Shella gave love a chance

Sheila stared at her father in shock, the tasty steak she had been chewing moments ago no longer tasted like steak-it was bland instead, like sawdust.

For a while, she contemplated spitting on the dinning table, but she decided against it last minute because she was sure it would only worsen the situation at hand.

Her father sat quietly, unmoving, his face not showing any emotion as always. His face had showed no emotion eight years ago when his wife had died in his arms, the red of her blood all over his hands.

"What do you mean, papa?"

Sheila attacked cautiously at first, her voice almost on the edge, trying to flick the vivid image of her dead mother in her father's arms that haunted her on a daily basis out of her head.

Refusing to look at her in the eye, he continued his meal, his hands as immaculate as ever as he tore the steak into portions with his fork, before slipping one into his mouth. Most times, Sheila wondered if he made mistakes. He was so perfect-he always had the perfect reply, always had the perfect response to every obstacle thrown in his path.

Was this why he was using her as a solution to this problem? Was this why he felt it was right to do what he did without her consent? Did she not have any say in this?

"Are you not going to say anything? Are you going to sit there and pretend you didn't hear me, papa? Are you going to sit there, just like you sat when mama died, without a reply?"

The way he looked at her afterwards made her know she had struck a nerve. His perfect hands dropped the fork, and Sheila could see that they were starting to tremble.

"Sit down, Sheila."

"Sit down? I cannot sit down and watch you eat, Papa. I cannot. Why was this idea debated without my consent? Why wasn't I informed?" She was standing now, her head pounding, her hands clenching and unclenching in anger.

"You know the council can't just call you. The decision has to be taken first, before you will be sent for. You know this; it's due process."

For a while, Sheila wondered if her father had gotten weaker after her mother had died. This was not the same man; the leader of the Zoriak pack, the man who had singlehandedly led the pack to glory time and time again. Where was that man? Where was that wolf that was easily moved to anger, that wolf that was ready to slash at anyone that threatened those he loved?

"I still don't see why I wasn't informed, Papa", She continued, her voice returning to normal. "I have every right to know. That being said, I won't do it, Papa, I won't marry Brendan, I can't marry Brendan."

"You do not do this for yourself, my daughter. You're doing this for the people, for the glory of Zoriak-"

"There must be another way around this, Papa. I can't marry Brendan. Why is this even a discussion, Papa? Why are we not in the battlefield, taking down Callisto and his bastard of a son? "

"There is no other way, Sheila. This is what the council has agreed, and we can't go against what they have decided-"

"What they have decided? A decision that involves me marrying someone I don't love? Someone that is our enemy? A Callisto?"

Sheila was starting to rant again when her father stood up with such force that the dishes on the table clanged against each other for a brief moment.

"Don't you dare raise your voice at me, Sheila!"

Unable to hold back the tears from pouring, Sheila left the dinning room, her body racking with sobs. She made her way up the flight of stairs to her room and slumped on her bed, her head in her hands.

More than ever, she wished her mother was here, that her mother's soft hands were touching her hair, telling her the story of how she came from a generation that took pride in the beauty of their long, curly hair. Hair so beautiful that it stood out like a lion's mane. She wished her mother was beside her, her raspy voice telling her that everything was going to be okay, that crying wasn't going to solve anything.

Sheila had never known any woman as strong as her mother. A woman that had been able to put up with the beast of a man like her father who has been so wild back then. A woman that had always fought alongside her husband, a woman that had smiled at her even in death, telling her to take care of the family and other responsibilities.

She wondered for a fleeting moment if her mother would approve of her huddled up in bed crying, instead of finding out a solution to the problem at hand. Using the tail of her dress to wipe off the tears, she tried to think straight.

Brendan?

The Brendan she knew? A wolf of the Callisto pack? The pack that had attacked and conquered nearly half of the New Wolf world? The pack that had gone back and forth with the Zoriaks in nonstop wars? The same pack that she and other warrior wolves had sworn to destroy?

How could she marry Brendan? Brendan that was known wolfwide for his playboy status? The same Brendan that lured Zoriak she-wolves just because he liked to show off his sexual prowess? The same Brendan she had sworn never to have anything to do with anytime she heard about his escapades?

No, she was not going to marry Brendan. She was going to confront Brendan. She was going to warn Brendan to stay off the boundary of the Zoriaks and also tell him to call off the Callisto army his father had stationed at the Cyruff river that served as a boundary between the territories of the two packs.

No, she wasn't going to sit and cry about her problems-she was going to try and solve them.

Defiantly, she rose from the bed, ready to confront her problems head-on, just like her mother would've done