Dear Enemy, You’re My Mate

　　Prologue

　　Patricia

　　Fourteen Years old.

　　No-no-no! I'm late for class again! There is drool on my cheek, and I'm running in my freaking pajamas.

　　I kept pressing snooze on my phone alarm until I jerked awake with the insight I probably overslept. I barely even looked in the mirror before rushing out of our house.

　　As I pass the windows of a dark classroom, I regret my decision to not even brush my hair—I resemble Hermione Granger in the first Harry Potter movie, with a bird's nest for hair. Mine is darker, though. I was born with the complex of a ghost and black hair to match.

　　I'm a mess.

　　Grumbling to myself over my hairstyle, I sneak closer to a door by the end of the corridor. It leads to the back of our classroom. Mrs. Bridget, the elderly lady who is my history teacher, can barely see anything and won't notice me taking a seat twenty minutes too late.

　　I enter the classroom and tiptoe with my eyes locked on an empty bench and chair. My bag slips down from my shoulder to the floor, and then my gaze land on Dior sitting above me. He narrows those piercing, cold eyes on my attire, and I growl warningly at him.

　　My voice is low and threatening. "Not a word."

　　His lips twitch into a smile far too wolfish to be considered friendly, and I inhale slowly—Dior is like a blister inside my butt. We are in the same pack, and while the guy might grow up to become the alpha of Winterbite, he is a nasty know-it-all.

　　"Okay, I won't, for your sake."

　　Suspicion churns in my belly. "That's new... You're never nice to me unless there is something to gain from it, Lavigne."

　　The boy smiles. "You wound me. There are times when I can be nice."

　　Somehow, I doubt his words.

　　Dior was born without a filter, and his whole purpose for existing seems to be making my life a living hell. The idiot doesn't act his age. He is a child prodigy, a genius, and an egoistic self-loving jerk.

　　Dior brags about his IQ whenever he can. He even called me stupid straight to my face the last time I failed a math test. Seriously, the mere sight of him makes my insides boil like a volcano.

　　Dior and I get along like snow and salt.

　　Not that I have many friends in the first place. I'm only friends with a human girl, Tiffany, but it's enough to keep me sane. Humans do not know supernatural creatures exist, and I love that about Tiffany. She doesn't treat me differently because I'm the omega in my pack.

　　"Right..." I mutter.

　　I move again, and when I'm standing right by my seat, Dior glances at me with ill intent written all over his face. Brown hair is falling into his blue, angelic eyes wasted on a devil.

　　"What is it now?" I hiss.

　　Dior's lips curl into a malicious smirk that plays over his lips. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he is balancing in his chair with pure amusement radiating from him.

　　'You're late again, Goldheart. And you seem tired. Why don't you take a seat? Relax those legs.'

　　Ugh, sometimes I hate the mind-link. It's a werewolf thing. And since we are in the same pack, Dior uses it to broadcast his thoughts whenever he feels like it.

　　I'm also terrible at keeping things private and unconsciously leak my emotions into the mind-link. Of course, Dior bullies me for it—he found out about my crush on William and wouldn't keep quiet about it for two weeks.

　　'Yeah, something came in the way.' I reply and take a seat, only to get drenched in water.

　　What. The. Actual. Fork.

　　A belt of laughter echoes against the walls, and I sit there, blinking in confusion at the water balloon that came down from the ceiling.

　　"Oh-my-god, she fell for it!"

　　"Yeah, she is so stupid!"

　　"Ugly too! Did you see her face? P-R-I-C-E-L-E-S-S!"

　　"She is wearing her pajamas!"

　　"N-E-R-D."

　　All my classmates are having a blast at my expense, and my cheeks burn in humiliation. Never in my entire life has my heart pounded so hard.

　　I can't breathe—even Mrs. Bridget, our teacher, is snorting in amusement. Someone whistles loudly, and I have to bite my lower lip to keep the tears at bay. I shouldn't have come to school today.

　　"Best prank ever, Lavigne!" Marcus, the popular jock in our class, shouts, and then everyone laughs louder in agreement.

　　"Way to go, Lavigne!"

　　"Lavigne is the man!"

　　My head is spinning. Dior flicks his eyes to mine. First, he is smirking, but something unsettling moves over his features when he notices my quivering lips. For a brief minute, I hope it might be regret, but then he set his shoulders back as if expecting a showdown.

　　He uses the mind-link again. 'Suits you right.'

　　With burning hurt constricting my throat, I glare straight into Dior's face and take in his satisfaction. 'What the fuck?!'

　　Dior smirks in his seat, unbothered by the hurt in my voice. 'Consider it payback for when you held my lunchbox above my head yesterday.'

　　My lips part, but my voice won't come. I use the mind-link. 'I did that because you wouldn't stop teasing me and calling me lame for hoping William will be my future mate! You were so mean, Dior!'

　　Irritation flashes in Dior's eyes. There is another emotion, too, one I can't pinpoint. 'Why do you like him so much, anyway? I get William is the alpha of the Summerburst pack, but what else?! Why are you so into him! And why are you so desperate to find your fucking mate?!'

　　If I were brave, I would spill my genuine emotions and tell Dior that I yearn to find my mate to share my life with someone.

　　My heart longs for someone sweet. I want a man to circle his arms around my waist and kiss my neck, breathe me in, and put into words how much he missed me after days apart, but I don't possess enough courage to tell Dior about my distant reveries.

　　I sigh. 'William is an alpha, and he is gorgeous—do I need to say anything else?'

　　There is a menacing snort inside my head. 'Yeah, because looks are everything, prima-donna girl. You're so shallow it hurts my head hearing your thoughts—why does every girl fall for the hot guy?'

　　'Get out of my head!' I turn around, glaring daggers into his face. Dior smirks, and curiosity flares in his baby blues, as if the wicked guy loves to get a rise out of me—such a jerk. 'And stop calling me that!'

　　Dior lifts an eyebrow. He is such a little shit. The genius skipped two grades, and now he is sitting there, sneakers on his desk while looking smug. His eyes, cold like ice, always observe people with such a harshness that makes it seems like he deems everyone beneath him.

　　'You're channeling your thoughts to every pack member nearby right now, and you're lucky that we are the only ones in this class,' Dior smiles then, but it's too tamed to belong on his evil face. He is up to no good. His eyes are calculating, soulless. 'And about your other question—make me.'

　　I ball my hands into fists, holding back a scream. 'You-... You make me so frustrated!'

　　'And you annoy the hell out of me!'

　　'Why? Because I'm acting like a teenager, unlike you, who is doing everything to become his alpha father?!'

　　Dior gives me a sharp glare, lifting his shoulders to appear more menacing. It doesn't work. The guy isn't an alpha yet, and a twelve-year-old doesn't scare me.

　　'No, that's not it! You're so happy-go-lucky that I want to puke all over the floor! And you're always hoping every hot guy walking into the same room will be your mate.'

　　'And what is wrong with having dreams, huh?!'

　　'Well, at least settle for one guy, Patty!' Dior crosses his arms over his chest, and raven hair falls into his eyes. He always wears flannel shirts with the sleeves pulled up. 'Seriously, I'm almost ashamed that you're in my pack!'

　　I get caught up on the old nickname. 'No one calls me Patty anymore!'

　　When I was younger, I was a big girl, and the other kids in my pack called me Patty, the omega. I remember spending every night crying because of the horrible nickname. I'm indeed the omega, but I don't like to be reminded of my position.

　　They also bullied me because I love girlish stuff, such as colorful skirts, dresses, sticky notes, and diaries. My hair ornaments are sparkly, and my pack members usually laugh when they see me.

　　But I don't cry anymore when they throw paper planes at my feet—I'm no longer that same weak little girl!

　　Nowadays, I'm super self-conscious on the inside, but I'm hiding the low self-esteem behind heavy makeup and lip gloss. In the human world, I have a name and a place where I belong.

　　And hopefully, I can leave my pack behind and find a new one where I won't be the lowest ranking member. William might be my chance at living another life.

　　Dior's laughter rolls off the walls inside my head. 'It's Patty or prima-donna girl—choose wisely.'

　　I'm three seconds from jumping at Dior's throat. Every hair on my body is standing on the edge, anticipating the fight. I'm loaded like a gun, snarling in my seat and making people turn their heads until the door opens and everyone focuses on William entering.

　　"I'm sorry I'm late!"

　　Every ounce of anger disappears, and I entirely forget about my fight with Dior once my eyes lock on William.

　　He is every girl's living daydream—blonde, gorgeous, tall, and with smooth skin and curls hanging into his honeycomb eyes. He is even dressed nicely! His jeans are hugging his legs, while his white t-shirt makes his tanned skin stand out.

　　I follow him with my eyes and squeal in joy when he takes the seat in front of mine. A dreamy smile is aimed my way, and I melt into my chair while trying to get a whiff of him. My knuckles are sinking into my cheek, and my shoulders are slumped—I'm swooning. Someone pinch me so I can return from William-land!

　　'Already into him?' Dior chuckles darkly. 'Perhaps I should tell him, so you get a chance of dating this one.'

　　'DIOR! CAN YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP?!' I'm furious, at the brink of losing my mind. 'Stop broadcasting your thoughts into my head!'

　　'I'm only trying to help you,' Dior remarks, but his tone implies that he doesn't mean what he said. 'You're too shy to ask anyone out, prima-donna girl—you talk big, but everyone in our pack knows that you're our silly little omega.'

　　His words hit me like a slap to the face.

　　Why does Dior have to be so rude?

　　Anger courses through my veins, but I know better than to shape-shift inside the classroom.

　　Instead, I straighten my shoulders and focus ahead, pretending the devil himself isn't sitting behind me. A single tear falls down my cheek—I hate Dior Lavigne with a burning passion.

　　I bite my lower lip, lifting my chin when William shifts in his seat. His warm eyes find mine, and I melt on the inside. He is so handsome, and even though he doesn't say a word and returns to look forward, he just made my day a little better.

　　If I'm lucky, William will be my destined mate, but considering my luck, I probably get a nasty and mean mate, like Dior. And I would rather die than be stuck with him for the rest of my life.

　　I peer forward, noticing William turning around to steal another glance at me. His lips form a bashful smile, and I melt a little on the inside—I hope my future mate is as beautiful and sweet as this guy. I want to be mated to someone precious.