Wolfless Emery's Second Chance

My thumbs ached from using the controller of my console. Obsessively, I pressed the touchpad, rechecked my stats, and smirked.

The top spot was still mine.

In my ears, gunshots rattled, but I listened through them and focused on the footsteps of approaching enemies beneath their thunder.

From what I've heard, being able to separate the quieter sounds from the explosions is something not everyone can do.

Notably, it's not something most of the other team, or even my teammates, can do unless they're like me. But hey, I'm still playing the game the same as them.

Having acute hearing was about the only wolven talent I could boast about, so I used it to its full potential.

It's not like hearing footsteps could win me the game, anyway.

If my aim was terrible, they'd best me.

But it's not. I lined up the shot and repeatedly pressed R1 until the enemy in my sights crumpled like a ragdoll.

Smiling, I downed the next. And the next then used my killstreak to bring mortars down on the opponent.

"Em! What are you doing?!" My mom was loud enough to overpower the gunfire.

She must've heard my involuntary grunts as I took out the other team and realized I wasn't doing my makeup and hair as I should be.

That's one of the many downsides of living with werewolves. There's no privacy. I can't sneak around or pretend to be doing something I should be when I'm actually gaming.

"Getting ready!" I lied to her. After so many years of failing attempts at dishonesty, learning what worked and what didn't, I'd become somewhat of an expert fibber.

"Are you having trouble with the zipper? I can help!"

"No, Mom!" I shouted. The distraction she provided cost me my life, and the match ended.

In horror, I watched my death repeat in slow motion. I was the last kill.

It was shameful and watching it made my innards twist.

Without even closing the game, I held down the middle button, and the tv prompted me to pick an option.

Obviously, I chose to turn the system off.

I couldn't watch one more second of my failure.

Since my mom was asking about being ready, I'd probably played too long, anyway.

Just to make sure I wasn't about to panic if I didn't need to, I pulled out my phone and checked the time.

"4:50!" I shouted.

We were supposed to be at the Holland Banquet Hall at 5:30 pm. With the city's thick traffic, it was at least a half-an-hour drive away, which meant I had ten minutes to be ready for her ridiculous work function.

While stripping off my comfy leggings, I half-hopped, half-ran to my closet.

I snatched the hanger of the dress my parents expected me to wear, then threw it on the bed and undid my bra.

After throwing it into the hamper, I grabbed a new one that wouldn't show the straps, from my dresser.

Like any pro, I clipped it before I put it on, then pulled it over my head and snatched the dress off my bed.

It was a strapless, a-line dress with high slits at the thighs.

"If I tried to wear this anywhere else, they'd ground me until next year, but if it's front of the CEO's family…." I trailed off, already knowing nothing would make me feel better.

Even strings of never-ending curses couldn't embody how angry I was that I had to attend some celebration for the CEO's son, Marcus.

He'd made it into Trinity University, the most prestigious business school in the state, so his father was inflating his already overblown ego with a grand banquet held in his honor.

I'd never met him. It's not like my parents could afford to send me to the same private high school he'd attended, but I'd heard enough stories from other pack members to know I was right about his arrogance.

"Em, get down here!"

My father's voice rumbled as it always did, shaking my entire head, but it was over quickly.

"Just a second!"

I wasn't ready for a repeat mind-earthquake, so I furiously wrenched up the zipper of my dress, and at the same time, I shoved my feet into nude-colored pumps.

They complimented the dusty rose of my flowy gown. It was a color reminiscent of red but not so in-your-face that it screamed 'desperate for attention.'

I had to give my parents that. They knew how to use color theory. A soft pink symbolized kindness, romance, compassion, and elegance.

Those were typically looked for in women, but I don't know. Did I fit that? Was I elegant? Probably not. Maybe I'm 2 for 4—compassionate and kind.

From somewhere downstairs, my father shouted, "Emery Iris Turner!"

At that point, I knew he meant business. For 18 years, he'd only ever yelled my full name when he'd lost his patience, like many parents.

But the problem was that I wasn't anywhere near ready yet.

I ran to my bathroom, and as quickly as I could, I smudged on makeup.

At best, it could be described as smoky, but it still did something for my icy blue eyes. They stared back at me, as beautiful as ever, and I wished I could do them justice with something other than a rushed eyeshadow job.

Even if I'd had time, though, I wouldn't have come up with something editorial or even photo-ready.

My mom never taught me about makeup, my older sister was too busy posting more videos on social media to care about my aesthetic relevancy, and my younger sister directed me to videos by beauty gurus.

Just thinking about them crossing their eyes for the tenth time in the same video was enough to make me cringe.

Still, as I gazed in the mirror, I wished I'd suffered through their tutorials. The look I'd put together wasn't bad, but it was nothing compared to what I was sure all the other women at Holland Hall would be wearing.

I did my best, though. All I could do was hope that if I finally found my mate, he wouldn't be upset that I wasn't decked out in a full-glam look.

But I'd have to leave my room if I ever hoped to find him. That was probably why my mom insisted I go to the banquet her boss was hosting, and honestly, it wouldn't be so bad to find my soulmate. I couldn't see it happening at a place full of nothing but business savvies, but she probably hoped it did.

"Focus, Em!" I told myself as my mind wandered and started running a comb through my wavy blonde hair. I plaited a quick braid down the back, then pinned it into a low bun.

That would have to do because my mom yelled at me. "Emery, down here, now! I don't have the luxury of showing up late!"

Grabbing my purse, I rushed out of my room and down the hall.

Careful not to stumble on the stairs, I walked toward the front door and spied my sisters waiting at the exit.

Harper and Arden were beautiful, as always, and unlike me, it was obvious they'd spent hours on their appearance.

"Em, big yikes! You're lucky you're naturally pretty!" Arden exclaimed while twirling a strand of her platinum blonde hair. Her mint green dress complimented her hazel eyes, which she must've gotten from my grandma since our parents both had blue eyes.

Adren was the younger of my siblings, but I liked her better despite her obnoxious chattering.

Unlike Harper, she wasn't cruel, just blunt and typically quiet.

"Thanks, Arden," I smiled.

Next to my younger sister was Harper. She was only about two years older than me, but with the mature, sexy way she did her makeup, she looked at least twenty-five.

Her tawny curls spiraled over one of her shoulders onto her nearly bare chest. One wrong move and she'd be showing everyone her peaks.

That was just like Harper. I swear she lived off of attention rather than food, like some vampire with a strange diet.

"We'll be late if we don't head out the door right this instant!" My mother huffed. She opened the door and gently shoved us all through the threshold.

The next thing I knew, I was being ushered into the car by my father,

As I slid in, my thighs screeched on the leather seats, and more creaks followed it as Harper scooted in after me.

She was the oldest, but out of the three of us sisters, only her legs didn't scrunch uncomfortably sitting in front of the console. So whenever we all went together in the same car, she had to sit in the middle.

"Em, why's your makeup look like you were crying in it?" Harper's voice was as caustic as ever, and she added a toxic laugh, probably to annoy me more.

"I did it in like 5 minutes. What excuse do you have for looking so rough?" I adjusted my ivory-hued clutch in my lap and smirked at her.

"Me? Ha! Someone's looking a little green," Harper sneered. Her voice was confident, but the handheld mirror she flipped open said she wasn't.

While she touched up her makeup on a face that could've been on the cover of a magazine, a bump in the road clobbered my rear, and as I raised my brows at my sister's dumb response, I laughed. "What's there to be jealous of? Your biggest achievement is your 4,000 followers!"

"It's better than wasting all day playing games!" Harper scoffed. She crossed her arms over her crimson-hued gown. "You're always talking about finding your mate, but you're such a shut-in! At least I make an effort."

"Well, I want to find him, but there's no rush. It's only been a few months since I turned 18. I still have to get my degree, but go ahead and look for yours. It's not like you have a degree to earn since all the schools you applied to turned you down."

Arden giggled from the other side of Harper. "The pack college will take just about anyone if you change your mind, Harp, or you could always start dancing at Club Opal."

"That's enough!" My father hollered from the front of the car.

He turned the dial of the music until it was so loud that we'd have to yell to speak over it.

The rest of the ride, I looked out the window. Streetlights crawled by, and I silently read the names of the familiar shops we passed.

It wasn't until we made it downtown that my surroundings became more interesting, but the more exciting buildings and bustling streets weren't the only thing that mixed up the monotony of suburban life I had become accustomed to.