The damned thing wouldn’t burn. Scarlet had tried. Twice.
The invitation had appeared bright and early, popping onto her counter the moment the clock had struck 8:01 A.M. and she’d officially hit thirty.
Unmated and thirty.
She glared at the pristine page, at the cream linen that boasted the handwritten words requesting her attendance at the coming Gathering.
She glanced at her scorched sink, frowned and wondered if steel polish would remove the marks. That thought brought her back to the idea of burning the invite and she wondered if the local witch could help her out. Maybe…
The shrill ring of her phone busted in on her illegal wonderings. If she were honest, which she didn’t want to be, she had already broken the law by attempting to burn the stupid paper. Having a Mark meant she had to adhere to the same rules that governed the furballs. So, no circumventing a wolfy summons. Even if she wasn’t a wolf.
With a sigh, she abandoned her spot at the counter and snatched up the phone. Holding the handset between her cheek and shoulder she greeted her caller. “Heya.”
The caller screamed. Scarlet took a peek at the microwave clock. 8:14 A.M.
“So, you got your invite.” She smirked, kind of glad she wouldn’t be the only one forcefully attending the upcoming annual Gathering.
Scarlet was one of three, the first-born of the Wickham fraternal triplets. Each of them as different from the other as the stars in the sky. Thankfully, it’d only be her and Gabriella attending. The third, Whitney, had been born sans the necessary birthmark, so she wouldn’t be receiving the mandatory summons. Lucky bitch.