to eat until I did so, I hurried to dish up the food and get it on the table.

“Wynter, where is the salt?” Calla shrilled. I set down the bags I’d just picked up and hurried to point it out on the table, next to the pepper.

“And my ice water is warm.” Violet’s pout was not nearly as adorable as she thought, and how preposterous was it that a glass of water with her preferred six cubes “of the good ice” could be warm. But arguing would only result in my dinner being cold and, since it was one of my favorite meals, I smiled at her and hurried to bring another glass with the largest bits of ice I could find. It didn’t matter; they’d never be happy, but since they were now shoveling food into their mouths, I quickly gathered all their items and rushed upstairs to put them away.

Calla and Violet had bought four dresses each and matching accessories. At least I didn’t have to ask whose were whose since Calla preferred the warm side of the rainbow : reds, oranges, and yellows. Violet went for the cool spectrum . I often marveled at the number of dresses and blouses and skirts that could be found in violet and indigo. The fabrics were of excellent quality, the price tags reflecting their high cost.

Stepmama had also bought a dress, only one, and it was black and silver. She was still playing off the widow thing, as if she’d ever truly loved Daddy.

I was placing the silver bag that matched her dress on the purse shelf in her closet, trying to imagine how formal a pack run might have become since I was a little girl and last attended. There was a dance first, but pack events were never dressy. Not even ones called “balls,” or so I understood. Then I heard a loud crash, rattling the walls. If it wasn’t such a regular occurrence, I might have been alarmed, but as it was, I descended the stairs with a resigned step.

Sleeping on the sidewalks of some city and eating out of dumpsters—the fate they told me and anyone who would listen would be mine if they ever tossed me out—might be better than this. At least I wouldn’t be constantly dealing with two spoiled girls and their mother who let them spend as much of my father’s money as they wanted. What would she do if, or rather when it ran out? They’d better hope the visiting alphas had large budgets and a desire for wastrel mates.

***

I knew what the sound was before I even walked into the door. My mind was already reeling with the list of tasks I would have to complete to somewhat undo the damage they had caused.

Last time they threw a fit like this, I had to scrub beef stew from the fabric on the chairs. I hadn’t eaten carrots since.

Wiping my palms on my thighs, I let out a long breath and knocked on the dining room door. Knocking on their doors was a damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation. If I did, they asked me why I was taking so long and wasting time knocking. If I didn’t, I was disrespectful and not cognizant of their privacy.

I had mended their underwear before, not even kidding. Was there any inkling of privacy here? Plus, I cleaned their bathrooms and changed their bedsheets.

With gloves on, of course. There was no telling where they had been. My stepsisters always told my stepmama they were only hanging out with pack members, but I’d seen them bring humans home and well, make use of the stability of tree trunks to quell their hormonal needs.

When I was little, they picked on me, telling me I had fleas. My father cuddled me and told me they were simply envious of my long red hair.

Calla had tried to cut my hair off once when I was sleeping. But when she reached into her pocket, she had forgotten the scissors. I only knew about this because Violet liked to snitch on her sister.

This was the level of intelligence I was dealing with. And yet, I was the stupid one with no future.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, recognizing my poor choice in words almost immediately.

“No, everything is not okay. What exactly was that you served us for dinner?” My stepmama, Mitzi, had stepped back from the table, distancing herself from the meal.

My stomach dropped. “Grilled inch-thick chops, roasted potatoes, fresh asparagus, and, for after, a spiced apple cake,” I recited from their menu.

Calla pointed to me but pivoted her body toward her mother. “Did you hear that? We are awaiting the alphas and probable mates of ours, and she’s stuffing us full of processed fats and carbs.”

I didn’t point out that their dinner was entirely unprocessed, all from scratch. She didn’t seem to mind processed foods the day before when I watched her stuff an entire tube of powdered donuts into her mouth, swallowing them almost without chewing.

Sometimes I caught a glimpse of my stepmama when her face reflected my attitude about her daughters and their ridiculous standards that changed with the wind. Then she would remember that I was the enemy and, no matter how silly and prideful her daughters’ requests were, it was better than being kind to me. Hell, I would rather she treat me like a stranger than the way she acted toward me. I had seen her give money and a hug to a homeless child on the street and go on and on about their sad situation.

I begged the gods that night for one thing, to get my stepmama to treat me as she did strangers. It would definitely be an upgrade.

“Wynter, you should know better. My girls want to look their best for the alphas. They are right. Any of them could be their future mates. We wouldn’t want to purposefully harm their chances of landing an alpha, would we?”

Yes. “No. Of course not.”

“Clean this up. Next time, think before you plan these meals. We have standards to live up to and goals to achieve. I know it’s hard for you to imagine those things in your situation but try.”

“I could make something else.” I reached for something to redeem myself and hated myself in the process. There was a lot more than a few potatoes that would ruin Calla and Violet’s chances of finding a mate.

Even the most beautiful of people became ugly when their devious souls were revealed.

“No need. I will take my daughters to town to eat. Powerful wolves need meat to survive, Wynter. Remember that while you clean this mess up.”