After dinner, that's where the ball really picks up.
The transition is subtle at first—chairs scraping back, laughter growing louder, servants clearing plates with practiced efficiency—but the energy in the room shifts unmistakably. Music swells, the kind that vibrates in your bones, and the air thickens with perfume, sweat, and anticipation. Most of the guests haven't arrived yet; they're expected within the hour. That doesn't stop the pack members and early arrivals from indulging like this is already the peak of the night.
Some are already drunk.
Shifters don't drink like humans. Our body temperature runs warmer, our metabolism faster—we burn through liquor like it's nothing, barely catching a buzz. So witches lace our alcohol with their own brand of enchantment. A little witchy mumbo jumbo, a little magic slipped into the glass, and suddenly shifters can actually get drunk. We have a good time. They make a profit.
It's a win-win in my book.
Anyhow, the dining hall—now fully converted into a ballroom—has been dressed in light rose pink and soft tan tones. Not horrible. Actually… beautiful. The decorators outdid themselves. Quicksand flowers and varying shades of baptism blooms hang from every window, doorway, and chandelier, cascading down in delicate clusters. When the lights catch them just right, it gives the illusion that the room itself is raining petals—soft rose and pale gold drifting through the air.
It's absolutely stunning.
Too bad it's being wasted on someone rotten.
'Agreed,' Emma mumbles darkly.
As the night wears on, I find myself lingering near the edges of the room, half-hidden by a column and a trailing curtain of flowers. From here, I can watch without being watched—my favorite position. Cam is already in her element, laughing, dancing, spinning from one male to the next like she owns the night. Her joy is infectious and heartbreaking all at once.
Goddess, I'm going to miss her. What will I do without her?
I take a slow breath, grounding myself. This is for the best, Sam. You cannot go to the Herculean Pack with that she-devil. To be her what—slave? Property? An accessory she drags behind her to remind herself she's powerful?
I shudder.
The ballroom spills out into the front and back lawns, bodies crowding the open doors, music drifting into the gardens under the night sky. Still no word from the Wolf King. Seraphina, of course, is the center of attention—gliding, posing, laughing too loudly as visiting Alphas congratulate ours on having such a beautiful daughter.
Please.
A few minutes later, a rowdy-looking male staggers toward me.
He's disheveled, clothes wrinkled, hair unkempt, eyes unfocused. He sways as he walks.
Oh. He's drunk.
Lucky me.
"Hey there, beautiful."
"Uh—hi," I reply, taking an instinctive step back. The smell hits me a second later—sweat, alcohol, and something sour. I fight the urge to gag.
"Oh don't be like that, sweet thing," he slurs, words blurring together. "I came over to see if you wanted to dance. Maybe a little bit… in private?"
He steps forward again, invading my space. My skin crawls.
"Uh, no."
I place my hand against his chest to push him back, but he grabs my wrists instead and yanks me toward him. It happens so fast I barely process it. Suddenly his mouth is on mine—wet, forceful, unwanted.
I freeze for half a heartbeat, shock slamming through me—
Then panic hits.
I try to shove him away, but he's heavier than he looks, body pressed tight against mine, my arms pinned awkwardly. I turn my head, twisting, trying to escape his face.
"GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU CREEP!" I shout—though with the music pounding, it probably comes out as little more than a desperate gasp.
I thrash, nails scraping against his sleeves, searching for leverage.
"Oh, sweet thing, don't fight," he chuckles thickly. "It makes me hornier."
I gag. I think I actually threw up a little in my mouth.
"Anyways," he continues, oblivious, "why not give me a taste? We're to be mated."
My stomach drops straight through the floor.
Mated?
"What—what did you just say?" My voice trembles with fury and disbelief.
"Oh, see, Daddy!" a familiar, cruel voice sings out behind him. "She wouldn't be angry at all! She looks like she's having fun!"
Seraphina.
I shove the man off the moment he loosens his grip, stumbling back, heart pounding.
"Get off me, you perv!" I scream.
"Oh, don't act like we didn't just see you enjoying your future mate, Samantha," Seraphina coos.
"Enjoying?" I whirl on her, shaking with rage. "He was forcing himself on me! And whose mate? I don't have a mate! What the hell are you talking about?"
My face burns, humiliation flooding my veins. The man—Gregory, apparently—stands just beside Seraphina now, smirking. Behind her, Alpha Jered and Luna Vasti approach, wearing placating smiles that make my skin crawl.
"Well, darling," Luna Vasti says smoothly, pointing at the man like she's presenting a gift, "when you move with Seraphina to the Herculean Pack, you'll be mated with Gregory here."
I don't even look at him.
My blood roars in my ears. Emma is snarling so violently inside me I can barely think.
I open my mouth to protest—to scream, to refuse, to say I'm not going anywhere—
But Alpha Jered cuts in.
"Sam," he says calmly, "we're honoring your parents by ensuring you have a future. A stable one. This way, you'll be taken care of, and we'll know you won't be able to…"
He trails off.
"Run away," Seraphina finishes sweetly, eyes gleaming.
My vision blurs.
Honoring my parents?
I have a medical degree. I can work anywhere. Any pack. Any human hospital. This isn't protection. This is ownership.
They turn away smiling, as if they've done me a favor.
Gregory lingers just long enough to murmur, "Too bad I can't taste you now. Guess waiting will make it worth my while."
Then he leaves too.
I'm shaking.
I need to leave.
I need to leave now.