“I’m going to head out for a bit,” I tell Liam before I grab my bike keys and leave the house.
I ride through the streets of our small town. Maybe some pastries from Granny June’s will cheer me up. Luckily for me,today is her day off. She hates me, and I dislike going there if she is around. I park my bike, ignoring the looks that a group of girls who are sitting at the outside table give me, and enter the bakery. All five of those Barbie dolls had gone to school with me, and, well, I can’t deny that I did prank them once. Okay, maybe twice? Let’s just say we no longer get on. It was a harmless prank, I swear.
“We’re closed,” a grumpy voice comes.
Just my luck. Granny June is here.
I look around the bakery. It is definitely not closed. Three of the old crones who hate me are here, too. Perfect. I wish I had checked with Justin before coming here.
“Leave. You’re dirtying my floors,” she growls.
“Aw, come on, Granny June, my shoes are clean. I’m only here for a few pecan pies, and then I’m out.”
“Leave.”
“You know… the faster you give me those pastries, the faster I’m out of here?” I slip my hand into my jacket pocket and pull out my wallet.
“No, I’ve run out. I don’t serve fr…” She purses her lips, looking me over with barely disguised contempt, knowing if she says those words, it would be direct disobedience of her Alpha.
Freaks of nature.
That is what she always likes to mumble. We may be in a time where we live in peace amongst witches, although most of the pack are absolutely fine with witches and the way I was born, there is still the handful who won’t change and don’t approve of how I was born. Usually where I would snap back at them with everything I have, but lately, I have just had enough.
“Well, then, I will wait here until someone shows up to serve me.” I cross my arms.
The smell of the various baked goods suddenly makes me sick. Maybe I should just leave.
She tenses, and I see her eyes dart to the window as if checking if anyone who may support me is around.
“I have nothing to give you,” she says suddenly, picking up the tray of freshly baked croissants she has brought out and walking into the back kitchen, slamming the door behind her.
“I don’t understand why we have to tolerate her,” one of the hags mutters from behind me. I don’t bother to look in their direction.
I sigh, my smile fading before I turn away, pushing open the bakery door. The urge to find some bugs to infest the bakery tempts me, but I don’t have the time nor the will to do so.
Note to self-make a Granny June voodoo doll.
I step out into the fresh air, my stomach lurching nauseatingly, about to get on my bike.
“No wonder she was rejected. No one would want her. She’s a psychotic freak.” I hear an old woman sitting at the table outside mutter to her mate.
I swear, if it wasn’t for how good Granny June’s bakes are, I would avoid this place. All the same types of people gather here.
Don’t do this now.
My anger is rising, and I know I am on the brink of losing control.
Don’t.
I get onto my bike, trying to ignore them.
“Yeah, definitely a freak,” the old man grumbles.
I freeze, my head snapping towards the couple who had spoken.
“Want to say that again?” I growl menacingly.
“I said nothing, pup. Move along,” he growls, standing up.
“Don’t lie. Say it again.”
“I said I said nothing.”
“I said say it again!” I scream, not caring that two passersby have stopped and are staring at me.
“Azura, come – “”No! If you want to call me a freak, then say it to my fucking face!” I scream, cutting off whoever had tried to stop me. The older man’s face turns an angry shade of red as he glares at me.
“There’s no such thing as respect around here! I said nothing!” He lies as everyone shakes their heads in disapproval.
My chest heaves, my emotions in turmoil as I look around. These people knew me growing up, and although they were silenced, recently, since my rejection, they are becoming vocal once more. June and one of the other hags come to the door, watching me with contempt, disapproval, and irritation.
“She’s so dramatic,” one of the girls from the Academy mutters.
“I’m not dramatic.”
“You shouldn’t lie, dear,” the elderly woman at the table scolds gently with fake sympathy in her eyes as she stands up, taking her mate’s arm. “It doesn’t look good on your parents.”
Yeah, I get it. I’m a failure and a disappointment to them too.
“I didn’t lie,” I retort defensively; my emotions are getting out of control as I stare at the man whose face holds the tiniest of smirks. “You know exactly what he said.”
“I said nothing. Stop trying to get me in trouble,” he scoffs, walking off.
“Hey!” I shout, getting off my bike. I storm over to the old penis. I am about to grab him when a hand grabs hold of my wrist and stops me. I am ready to lash out when I look into the eyes of one of my thirteen-year-old nephews, Renji.
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