Howl (Lost Moon: Unravelling Monsters Universe #2)

Chapter 7

7

brONTE

W est looks both polished and devastatingly handsome in his tux. He stands in the door to the suite, holding it open for me. “Ready?”

“Yes.” I step through into the hallway, feeling only slightly wobbly in my heels. I’m not used to impractical shoes, and the carpet underfoot doesn’t help. He sees it, his lips quirking in the barest hint of a smile that somehow reads as I’m laughing at you , and offers me his hand. I glare at him and he does let out one of his unexpected laughs, face transforming for a moment.

“I feel like your pride is going to suffer tonight until you wear those in,” he says as I take his hand, our fingers interlacing as if we’ve done this a thousand times before, the tiny gesture of intimacy setting off a familiar ache in my heart, the one that’s been there from the moment I saw him in my vision weeks ago. “I was half in love with you already,” I’d admitted to him in the night, and I’m still a little mortified at how easily I said those words.

“Do we have to go?” I ask on a whim.

He huffs out another laugh. “You’re asking this now, after you got all dressed up? What would be the alternative?”

We’re already halfway down the hall and I stop, forcing him to as well. He turns to me, his hand slipping out of my grasp only to grab at my waist, pulling me closer, until I’m flush up against him, the thick bar of his cock pressing against my hip. I close my eyes with a whimper and slide my hands under the back of his suit jacket, feeling the solid muscle of his back through the fabric of his shirt. I shift ever so slightly until his erection, trapped in his pant leg, sits hard against my core. “I think you know,” I say, daring to open my eyes again.

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine, so that all I see is the brown of his glamoured eyes. “I want nothing more than to fuck you,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down to the curve of my ass, gripping me harder against him. “And I’m going to, tonight.” His lips ghost along my jaw as I tilt my head, offering my neck, acting shamelessly submissive for this alpha. “I’m going to knot you again and again, until your pussy is so full of my cum that you’ll be dripping for days,” he whispers in my ear, his fingers digging into my flesh, and I don’t know why I find such filthy words so damn good . Wet and aching. That’s all I ever am around West.

He takes my earlobe between his teeth and I break out in goosebumps, digging my fingers into his back, rubbing up against him. He groans, sounding pained, his lips descending on my neck in an open-mouthed kiss, the swipe of his tongue against my flesh making me whimper again. “West.” There’s desperation in my breathy tone.

“If I kiss you, this evening’s all over before it’s even begun,” he says while kissing my neck. “ Fuck , I want to kiss you, smudge that lipstick, see those pretty lips around my cock.”

“Yes. Oh goddess, yes.”

He sets his teeth against my throat and I suck in a sharp breath. Nothing has ever felt this good before and we haven’t even removed a single item of clothing. We’re not even in our true forms, but he still manages to growl deep enough that I find myself begging without any sense of the woman I’m supposed to be. “Please.”

“I want to. I want to so badly, Bronte, you don’t understand.”

“I think I do,” I say. His hand catches my wrist before I can reach his cock, and he hums against my neck, amused.

“You are trouble . You want to follow up on your stone, don’t you? I could beg Anita for forgiveness. She would understand if I told her I’d just met my fated mate; these things are never planned. But she’s your best bet. If someone is trying to sell that stone, which we know is a possibility, then she’s the one who can have ears to the ground over it.”

He’s right. I take a step back, embarrassed because I forgot , too caught up in the scent and feel of him and the simple desire to ride his cock. My chest heaves with each breath, my cheeks growing hot under West’s hungry gaze as he adjusts himself in his pants.

Tonight is going to be torture. I don’t know how we’re going to get through a dinner, when both of us are running this hot for each other. If he wanted to lift my skirt and fuck me here in the hallway right now I’d probably let him.

The graphic image that thought conjures has me clearing my throat and turning away from him in an attempt to compose myself. “We should go.”

“We should. The car is waiting.”

In the elevator, I busy myself with checking the fit of the fabric around my breasts, making sure that the strapless design is still sitting as it should. Mister I’m not romantic somehow managed to procure a near-perfect replica of Vivian’s red dress from Pretty Woman — a nod to our conversation yesterday — and while his thoughtfulness had brought tears to my eyes as he slowly zipped me into it, I’m not used to wearing something in this style.

I catch his gaze as I smooth my hands over the fabric in one final brush, and it’s as if time stands still. There’s nothing else in the universe but us here in this moment. This is my mate. I feel it in my bones, as true as the fact that the moon orbits the Earth and the Earth orbits the sun. We will orbit each other until the day we die. I don’t see how it can be any other way.

I also don’t see the logistics of how we are going to make it work. We’re two very different wolves from two very different realms, and there’s no simple way to reconcile that fact. I don’t like losing control of a situation, but I’m finding that I don’t want to argue with fate here, and it scares me that I am so very close to throwing all caution into the wind in favour of this. This passion, this burning desire, this urge to bare my soul for this stranger of a man.

The elevator slows to a stop, and West holds out his hand. “Ready?”

Our fingers lace together once more, a sense of rightness washing over me.

“Yes.”

Never act like prey.

I keep my grandmother’s mantra at the forefront of my mind as we set foot in the venue’s lobby. The shifters present immediately give themselves away with their reactions to my scent. It’s impressive, really; the humans here remain oblivious, but I see the flared nostrils and deepened frowns, and the expressions that range from mildly amused, to surprised, to scandalised when they realise there’s a werewolf here among them.

West sees it too. He took my hand the moment I stepped out of the limousine, and his grip hasn’t loosened in the minutes since then. We don’t hang around with the rest of the arriving crowd, who are already being served champagne and hors d’oeuvres, but instead head straight for the main event space. “I see why you insisted on eating on the ride here,” I murmur, my heels clacking on the marble floor as we walk down a well-lit corridor. “Less mingling.”

“Hm. I don’t want to talk to even a single person more than absolutely necessary tonight.”

We round a final corner and step into a huge space that’s decked out in glittering decorations. There’s a single shifter just inside the wide doorway — a big burly man — and West nods at him. “I’m meeting Anita.”

“She’s expecting you.”

I look around, taking in the sea of round tables set before a stage, where a lone performer stands singing into a microphone, and a dance floor at the far end. The room is almost completely devoid of guests.

“There she is,” West murmurs in my ear, before lifting his hand in a brief wave in the direction of a distant table. The woman he’s referring to waves back, and I can only presume that she’s the famous Anita, alpha of the largest shifter pack in this country, a super-pack with well over a thousand members. She’s the one that runs this gala.

I’m proven right as we approach. “I’ve never been more grateful that the rest of these bastards are such lazy fucks,” West says quietly. “It gives us a chance to speak with Anita alone without me having to manufacture a moment later tonight.”

“I thought she’d have more people around her.”

“You mean enforcers?” I can tell he’s testing me and my knowledge of shifters by the glint in his eye, and I nod, aware that we’re nearly within earshot. I feel more self-conscious about the fact that I’m a werewolf than I thought I’d be.

“They’re here.” West nods his head in the direction of the stage. “For starters, the kid singing is one of them.”

The kid looks close to my age. Early twenties, I’d guess. He’s tall, but lacks the muscular bulk that many wolves have. “He is not.”

“He is. Don’t underestimate him; Logan can do more than just sing Sinatra. He’s got a mean streak a mile wide.”

“Isn’t that what they say about you?” I tease. It’s meant to be a joke, but West simply shrugs.

“There’s a lot of things that people say about me. I don’t give a shit, unless it impacts myself or the pack in some material way. Or you, of course. But you’re right. I’m not known for being a nice guy.”

Anita steps forward, her blue eyes darting between West and I, a curious look on her face. There’s two humans at the table now — wait staff, I realise — laying out last-minute decor. I spare them only a quick glance; Anita’s scent strikes me, for some reason jolting loose a memory I’d long forgotten, of following a group of adults down the carpeted aisle in the Great Hall, my grandmother’s voice echoing in the open space.

“Weston. I’ve been looking forward to meeting the mystery woman who bumped Nathan off our table. You could give me a little more warning than the day of next time.” Her voice is strong, carrying the same authoritative air as West’s, and I can already sense the subtle alpha magic that rolls off of her. In glamour — and heels — she stands taller than me, her hair bleached blonde and pulled back into an elaborate up-do. She’s older, though it’s impossible for me to tell her true age; I still don’t have a full grasp on how the glamour interacts with lifespan length in this realm, since I’ve never had to pay proper attention to it before.

“I couldn’t, actually. Anita, this is my wife, Bronte.”

“Your wife. ” Her brows rise until they disappear behind her fringe. “I didn’t know you were married , Weston.”

She’s surprised, but not disapproving, relief mixing with the thrill I feel in hearing the words my wife roll off West’s tongue, despite the fact that we’re not yet married, and marriage is a relatively rare occurrence among werewolves in the First, and not at all part of my culture. I suppose it’s all the romantic comedies I’ve been watching lately; I’m being influenced by humans more than I realised.

“It’s new,” West adds. The human wait staff move away, and we all watch them for a moment. “It’s fated, Anita,” he says quietly as soon as there’s no risk of them listening in. “We only met yesterday.”

“You’re kidding.” Anita stares at me, and I shake my head. “Bronte, you said? You wouldn’t happen to be the Bronte, would you?”

“I wouldn’t know who that is,” I reply, but I’m unable to keep the smile off my face. “I wasn’t aware people were paying that much attention to the goings on of a House in the First.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you are . I’ve met you before; you were a little girl, you probably don’t remember. Your grandmother is… difficult , to say the least, but I was part of a delegation invited to Lykia. The first shifters to set foot in that castle in over a hundred years.”

I had forgotten, but as soon as she says the words I’m transported back. I was five, and it was the first time I ever met a shifter. My parents had been nervous. My grandmother had been her usual self. And Anita… “I remember you,” I say, staring at her. “I do remember you now.” She’d had dark hair and bright yellow eyes that day, and had spoken kindly to me. “I can’t remember what we spoke about.”

“We talked about today ,” she says, eyes wide.

“ What? ” A chill runs down my spine, and West’s hand grips mine tighter as he stares at me.

“You were a sweet little girl with a very obvious talent for magic, and it was clear your grandmother was already training you. You took me on a tour of the witches’ garden, with the guards watching us the entire time of course, and you told me you’d meet me again someday. Your exact words were, When I’m a big girl, I’m going to see you at a big party with lots of wolves like you. You know, I’ve sat on that knowledge for twenty years, that the heiress of House Maheras can see the future. I’ve been wondering when you’d show up, and with who , because I assumed you’d have to be on the arm of someone to get you through the door.” Her eyes grow wide. “I’m guessing your grandmother doesn’t know about you two yet. Does she even know you’re here?”

I shake my head again in disbelief, ignoring her questions. “I don’t remember that. I don’t… It could have been drivel, you know. Just silly things a little girl said.” Even as I say it I know it’s not true; there was a patch in my childhood when I saw things all the time. I never paid much attention to any of them, pushing them out of mind because I always found the experience strange.

Anita’s lips purse for a moment, looking between the two of us thoughtfully. “But it wasn’t, was it?” she asks. “I could tell. We alphas can sense magic better than the average wolf, and it was rolling off you in waves. Besides, I always know when someone is telling the truth. I was right. Here you are, Bronte Maheras, all grown up and in the flesh, and apparently mated to one of my allies. I can see I’ve blown your mind, Weston. There’s a bar just there, if you need a stiff drink.”

“I’ll get one later. What I need is to speak to you. About these werewolves, coincidentally.”

West has only just finished explaining a very simplified version of the last 24 hours when Anita glances over his shoulder and says, “We’ve got company,” quietly, her voice full of warning. “ You ,” she adds, giving me a pointed look, “are going to tell me more, later . Weston, I think it’s best if she sits between us at the table. I can’t decide if the both of you are brave or foolish, attending as a couple tonight.”

“They can deal with it,” West says darkly, his arm wrapping around my waist as we turn to face the crowd coming through the door. “We’re going to be attending every year.” The room fills quickly, the scents of shifters, humans, and the odd other species growing thick in the air.

He presses his lips to my ear. “I should have fucked you before we came here,” he murmurs, quiet enough that no one else will hear. “Should have left you dripping with me; scent marked you. My wolf is pissed I haven’t staked my claim.”

“I tried to encourage you,” I tease back.

“I don’t need encouraging. I just need a clear schedule. We can always leave early. Here they are now,” he adds, his tone no longer playful. “They’re all alphas, bar the man at the back with the badly-healed nose. He’s Elliot’s second.”

The group he’s referring to are our company for the evening; the alphas welcomed into Anita’s inner circle. West gave me a rundown of the dinner company we’d have on the car ride here, and has also explained the gala to me in more detail; Anita hosts the annual event, with the official human purpose being to raise funds for a different charity each year. The event’s true purpose is to get over two hundred shifters — many of them alphas — under the same roof. With an additional two hundred human attendees, it’s a way to force the alphas to network where they have to behave without getting their hackles up at each other, lest they give away their true nature.

These shifters are no different to the ones we passed in the lobby earlier, their reactions to my scent almost comical at this point. “I’m going to get really sick of all the stares by the end of the night,” I mutter, noting the way people from other tables turn to stare at me. Anita positions herself on my other side, plastering a smile on her face. “Hello,” she greets the small group that reaches our table. “Fancy seeing you all here. Come, take a seat. Have you met Weston’s wife?

“His wife? ”

“My wife, yes.” West is solid and reassuring at my side as I smile, girding myself to be Mrs Livingston for the evening.

“Look at these bozos. They think he’s in charge,” Anita mutters in my ear, pointing with her fork to the group of humans talking to her mate near the bar, a handsome older man with silver hair and a genuine smile. I liked him immediately when we were introduced, but he’s barely sat with us throughout the evening, having been pulled away by various groups to talk business.

Like West, Anita is a very wealthy alpha, with her mate acting as CEO of a conglomerate that owns vast portfolios of commercial properties. “I still get pissed off that humans are so fucking sexist,” she adds, quiet enough that none of the humans in question can hear. “That’s why the company is all under him, even though he’s nothing more than a damn puppet for me.”

Across the table, Elliot, one of the other alphas present, laughs. “Give the man at least a little credit, Anita. He’s in the office nine to five, week in and week out.”

“That is a lie, and, you know as well as I do that what we do is harder. How many in your pack now?” she asks, whispering the last few words.

“Four-fifty.”

“Four hundred and fifty,” she repeats. “That’s a lot in your head at once. Try twelve hundred, and then tell me again that my husband works hard. He does, but I promise you, I deserve a fucking medal for what I put up with. And then I have to deal with all you lot every year.”

“You’re the one that runs this thing,” Karen, another alpha, laughs. “You don’t have to, you know.”

“I do, actually. If I don’t, no one will, and there’ll be a time when we need to have this network. Things are always moving, especially in the other place. We’re stronger together. These ties are important.”

The night progresses without any drama. A raffle is drawn, the auction items announced and small pamphlets detailing all the luxury goods and travel distributed to the tables. West and I flick through one of the booklets together, my finger stilling over a picture of golden sand, blue water, and lush green forest. Item 5: Luxury trip for two to New Zealand, it reads.

“Do you want it?” he asks quietly, and I nod, feeling a strange warmth in my chest. I only have a vague understanding of where New Zealand is, but it looks lovely, and it feels nice to plan something like this for our joint future.

“Good. We’ll get it.”

“I thought it was an auction. There’s no guarantee.”

“We’ll get it.”

There’s a small lull in the conversation as the plates are cleared away by the wait staff, and I make the mistake of looking up and directly into Elliot’s gaze. Of all the alphas present, he’s the one that sets alarm bells ringing in my head, though I don’t know why. Inside, my wolf snarls, making her wariness of him known.

“What’s your surname, Bronte? I don’t think I caught that before.”

I smile at him while simultaneously leaning my body into West’s side. “Livingston,” I say without missing a beat, and I hope I’m giving off the giddy newlywed vibe that West and I had discussed before we came here tonight. We’d both decided it was best that I don’t use the Maheras name with this crowd.

“Right,” Elliot nods. “And where are you from, Mrs Livingston? ”

I smile again, but I can tell my expression is tight. “Somewhere very far away.”

“I figured. Let me tell you a little bit about where I'm from. You ever been to Florida?”

I shake my head.

“You should visit sometime. Make him take you; a young thing like you would enjoy the theme parks, I’m sure.”

Out of my periphery I see West pause for the briefest moment, his glass not quite touching his lips, before he resumes taking a sip of his whiskey. So he caught that dig at my age, too.

“Anyway,” Elliot continues, his tone casual and his eyes hard, “I’m from a small town along the northern border with Georgia, and nothing much happens in that place, but it’s got one big attraction: an animal sanctuary. It brings in all the tourists. You know why? Because they’re experimenting. Making freaks. ’Cause you know, a big cat is a big cat, right? A cat is a cat, a reptile is a reptile, a canine is canine. Surely you can breed them together — that’s their logic. So they put a male lion in with a tigress and out comes a litter of ligers, and they’re big motherfuckers, much bigger than the parents, but they’re all sterile. They did the same with their wolves. Put different subspecies together.”

“Elliot, that’s enough,” Anita interjects as West’s free hand finds mine under the table, gripping tightly. To everyone else, West is still just casually swirling his whiskey around in his glass, seemingly unbothered, but I can feel just how tense he is beside me.

“They came out fine ,” Elliot adds, and for the briefest moment I begin to give him the benefit of the doubt — that he's not using some zoo as an analogy for my relationship with West. Then he opens his mouth again, and it becomes abundantly clear that this man is the biggest asshole that I have ever met. “But you know, people don’t want wolves that act like wolves all the time, so they thought well , they’d mix them with dogs , and that’s what they’ve done. Made little mutt puppies. And they’re cute as hell, and when they grow up you know they all look like true wolves in that first generation, but that doesn’t mean shit, because they’re tainted. They’re mutts. And you can tell that breeding the two together is a bad idea.” He leans back in his chair, turning his gaze towards West, and I have the sudden urge to claw that smarmy smile right off his face. “Just ’cause it’s a canine doesn’t mean a true wolf should fuck it, that’s all I’m saying. All you’ll ever get is weak as shit mutt puppies.”

How dare he.

My nails dig into the back of West’s hand as I squeeze him as equally tight as he does to me. The entire table seems to be holding a collective breath, their eyes on West and I, waiting for us to react. West is as still as I’ve ever seen him, his expression cold and dangerous , and I’m certain that like me, he’s thinking of all the ways to kill a man. I’ve never wanted bloodshed as much as I do now, my wolf feeding me thoughts of biting through that bastard’s neck, feeling the crunch of shattered bone between my teeth.

Of course, the waitstaff choose this moment to circle back to our table, this time with more wine. “No thank you,” I say, placing my hand over my glass, my eyes still trained on Elliot. If we were in the First Realm I’d be setting that smug bastard’s chair on fire right now. How dare he call me a dog , call my future children mutts . I feel sick, and worse, I can’t think of a damn thing to say back to him that will encompass how fucking angry I am.

“Do you have a death wish?” West asks, still staring at Elliot, his question so casually spoken, as if he is simply asking whether Elliot prefers tea or coffee.

Elliot’s smile grows wider, a wolfish grin if ever I saw one, despite the fact that his teeth are blunt under glamour. “You trying to start a pack war? Mine outnumber yours four to one.”

“I’m not starting anything. I’m asking a simple question.”

“That’s enough .”

Anita’s words may be quiet, but I feel the alpha bark behind them — her magic stronger than I’ve ever felt from a shifter before — and so does the rest of the table. In fact, I think the entire room felt it; it certainly feels as if that many shifters are now staring in our direction. The magic won’t bind them like it would if they were members of her pack, but the message it sends is loud and clear.

Elliot moves first, pushing his chair back and rising from his seat. “I need a beer,” he announces. “And a reprieve from looking at Weston’s ugly mug. Nice to meet you, Mrs Livingston ,” he adds with a smile that looks more like a grimace. “You sure picked a good one.”

I can sense the quiet anger rolling off West, but it’s not just him. Every other alpha at this table is on edge. It’s lucky the room is filled with humans.

“He’s not worth it, Weston,” Anita says as Elliot saunters away. “Listen to your elder when I tell you, it’s never worth it.”

I'm relieved when Elliot doesn't return to our table, instead finding a seat somewhere on the other side of the ballroom as the auction begins. The tense atmosphere that has existed at our table ever since the incident dissolves as bidding starts in earnest, with Anita finding herself in a bidding war over a large painting by a prominent local artist. She loses, acting sad, but part of me wonders if she was simply driving up the price of the auction item on purpose.

When the fifth item is announced, with the MC reading through a detailed list of all the things that the luxury two week vacation in New Zealand entails, West raises his hand immediately, his other hand rubbing my thigh under the table as he bids the starting price of five thousand dollars. A second later, he's outbid by someone from across the room. I already know who it will be before I look, and a quick glance confirms that it's Elliot, raising the price by two grand.

“What a fucking idiot,” West mutters, raising his hand again. “Ten thousand!”

“Fifteen thousand!”

“You don’t have to —” I begin, but he doesn’t listen, his hand tightening his grip on my thigh.

“Thirty thousand!” he calls out.

It’s not even worth that much!

“Forty thousand!”

“Fifty thousand dollars!” There’s silence from the other side of the room, and West smirks, leaning into my ear. “If he bids any more, he’ll be dipping into his pack’s money. The fucking bastard doesn’t have that much; he went bankrupt in ’87. It was irresponsible of him to bid in the first place.”

I have to admit, it may be petty but it feels good to rub this win in that asshole’s face. When the hammer comes down with a loud “ Sold! ” and a round of applause, I know the entire room is watching us. The way I place my hand on West’s cheek, turning his face towards me, is as deliberate as all the money he just spent.

“Congratulations,” I say softly, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth, making my point, staking my claim. His skin is soft under my lips, the scent of him filling my head. I hum with happiness, pulling back and rubbing at the smudge of lipstick I left with my thumb, giggling as he turns his head quick enough to catch it with his teeth.

“Get a room already,” Anita mutters. I smile, ignoring everything but the man in front of me.

There’s a break halfway through the auction for dessert. A sweaty human man comes to speak to West about business, the smell of him turning my stomach, and I excuse myself, going in search of the ladies’ room. I find it down an offshoot of the corridor we entered through.

The bathroom is empty, and I linger a little longer than necessary, reapplying my lipstick and simply enjoying the peace and quiet away from the chatter and the oppressive fog of perfume and cologne. West had warned me about how strong the scents of humans would be tonight, that I wouldn’t be used to it, but I hadn’t quite believed him.

I sigh, squaring my shoulders before pulling open the heavy bathroom door. I’ve barely taken three steps back down the corridor when a familiar falling sensation rushes over me, and all I can do is press my hand to the wall and hope that I remain upright as —

I walk barefoot over bright green grass. This isn’t Lykia, that’s for sure; it’s far too green, the sweet air too floral above the smell of salt and seaweed from the ocean below. If this is the First Realm, I’ve never been to this area before. I look around, noticing the rows upon rows of grapevines behind me.

A vineyard.

The sun shines warm on my back and the scent of other wolves is thick in the air. My wolf is surprisingly unbothered by whoever they are, though I’ve never smelled them before. A shifter and a were; the scent of both species seems strangely blended together.

There’s a house here that feels familiar, and I climb the wooden staircase that leads onto outdoor decking. I hear a man’s voice before I see him, and when I do lay my eyes on him my breath catches in my throat. Tall and tanned, shirtless and barefoot, he has his back to me as he holds a small black rectangle to his ear.

It’s West.

I blink and realise it’s not West at all. This man looks so similar to my mate, down the the bulk of his muscular frame, but of course he’s not him. He smells nothing like West, his skin is slightly darker, and his hair near-black rather than brown. He’s the wolf I scented, I realise, not two wolves at all but one, a werewolf and shifter combined. A hybrid.

My wolf is so happy to see this man, radiating love at being in his presence. My baby , she says while I stand frozen. He turns towards me with a friendly smile, holding up one finger as he speaks into his device. It must be a phone, but it’s so much smaller than I’ve ever seen before.

“Hey, thanks again, I appreciate it, but I’ve got to go. My mom just got here.”

His mother. His mother .

I glance around, but there’s no one here but myself, no other scent on the wind that blows up from the ocean below this house. I stare blankly out at a sea I don’t recognise, at the city across the water and its foreign skyline, trying to process his words and the knowing in my gut and in my wolf. When I turn back around he’s pocketing the small device, concern crossing his handsome face.

He looks so much like West, but I can see me in him too. He’s not in glamour, and his gold eyes are the exact same shade as mine.

“You okay, Mom?”

Mom. I’m Mom.

I nod. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

I nod again, fighting the burning sensation at the back of my throat and eyes, blinking and willing myself not to cry because this is my son , and he’s perfect. I look him over — he’s just as tall as his father, his shoulders just as broad. My eyes focus in on the silver scar on his shoulder; twin crescents, a perfect bite. “You have a mate,” I say without thinking.

He stares at me for a moment. “Okay, you’re officially beginning to worry me,” he says, already pulling the little black rectangle back out of his grey pants. “Sit down. I’m going to call Dad.”

“No, I’m —”

I gasp, heart racing as I’m thrust back into the real world. That was my son. This time I don’t hold back the tears, by vision blurring and my heart aching. I wanted more time! I wanted more time with him, with my son who doesn’t even exist here.

Yet. He doesn’t exist yet, but he will.

I don’t understand how , but I already love him. This must be what it’s like when pups are born and suddenly people are so enamoured by their children. I shake my head. I didn’t know he existed, but now everything has changed. I sniffle, letting out a small, unhinged laugh, because of course fate and magic are continuing to mess with me, throwing me both a mate and a son in the span of a single day.

I don’t have a choice in any of it, do I? I close my eyes, breathing deep, realising that I don’t really care at this point where fate ends and my own decisions begin. I’ve seen enough already to know the future I want.

“Bronte Maheras.”

I jump at the deep voice, recognising it as Elliot’s second, the shifter with the broken nose that I was introduced to earlier. I’ve been so caught up in my own thoughts that I didn’t even notice his approach. “Yes?”

He shakes his head, his smile ugly and cruel. “I knew it. I knew you had to be that Maheras bitch.” It’s all the warning I get before he’s on me, shoving me hard against the wall, pain blooming instantly at the back of my head. His hand is around my throat as he pushes his whole weight against me, choking me, trapping me, the shock of it all leaving me frozen in fear as he sneers in my face. “I’m doing the universe a favour, getting rid of you here.”

Fight him , my wolf snarls. Use magic!

Magic. Magic.

Fight!

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe, but I’ll be damned if I let this pig of a man kill me. Fire, I think, deliberately conjuring the image in my mind. Burn him.

He’s wrenched away from me before I can draw my magic out, and I sag to the floor, a panicked sob escaping me before I can rein it in, watching as West’s fist meets the pig’s nose with a sickening crunch. Over and over, my mate pummels the man, each punch a heavy thud, punctuated by the odd kick to the gut.

Red blood splatters on the white marble floor. He’s going to kill him. The thought feels far away, observational. West is so efficient in his brutality, his fury somehow cold, every blow intentional. He’s done this before.

“Stop.” My ears are ringing, and I can hardly hear my own voice. “Stop.” I’m on my feet, reaching out. “Stop.” A hand on my mate’s shoulder, as if that alone will end the violence. “Stop. Please.”

He does stop with a final kick, and the man lays still on the floor, bleeding from both nostrils, his face rapidly swelling into a red, unrecognisable mess. His breathing is shallow, but I bend to touch his chest briefly and confirm with magic that no , he’s not dying, and for that I’m relieved.

“You should have let me kill him,” West says darkly. He’s breathing heavily, opening and closing his fists, a wild look in his eyes as he stares down at the man. “He touched you.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

“Your neck is bruising.” His face contorts in a snarl, as if his wolf is trying to force his way out, despite the glamour that traps him inside. “I heard what he said. He said… I should —”

“No. I don’t want his blood on my hands. West, what are we going to —”

I’m interrupted by the sound of multiple pairs of feet. Anita rounds the corner first, flanked by a number of men. I recognise the singer from the start of the evening — an enforcer, West had said.

“Weston, what the hell happened here?”

“He attacked my mate.”

“What the fuck is going on?!” I recognise Elliot’s voice immediately, and a moment later he’s pushing past Anita’s pack members, a murderous look in his eye as he takes in the scene. “You fucking piece of shit,” he spits at West.

“He attacked my mate,” West repeats.

“Your mate . Your mate? This fucking werewolf cunt? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

“Keep it down, ” Anita warns. “We’ve closed the doors but I want to remind you we are still in a public space.”

“You sent your second after my mate, Elliot. He threatened to kill her. I should have his head.”

“You’re not having shit . I should beat the shit out of you.”

The man on the floor groans in pain as he begins to regain consciousness, but no one makes a move to help him, including his irate alpha, who is now standing face-to-face with my mate, snarling obscenities about me. West is an inch taller, but Elliot is broader, and both men look like they’re about to snap. I look to Anita, but she’s simply observing, and it’s obvious that this is something we’re not meant to interfere in.

“I’m going to kill you, Weston. You and that werewolf bitch. I’ll kill you both. I’ll do the universe a favour.”

“Go ahead and try.”

It’s an impasse, neither alpha throwing the first hit because they know what that’ll mean. The repercussions would be huge, I imagine.

I’m sick of this. My neck aches, I’ve been attacked and insulted, and we’re stuck here. I’m done , and suddenly, I know exactly what to do to end it.

The spell to remove the glamour is a simple one. I’ve used it so many times in the past day, I don’t need to even say it out loud at this point. Remove the glamour, I think in the ancient tongue, focusing only on West and I, restore us to our true forms.

There’s not enough stretch in my dress, the seams tearing a little as I grow taller. My shoes are now too small, and I kick them off, relieved to be in bare feet. West ditched his jacket at some point in the evening, and now fills his white shirt until the fabric is straining around the bulk of his muscles, his shoulders now much broader than Elliot’s as he towers over the man. He growls , and for the briefest moment fear flashes through Elliot’s eyes.

Don’t shift, I plead silently. Don’t shift. Just get me home. I can see the slight tremble in West’s hands, and know he’s probably working hard to hold his wolf back. If he sets him free, I have no doubt that Elliot is a goner, and although I wished for that earlier, I don’t actually want that level of violence. Not today.

I step forward, until I’m standing beside my mate. “We’ll be going now,” I say to Anita, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on me.

“There are humans out there. You can’t leave looking like this.”

I nod. “We’ll keep our heads down. There’s ways to hide in plain sight; not all glamour spells have to change your body.”

She looks over the both of us. “I suppose that’s easy for a witch like you,” she says, envy clear in her voice.

There’s no point denying it. “Well, I am a Maheras,” I say with a shrug, placing my hand on West’s shoulder. “Time to go, darling.”

He hasn’t stopped staring at the man before him. Intimidating and deadly; I’d sensed it last night, but it’s been eye-opening to see this side of West. I don’t know what it says about me that I’m not at all bothered by it.

Part of me even loves it. He moves fast, shocking Elliot with a punch to the gut, growling as the smaller man doubles over with a wheeze. “Call my mate a cunt again and you will die,” he snarls in Elliot’s ear and the first thought through my mind is I’m going to fuck that man so hard.

He turns his head to look at me, his long, dark lashes framing his amber eyes. I could spend the rest of my life staring into them.

“Ready?” I ask, holding out my hand.

He nods, lacing his fingers with mine.

We walk quickly and quietly out of the venue, shrouded in an invisible cloak of magic, and not a single human notices that we are wolves.