Aurora
I knew the night was going sideways the second Lily ordered a drink she couldn't pronounce.
Damn, Lily!
A few hours ago
I tug at the hem of my top and loosen my hair so it falls around my face, a small shield, a curtain I can hide behind. Tucking the stubborn strands back, I lift my eyes to my reflection again.
It doesn't cover much, but hey, as long as I don't face-plant into someone's back and turn my carefully applied makeup and red lips into a horrifying body-painting masterpiece, we're fine.
People always seem uncertain when it comes to me, as though my face asks a question they can't quite answer. I don't resemble either of my parents in any obvious way. I didn't inherit my mother's soft face, nor my father's commanding presence, only fragments of them, scattered and subtle. Somehow, those fragments are what draw the eye. At least, that's what everyone says.
My hair is my mother's. A deep mingling of midnight sky and onyx, dark enough to drink in the light instead of reflecting it, as if shadows recognize it as their own.
My eyes belong to my father. Shallow, storm-blue, the color the sea turns after a great storm has passed, quiet on the surface, unsettled beneath. People say I have his gaze, too, the same steady, unreadable look.
But I guess they're not wrong. Whenever I catch my reflection, it feels like he's staring back at me from the glass, sharp and utterly disappointed, like he knows I'm about to break every rule he built around me, and he's already bracing for it. And tonight, with my heart pounding and my plans hanging by a thread, I can almost feel his disappointment curling around my ribs.
It isn't his fault.
After a few kidnapping attempts and more than one situation that came too close to being a murder, any parent would become suffocatingly protective.
The first time, I was four, maybe five. I remember gripping the dirt like it was the last thing holding me to life, screaming my lungs raw as claws and teeth snapped too close. I don't remember their faces.
Just the terror.
Terror that was too big for a child's body, too heavy for hands that still reached for comfort in the dark. I was small enough to believe fear could swallow me whole, that if I let go of the ground, I would vanish with it.
The second time, I was thirteen. If my brother hadn't been close enough to hear me scream, I wouldn't be standing in front of this mirror right now. He was an early shifter, and most likely, they didn't expect a kid to shift. And no matter how much older I grow, some part of me is still there, clutching at the earth, braced for the moment terror remembers me back.
Long story short- that's exactly why I started doing this, slipping out at midnight with Lily, chasing moments and memories like this.
If I'm going to die, I refuse to do it without having lived first.
"Rory. Now," Lily hisses. She's bouncing on her toes at the door, eyes wide and alert, like she expects my dad to crash through any second.
I peek around the edge of the doorway, my fingers curled tight around the frame. Heart hammering so hard I'm sure it's echoing down the hallway. "Are we seriously doing this?" I whisper, barely moving my lips.
The lights downstairs are turned off, but that doesn't mean anything.
It never does.
My brothers drift in and out when it suits them. Show up when it's convenient.
My pulse thuds in my throat as I lean farther out, scanning the dark hallway. No matter how many times I've done it, every time I sneak out it feels like I'm teetering on the edge of something I can't come back from.
One final look at the corridor I look at Lily. She grins, the kind of reckless, idiot grin I both hate and love.
"You want to stay cooped up forever?" she whispers back. Her eyes shine in the dim light. Playful and daring.
Definitely not.
Anything but that.
Cooped up inside is exactly the last thing I want. I take one last look at myself and follow her out the window.
The night air hits my skin immediately. Cool but not biting anymore, softened by the damp warmth of early spring.
My chest jumps with the thrill I probably shouldn't be enjoying this much. "Don't look back. Just run," she whisper yells, the whole way.
She's already moving fast. Ever since she got her wolf, she's been lighter, quicker, almost glowing with energy.
"You know I still don't have my wolf," I hiss back, breath hitching as my lungs burn. Part running, part adrenaline, part the creeping fear that we're one wrong step away from disaster.
If Dad catches me out here, I'm done. Not in a punishment way, well, that too. He'll barricade the house, post guards at every window, and convince himself the world is out to get me.
And Mom... Moon Goddess, she'll worry herself sick. She always does. One sniffle, one scraped knee, and she's ready to declare a national emergency.
"Oh, please. You're keeping up just fine." she grins.
I catch up to her fast and flash a huge grin and lean into the run, enjoying the feeling of the burn in my muscles and the steady pull of my breath, letting the movement take me.
"Don't be such a show-off. I can kick your ass now," she teases, winking over her shoulder.
"Speaking of kicking asses...if we're late to training again, my dad will lose it," I mutter.
She rolls her eyes but doesn't argue. She knows how overprotective my family is. "Overprotective" is just a soft word for it.
It took us twenty minutes to get to the pub, twenty minutes that should have stretched to forty-five if she had obeyed every traffic light and followed the speed limit like a model citizen.
If surviving Dad's wrath isn't enough, Lily behind the wheel one day might will finish the job.
Inside the pub, the music isn't just loud, it's a full-body punch, thumping through the floor like it's trying to shake my bones loose.
I pull my hair forward, letting it curtain my cheeks, trying to disappear into the chaos. I'm pretty sure no one would recognize me here, but why risk it?
Fate has a weird sense of humor. If I do something I'm not supposed to, I'll be the one who gets caught. No matter how many people have done it before me, the universe will pick me to set an example.
"Don't hide," Lily says, tugging my hand. "No one here will recognize you. It's loud and packed. Plus, we're in other territory."
I nod and take a seat at the bar. No one seems to notice us yet, but my nerves refuse to believe it.
"Whatever the best drink you can make me!" she yells at the bartender with a flirty grin.
He looks up, startled, then his expression softens into a smile. "At your service, my lady," he says with a little bow before turning to mix the drink.
"He's adorable," she giggles, leaning into me.
"I mean... yeah," I say with a shrug.
He's cute, but not in a way that makes my heart do anything dramatic. Judging by the look on Lily's face, though, her heart is skipping entire drum solos.
Glancing at the guy once again, I steal a sip of her drink and the burn hits fast, scratching down my throat, making me let out a hiss.
Only for her to burst into laughter. "Oh my god, lightweight."
She is right. Without my wolf, alcohol doesn't stick around long, and I'm definitely not risking two shots knocking me out cold.
Not that I want to do that anyway. I have always been a light drinker. Besides that, the alpha of this territory knows my brothers. Apparently, they had trained together, grown up sparring and learning the same rules.
And that means this place isn't as anonymous as I'd like it to be. Leaning back on the barstool, I send a quiet prayer to every God.
Begging my brother not to walk through the door tonight.
Lily, of course, is glued to her phone, hunting down the prettiest drinks just so she can flex them on Instagram.
Since I've got nothing better to do, I lean back against the booth and let my eyes drift lazily across the crowd. Taking them in one by one, like a hunter tracing patterns in the brush.
It's always the same scene. Same energy, same people, just different faces. Some crying in corners, some dancing until their lungs burn.
There are so many of them, their faces blending together, laughter and murmurs washing over me, until something -rather someone- yanks my attention.
A man.
He's tucked into the far corner of the room, alone, as if he's carved out a little pocket of shadow just for himself. A black cap is pulled low over his brow, hiding most of his face.
From here, all I can make out is the sharp line of his jaw and the deliberate, controlled set of his shoulders.
In the faint light filtering toward him, his hair looks pale, light blond, maybe even white. It's hard to tell from here, especially with most of it hidden beneath the cap.
I slowly turn back, stopping myself from ogling him. If he's here dealing with illegal stuff, I definitely don't want him to know that I'm watching.
Sure, I'm a werewolf, but my wolf hasn't shown up yet and right now I'm just meat that could be taken out by anything that could hurt a human.
He isn't staring openly or trying to move at all. He just sits there with a drink he hasn't touched, his attention fixed in my direction like he's waiting for a signal only he can hear.
"Relax," Lily says, her voice cuts through the fog of my own thoughts making me startle.
I hadn't expected her to talk, and hadn't realized how lost I'd been.
I had no sense of how long we'd been sitting there, time thinning out until it barely existed at all.
The world had narrowed to the soft glow of Lily's phone, its light casting pale blue shadows across our faces, and the endless parade of drink photos she'd somehow unearthed from the deepest corners of the internet. Each one more extravagant and impossibly perfect than the last.
A few minutes later, I glance back at the corner, and the seat is empty.
Like it had never been occupied at all. I stare for a second too long, unease curling low in my stomach.
Where did he go? And why do I care?
I shake the thoughts off and turn back to Lily, letting her chatter weave through the air and fill the space where the thoughts keeps gnawing at me.
It doesn't matter. Not really.
"No one's staring. It's just your head, being paranoid again," I mutter under my breath, the words tasting faintly reassuring. Still, my skin feels tight, making the unease refuse to settle.
I need to move.
I need to break the feeling before it roots too deep.
It won't fix anything. But at least I'm moving. At least I'm pretending I have some control.
I rise slowly and make my way toward the restroom.
With each step I take, the hallway behind me seems to narrow, the noise fading with it, until the only sound that remains is the soft, hollow echo of my own footsteps.
Halfway there, the feeling hits me again.
Not as a sound or footsteps, but as the unmistakable awareness of someone behind me, and that familiar prickle blooms at the back of my skull.
Think...think...think.
I don't go any further. Instead, I turn around and head back to the booth. No need to play hero; that's exactly how people in movies end up as first victims.
I make a beeline for the seat where Lily is happily oblivious, half running, half gliding.
Oddly enough, Lily is slouched against the table, eyes heavy, words thick and sluggish with alcohol.
The edge she had earlier, and that reckless spark that made me think we could handle anything, is gone. And just like that, so is my sense of safety.
The sharp, familiar scent of damp earth and mud crawls up my nerves, suffocating from the inside.
For a moment, I can barely breathe.
I have to do something... anything... to get us out. To draw attention away from whoever I feel pressing close behind me. Because time's slipping, and if I don't move fast, we're not getting out.