I visit the food court for dinner and order a honey chicken salad, which is the least I can do, considering my only food choice is this place. I’ve been thinking. I like the idea of living in the dorms with the other Delta wolves, but I’d really like a place of my own. I wonder if the pack would grant that for me? I just feel overwhelmed by the crowds around here, and I really enjoy my solitary time. I have to make an appointment to see the Alpha to see if that’s possible. After dinner, I head for the reading nook near the Alpha’s office to swap some of the books I’ve borrowed. There are a couple of mums reading with their children, and we smile at each other as I enter.
I decided to wear jeans and a T-shirt for tonight, along with my plain sneakers. Tatum wanted to buy me going-out shoes, but I shook my head at the heels and boots she showed me. I decided that if this was going to be my home, I would pay for those fancy shoes myself. Plus, I’ve only had one or two pairs of shoes at a time during the last five years, so I don’t need a lot.
A knock sounds on my door at eight, and I open it and see Isabella.
“Hey! How are you?” Isabella asks, walking into my room.
“I’m good. Looking forward to this, thank you for inviting me,” I gush. Isabella grins.
“Of course. You’re very welcome. So are you ready?” she asks. I nod.
“No makeup?” she then asks. I shake my head.
“I wouldn’t let Tatum buy any. Why do I need it?” I ask. I tend not to wear makeup because I’m pretty enough, which might sound vain, and I guess I am because I know I’m pretty. Also, my experience in wearing makeup in the past five years is limited. I’ve had no need to dress up.
“Erin will put you down. Come on, let’s see what I can do,” Isabella says, making me sit on my bed. I close my eyes and let her apply makeup on me. I open my eyes every now and then to see her rummage through the small makeup bag that she brought with her, and then close my eyes to allow her to do her thing.
“Alright, go look. Tell me what you think,” Isabella states, stepping back. Isabella isn’t the greatest makeup artist, but she’s done well. She’s added brown eyeshadow and mascara to my eyelids, which makes my lashes look long. My lips are painted dusky pink, and they shine. It’s not like I’m performing in front of royalty, but I look alright.
“It’s good, thanks,” I tell her. Isabella smiles.
“Let’s go then.”
We leave the pack house and pick up Erin from her parents. I would have thought she wanted to sit in the front seat, but instead, Erin happily sits in the back seat, letting Isabella drive us around.
It’s not a long drive from Erin’s to Little Vallis, where the pub we are going to is located, but it takes us a while to find a parking space near the main strip where all the nightlife is.
“Sometimes we go clubbing after Howling Moon,” Erin tells me as we walk towards the main strip.
“That sounds cool,” I admit. Sierra was too small to have clubs. It did have a couple of pubs but no clubs. I went to a few clubs when I lived in Orange City, but I didn’t go that often. I also worked in a club for a while until I got an office job. It paid the bills.
The main strip is busy with people, with some waiting in lines to get into venues. This reminded me so much of Orange City. It was unnerving.
“It’s like the city here,” I muse, watching people buy food from street vendors or come out of buildings.
“It is?” Erin asks happily. I nod. I only have Orange City to compare it to, as I wasn’t old enough to do this type of thing when I lived in Swan Valley.
We continue walking when we see a sign with the words ‘Howling Moon’ and a picture of a wolf howling at the moon.
I grin when I see it. This place looks good.
The pub is carpeted with coloured zigzags, that look surprisingly clean, and on one side of the room sits a bar with a mirrored shelf housing their drinks. The bar itself is made of grey-speckles, which I imagine to be marble, and the customer side is tiled in royal blue hexagons. Even the bar chairs have blue padding. I wonder how clean they might be, considering the chairs look covered in material. On the opposite side of the bar, I can see a stage of sorts set up, with people standing in front of it on the parquet dance floor.
“Nice,” I comment, scanning the room. Scattered around the dance floor, which sits in the u-shaped carpeted area, are clay-coloured leather-look seats positioned around circular coffee tables. The set-up looks upmarket but comfortable. It doesn’t look like a place where drinks get spilled or couples hook up at all.
“You like?” Erin asks, heading for a table near the front centre of the dance floor.
“Isabella, go get us drinks,” Erin orders, making herself comfy on her seat. I go to get up to go with her, but Erin takes my hand and shakes her head.
“This round is her shout. I’ll do the next. I don’t suppose you’ve been paid yet?” Erin asks.
“No,” I admit, “but I have money. Just no card.” Because it’s fucking up a tree somewhere in Massey. I’ll have to borrow a laptop to change my bank details and get a new card sent to the pack house.
“Yeah. The Gamma’s mate had a baby last week. I’m sure he’ll get to it when he can. Bella and I can shout you tonight, and then we’ll take turns next time if that’s okay?” Erin asks. I relax in relief. I was wondering how I was going to pay for tonight. Especially when Erin said this round was Isabella’s shout. I’d like to return the favour, but I can’t yet.
Erin comes back with a tray of three drinks.
“Hmm, Mudslide,” Erin grins, taking hers and sipping. Isabella passes me mine, and I thank her. As soon as I sip, the strong taste of Kahlua and Baileys hits me.
“I thought this was a chocolate thick shake because of the cream,” I stammer. Isabella and Erin laugh at me.
“Just drink it slow. It has Kahlua and Baileys in it, with aconitum, of course, so we can get the kick,” Isabella tells me. I nod. Aconitum is another word for wolfsbane, which, of course, weakens our wolves and allows us to feel the full effects of the alcohol.
“So, how was your day?” I ask Isabella and Erin. Erin rolls her eyes and tells us all about Mrs. Brown, a human who’s on vacation at our pack house. Mrs. Brown wanted a coffee with soy milk, but Erin didn’t have any, so she made it with almond milk instead, which annoyed and made Mrs. Brown complain.
“It’s practically the same thing anyway. I don’t know what her deal is,” Erin whinges. I’m about to open my mouth to tell her it is a big deal for humans because some are allergic to nuts, which almonds are, and Mrs Brown could have gone into shock but decided against it.
Isabella then tells us that Alexia sneezed when she was reading them a story, and a big snot came out of her nose… Erin cringed and cried ew at that.
“You weren’t the only one,” Isabella states, rolling her eyes.
“But when Hank told me ‘Bella, Alexia has a big booger coming out of her nose, and it’s yucky!’ Alexia just grinned and ate it in front of him!” Isabella cries with a grin. I can’t help but and laugh.
“I know, right? It was hilarious! And I swear Hank’s eyes bugged out when he saw that!” Isabella laughs. We sit there and continue laughing while Erin makes a disgusted face.
“I can’t see how that’s funny,” Erin says when we quieten down.
“Oh, come on! It so was funny!”
“I think she needs to drink more!” I giggle, giving Isabella a nudge.
“Yeah!” Isabella agrees, pushing Erin’s drink closer to her. Erin shakes her head with a smile and sips.
“Too elegant; you need to chug it down like this!” I declare, putting the straw in my mouth and drinking hard. Isabella laughs, and I sit up and grin.
“Like that!” I state, pointing to my drink, which is now two centimetres lower.
“Like that?” Erin asks sullenly. I nod.
“Fine.” Erin slurps her drink, stopping when the level is lower than mine.
“Man, that’s strong!” she exclaims with a burp. Isabella and I look at each other and roll into laughter again.
“Alright, ladies! It’s time!” Erin shouts, getting up and walking to a man sitting beside an amp.
“Hi, Dean. We would like to sing,” she tells the guy, indicating to us three.
“Yeah!” Isabella cheers.
“Uh…” I begin. I start to pull away, but Isabella grabs me by the hand.
“You too,” she glares, then grins at me.
“Okay, Erin. What would you like to sing this week?” Dean replies. From this interaction, I understand that they are very familiar with each other.
“Gimme,” Erin cries, taking the folder out of his hands. She opens it up, and both she and Isabella peer at it.
“This one,” Erin states, pointing to a song on the page and handing it back to Dean.
“Okay. You’re up after the next two songs,” Dean agrees.
“Good,” Erin states, perking up. Both Erin and Isabella turn around and head back to our table.
“Thank you,” I say to Dean, who nods. I return to the table and join the girls, watching the next two performances.
When the guy finishes singing, people clap, and he grins at the crowd.
“Now for Erin and her friends!” Dean speaks into the microphone. Erin stands up and makes a whooping sound before announcing to everyone that she’s here. I shake my head and inwardly cringe. I know she’s drunk, but it’s like someone pumped her narcissism up one hundred percent.
I follow Erin and Isabella to the stage, where the lyrics to our song, ‘Rumour Has It,’ by Adele, are on the television screen on the podium in front of us.
“I’ll sing the first verse, Bellie the second, and we’ll sing the chorus together, okay?” Erina asks, pointing to the screen. I nod.
“Evie, you can do the next verse, and I’ll do the second. Chorus together and Bellie, the last verse. Yeah?”
Isabella looks at me to see if that’s okay, and I nod.
“But you don’t have many parts,” Isabella tells me.
“That’s okay. We just want to know how good you are,” Erin says to reassure me. Again, I just nod. I haven’t performed in front of an audience for years. In fact, the first person to hear me perform any type of music was Henrik Erstad after I found out his son was my second-chance mate.
“It’s fine,” I assure Isabella, who still looks concerned.
Erin nods at Dean, who plays the background music to our song. The drum starts beating, and the background singer begins. When the words pop up on the screen, Erin starts to sing. Her voice is whispery with an attempt at being sultry, and it’s all wrong for the song. When she sings, ‘Sure, she’s got it all,’ she riffles the sure part, and Pandora even rolls her eyes in my head. Erin thinks she’s a good singer, and she would be, with a different song choice.
Isabella is a slightly better singer, and her voice is a quiet soprano. She has the potential to sing well, but again, this isn’t the right song. And I’m over-analysing, aren’t I? Just like my mum.
The chorus comes up, and I hesitate to join in. I look over at the crowd, and funnily enough, there are a lot of werewolves in front of us, cheering us on. Erin is lapping it up, but I can’t help but feel anxious.
I haven’t done this in years. Sure, I’ve performed in front of the werewolf King and Queen, but this is different. I feel so out of touch. I open my mouth, but no voice comes out. Not good, not good.
When my verse begins, I open my mouth to sing but completely miss the cue. Isabella gives me a nudge, but I’ve missed the first three words. Thankfully, Erin pipes up and happily sings the verse for me, and my body relaxes in relief.
The chorus appears again, and this time, I quietly join in, but not enough to show my true ability, which does not want to work right now.
The song finishes, and everyone cheers. And, okay. Rightfully so. Just because I’m a perfectionist does not mean Erin and Isabella did not sing well. They both did a good job. At least they opened their mouths and sound came out. Not like somebody I know, standing here looking like a fool.
I hop off the stage as soon as possible, and Erin grabs my hand and leads me towards the bar.
“I think you need a drink,” she tells me.
“Yeah!” Isabella agrees.
“Peter! Nine Kool-aids! Stat!” Erin calls across the bar. Peter, the werewolf behind the bar, looks over at her, grins, and then finishes serving his customer. The girl he’s serving pouts when he walks away, and I can’t help but smile at her response. Yes, this Peter was good-looking, but he’s a werewolf; she is not. And from what I can smell, he already has someone.
“Nine today, huh?” Peter asks, his eyes firmly on Erin. She leans forward, exposing her cleavage to him.
“Right-o,” Peter says with a wink. I watch him make the drinks, adding the peach schnapps after the vodka. I’m not looking forward to this. I don’t not like peaches, but they’re not my favourite fruit. Give me something citrusy; I’ll love you forever. Or chocolate. That Kahlua drink from before was lovely.
Peter sets up the drinks in front of us, and Isabella hands over her card.
“Thanks, Bella,” Peter says with familiarity.
“You know him?” I ask.
“Yeah, he’s my brother’s best friend,” Isabella smiles.
“I had the hugest crush on him when I was fifteen. But yeah. He got a girlfriend, and that was the end of that,” she admits. I nod.
“Fuckin Shots!” Erin yells, distracting us from our conversation. I laugh.
“Ready? One, two, three, go!” Erin calls out. When Isabella grabs her glass at the same time as Erin, I quickly join them and down the sweet-flavoured shot drink.
“My turn, my turn!” I say, laughing at my reaction to the strong, sweet flavour. I raise my glass as in a toast.
“Here’s to the hole that never heals, but the more you rub it, the better it feels,” I state with an eyebrow raised. I gulp my drink in two slurps as my friends laugh and drink their own shots.
“Okay! Okay! Let me think of one!” Isabella shouts, clearly intoxicated.
“Uh… Um,” she hums the ‘m’, and her eyes look wildly around as if searching for inspiration.
“Over the teeth through the gums, watch out stomach, here it comes!” Isabella shouts, taking her shot in one go. I do, too.
“That was so lame!” Erin calls out when we’re done.
“What? Why? It’s something my dad says!” Isabella protests.
“Exactly! Old man words!” Erin scorns. Isabella looks bereft.
“It was fine, Izzy! It was good. Don’t be mean!”
“Whatever. I’m going to the bathroom,” Erin retorts, slapping the bar with her hand and wobbling off. I shake my head and watch her.
“Isabella…” I begin.
“It’s okay, Evie. She doesn’t mean it. Plus, I know it wasn’t good,” Isabella sighs, walking back to our table (which remains empty, thank goddess!).
A familiar smell hits my nose, making me look in its direction, which in turn makes me stumble into somebody in front of me.
“Ah shit,” I complain, having glanced at snippets of my mate within the crowd.
“Sorry,” I say to the person I bumped into.
“Fucking better be, cunt,” the girl I bumped into complains, pushing me as she walks past.
“Don’t mind her, but fuck, you’re drunk,” Isabella giggles. I’ve lost track of him and turn in stunned surprise.
“So are you!” I exclaim, looking back at my friend.
“How do you know?” she asks.
“Cause you just said fuck!” I tell her. I’ve known her all of a week or two, but not once has she sworn. I think that’s because she works with pups.
“Did fucking not!” Isabella exclaims, then suddenly covers her mouth when she realises what she’s said.
“I did fucking too!” she states in shock. It’s comical watching her sit back down in her seat with a stunned look. I laugh as I sit and watch her.
Erin is off on her own rant, but I’m too busy concentrating on that smell that caught my attention. Alaric’s here. My mate is here.
“I’ll be back,” I say hesitantly, getting up. Pandora and I want our mate.
I walk through the growing crowd, looking for him. But my heart drops when I see him. He’s sitting at a table, Leyton opposite him, another guy beside Leyton, and Dharia beside him. Sitting uncomfortably close next to him.
“Mine. My mate,” Pandora growls in my head. I can’t help but agree. I stomp over there, all matter of stealthiness and light feet leaving me as my mood leans into the red.
“Hi!” I say, looking at everyone on the table.
“Hi, Evie,” Leyton greets with a smile.
“Hi, I’m Kiran,” the guy next to Leyton greets. I nod. Dharia doesn’t say anything, pushing herself closer to Alaric and making me scowl.
“Alaric, can I talk to you?” I ask, trying to restrain my anger.
“Um, yeah,” he replies, getting up. I don’t take his hand, as the action feels too uncomfortable for me, but I lead him a few metres away from the table.
“What’s going on between you and Dharia?” I ask. I’m not happy.
“She’s my friend,” Alaric says.
“And I’m your mate,” I argue. The expression on Alaric’s face hardens.
“Dharia is my friend. And has been for a long time. Don’t ask me to choose between you and her.”
“I’m…” I’m about to tell him I’m not asking him to choose, but then I realise that is what I want. I want him to choose me. I don’t want him around her.
“I don’t want you hanging around her,” I blurt out.
“Yeah, well. I’m not choosing,” Alaric gruffs back, folding his arms angrily.
“Alaric…”
“No. Not happening,” he says before turning on his heel and walking off. My chest shudders, and my breath turns cold. I stand there and watch him walk back to his table, shocked. He sits right next to Dharia, who gives me a smug look while he acts like nothing’s amiss.
Slowly, I turn around. I need to do something. Pace. Punch something. Pull at my hair. Oh goddess, what just happened? Fuck fuck fuck. Instead, I turn and head for the women’s bathrooms. I need to calm myself down, wet face, practice my breathing. One two three, in, one two three, out. With those thoughts in mind, I move.
Standing at the sink, I place both hands on the bench, counting my inhales and exhales as the tap before me runs down the sink. Once I feel calm, okay… calmer, I splash my face with water and head out of the bathroom. Me and him are good. We’re good. We have to be.
I repeat these words in my head as I veer through the crowd. I feel myself being pulled to a stop and turn to see Dharia’s hand grasping my arm.
“I don’t know why you bother,” she starts.
“What the fuck is it to you?” I ask.
“He’s mine. I’ve worked hard to get him, and I’m not letting go that easy,” she tells me.
“I’m. His. Mate,” I retort. Dharia giggles.
“His mate is dead. You might as well cut your losses now. Because skank, he’ll always choose me,” she says smugly, folding her arms. It takes me a moment to process her words, the aconitum obviously letting the alcohol do its work, but Dharia speeds off before I can react. I’m angry, but I can keep it in.
I walk over to our table and sit between Isabella and Erin. A strawberry daiquiri is waiting for me.
“We got you another drink,” Isabella explains.
“Thanks,” I reply, taking a sip. Goddess, I needed that.
“She can’t sing at all. Listen to her, her voice cracks at the top notes,” Erin complains.
“She’s not bad,” I comment. The girl is singing a song by W!llow.
“Yeah. At least she can sing, I suppose. Her mouth opens, and sound is coming out. Not like you.” Erin bites.
“Hey!” I cry.
“Hold your titties! You’re just not a very good judge because you can’t sing,” Erin scoffs.
Fuck her. Fucking bitch. Who does she fucking think she is? Fucking Adele? First fucking Dharia and then fucking her?
Before I can think, I’m off my feet, walking through the crowd in front of the karaoke stand and over to the guy running it. Dean or Dino or something.
“Hi. Can I sing a song?” I ask Dean sweetly.
“Sure,” he smiles, handing me the plastic folder. I scan the book and find a song that perfectly sums up my feelings about my life.
“This one,” I say, pointing to a song.
“You sure? It’s a big song. You need a big voice,” Dean states.
“I can sing with you if you like,” Isabella says. I’m surprised, I didn’t know Isabella was there, that she had followed me.
“No, I’m good,” I say, shaking my head.
“You sure?”
“Yup.”
“Okay…”
I watch Dean and Isabella give each other a look, but I don’t say anything.
“After this one,” Dean indicates. I nod back and wait for the girl to finish her set. When she does, the audience claps, and I stand on the stage in front of the karaoke machine. I adjust the mike to my height, as I’m taller than the human girl before me, and I nod to Dean to tell him to begin.
The music plays, and I begin singing ‘Beautiful Things’ by Benson Boone. I’m a classically trained soprano, and it thrills me to see Dean and Isabella’s shocked expressions. I change the pronouns and gender in the song to make it my own, and as I sing, I really feel the words. They resonate with my current situation, and I feel my emotions bubbling to the surface.
When I sing about being terrified to lose Alaric, the words hit me hard as I realise how much he means to me. But I feel at a loss. My link to Alaric isn’t strong, and this scares me.
“Please stay, I want you, I need you, oh god,” I sing, my voice reaching the high notes perfectly. Everyone bursts into applause, but all I can feel is the pain in my heart. A tear rolls down my face as I continue to sing. I know this song is a good choice, as it exposes my inner turmoil. My emotions shine free, raw, and unprotected.
When I sing the last word, my heart beats wildly while everyone stands before me, cheering at my success. I nod at them and hop off the stage, handing a stunned Dean my microphone.
“My Goddess!” Isabella cries, throwing her arms around me in a hug. I reciprocate, but my mood is not in it.
“Wow! You were amazing!” Isabella says, echoing the voices of the crowd around us. I smile weakly, and Isabella lets me go, her face falling slightly when she sees my expression.
“You okay?”
“I will be,” I nod. Am I okay? I don’t know. We walk back to the table, and I see Erin isn’t there, so we sit and finish our daiquiris.
“What the fuck was that?” Erin asks, plonking herself loudly in the seat next to me.
“What are you talking about?” Isabella asks.
“That fucking singing, obviously,” Erin states as if I’ve just committed a sin. I sigh.
“Erin, she was good!” Isabella defends me. I shake my head. My heart is hurting, and my shoulders feel like they’re tight and sore.
“I’m gonna go home,” I say to Isabella.
“Thank you for inviting me,” I say to them both.
“Thank you for showing me up,” Erin bitchily replies. Isabella moves to keep me still, but I shake my head.
“I’ll get my own way home,” I tell her. When she nods, I head for the bar.
As I pass Alaric’s table, I see him sitting with Dharia, her hands rubbing his shoulders. He doesn’t notice me, but she does. Dharia grins at me, and when I look at Leyton, he smiles sadly. I take in a deep breath in an attempt to shake it off and continue to the bar.
“Hey, do you have any plastic bags I can have?” I asked the female bartender. She gives me a look and walks over to Peter, who comes over to me with a smile.
“You know I can get you a courtesy ride to Silver Forest,” he states, knowing exactly why I want the bag.
“No. I’d rather not, thanks.”
“Why? I’m not that bad, am I?” Peter asks, giving me a sultry grin that makes my lips turn slightly upwards.
“You’re with someone, but no. I’d rather go for a run, if you know what I mean,” I tell him.
“I know. I heard you sing.”
