Chapter 8 Fires in the Dark #2
My first instinct was to make an excuse. Parties meant crowds, and crowds meant people watching me, waiting for me to live up to or fail to meet whatever expectations they had for the Alpha's heir. Parties meant noise and chaos and all the social dynamics I'd spent three years learning to avoid.
But the text was from Nate, and saying no to Nate had become physically impossible somewhere around the time he'd trusted me with his parents and his room full of photographs and the sound of his laughter.
Evan
I'll be there.
The Old Mill at night was a different creature than the abandoned ruin I'd grown up exploring.
Someone had hauled in logs for seating, strung lights between the trees, and built a bonfire that roared high enough to cast dancing shadows across the rusted machinery.
Music thumped from a bluetooth speaker, too loud and bass-heavy, while twenty-some teenagers clustered around the flames with red solo cups.
I lingered at the edge of the clearing, wolf instincts making my skin crawl with awareness of exits and potential threats. Too many people, too much noise, too many scents all tangled together until I couldn't sort friend from stranger from rival.
“There you are,” Nate's voice cut through the chaos, warm and familiar and instantly grounding. “I was starting to think you'd chickened out.”
He appeared at my elbow with that crooked grin that made my chest do stupid things, camera hanging around his neck and hair mussed like he'd been running his fingers through it.
Which he probably had—it was a nervous habit I'd cataloged along with all the other small details that made up Nate Harrington.
“Almost did,” I admitted, raising my voice to be heard over the music.
“But you didn't.” He nudged my shoulder with his, casual contact that sent heat racing through my nervous system. “Come on, live a little. When's the last time you did something just because it was fun?”
I couldn't remember. Couldn't think of a single moment in recent memory when I'd chosen to do something purely for enjoyment instead of duty or obligation or the careful maintenance of Alpha heir image.
The realization was depressing enough to make me follow Nate toward the fire.
The next hour passed in a strange suspension of normal reality.
Nate moved through the crowd like he belonged there, snapping photos of laughing classmates and firelit faces, drawing me into conversations with people I'd barely spoken to in three years of shared classes.
He had this way of making everything feel easy, natural, like being social was just another skill he'd mastered through sheer determination and practice.
I mostly listened, contributed the occasional nod or one-word response, but even that felt like a victory. Being present instead of hiding. Existing in the same space as my classmates without feeling like I was wearing a neon sign that advertised my weirdness.
“Evan!”
A familiar voice cut through the noise, warm and bright as summer sunshine. I turned to see Sienna picking her way through the crowd, her dark hair catching firelight and her smile wide enough to power the whole bonfire.
She'd grown into herself over the past few years, the scared eleven-year-old who'd followed me and Jonah into the forest replaced by someone confident and sure of her place in the world.
Pack bonds hummed between us, that comfortable familial affection that came from years of shared secrets and mutual protection.
“There you are,” she said, settling onto the log beside me with the easy grace of someone who belonged everywhere she went. “I've been looking for you.”
Her eyes found Nate immediately, curiosity sparking in their brown depths. Sienna had always been the most socially fearless of our little pack unit, the one who could make friends with strangers and charm adults into submission without breaking a sweat.
“And you must be the famous Nate Harrington,” she continued, extending a hand toward him with a grin that could have melted glaciers. “I'm Sienna. I've heard so much about you.”
Nate shook her hand, looking slightly dazed by the force of her personality. “All good things, I hope?”
“Mostly,” Sienna said with a wink that made me roll my eyes. “Though Evan's not exactly chatty about the details.”
“Shocking revelation,” Nate said. “He keeps his cards pretty close to his chest.”
“I always have,” I said, surprising myself by joining the conversation.
Sienna laughed, the sound bright and uncomplicated.
“You nearly got yourself killed that one time,” I reminded her, memories of that terrible night when everything changed flickering through my mind like old film. “Following us to places you shouldn't have been.”
Her expression softened, understanding passing between us in the way of people who'd shared trauma and come out stronger on the other side. “But you protected me. You always protect the people you care about.”
I felt heat creep up my neck under his curious gaze.
“Evan's good people,” Sienna continued, nudging my shoulder with hers. “Quiet, but good. He's got this whole mysterious brooding thing down to an art form, but underneath all that he's basically a giant marshmallow.”
“Marshmallow?” Nate's eyebrows shot up, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Really?”
“Soft and sweet once you get past the outer layer,” Sienna confirmed with absolutely no shame. “Though he'll probably murder me for saying so.”
“I'm sitting right here,” I protested, but there was no heat in it. This was comfortable, easy in ways that most social interactions weren't. Sienna had always been good at creating space for people to just exist without pressure or expectation.
“We know,” she said cheerfully. “That's what makes it fun.”
Nate was grinning now, looking between us.
“So what's the verdict?” Sienna asked him. “Living up to expectations so far?”
“Exceeding them, actually,” Nate said, and the honesty in his voice made something warm unfurl in my chest. “Though I'm starting to think there are layers to this place I'm only just beginning to understand.”
Sienna's smile took on a knowing edge. “Hollow Pines has a way of surprising people. But stick around long enough, and you might find you like the surprises.”
The fire crackled between us, painting our faces in shifting light and shadow while conversations swirled around us like music.
For the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt like I belonged somewhere—not as the Alpha's son or the future leader, but just as Evan.
Part of something bigger than duty and expectation.
Part of a family that chose to keep me, broken pieces and all.
As the night wore on, the crowd thinned and the music got quieter.
Nate and I ended up sitting on a fallen log at the edge of the clearing, firelight painting everything in shades of gold and amber.
He'd abandoned his camera for the moment, was just sitting beside me watching sparks rise toward the stars.
“You ever think about what's next?” he asked, voice casual but thoughtful. “After all this, I mean. After high school.”
It saddened me that I couldn’t tell him that my future was already planned, mapped out in careful detail by generations of Callahan tradition.
“I don't know,” I lied, pulling out my notebook because the words were too big and too dangerous to say aloud.
Nate read my response, frowned slightly, then bumped my shoulder with his.
“You'll figure it out,” he said. “You're stronger than you think.”
“What about you?” I asked, because deflection was safer than honesty.
“Photography school, maybe. Travel.” His eyes went distant, dreamy. “I want to chase light across the world, you know? Capture moments that matter. Document stories that need telling.”
“Sounds amazing,” I managed, and meant it despite the way it felt like volunteering for my own execution.
Nate deserved the world. Deserved adventure and freedom and all the bright possibilities that existed beyond the borders of Hollow Pines. And I would never be selfish enough to ask him to give that up for someone who couldn't even say his name without his throat closing up with want.
The fire burned lower as the night stretched on, most of our classmates drifting away in pairs or small groups. Eventually it was just us and a few die-hards who were too drunk to drive home, and Nate finally stretched out on the ground beside our log with a contented sigh.
“This was nice,” he said, voice soft with exhaustion. “We should do it more often.”
“Yeah,” I said, because agreeing was easier than explaining why nights like this felt like borrowed time, stolen moments that I had no right to claim.
Nate shifted closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. In the dying firelight, with his eyes closed and his face relaxed, he looked younger than seventeen. Peaceful in a way that made my chest ache with protectiveness.
My wolf whined softly, pressing against my ribs with want that was too big for human skin to contain.
I sat frozen beside him, memorizing the moment.
The way the firelight caught in his hair, the soft sound of his breathing, the weight of trust in the way he'd let himself be vulnerable beside me.
I carved every detail into my memory with the desperate precision of someone who knew this was as close to happiness as he was ever going to get.
When Nate finally dozed off against my shoulder, I stayed still as stone. Let him use me as a pillow while I stared at the dying embers and swallowed the words that would never be safe to say.
I love you.
Stay.
Choose me.
My wolf howled silently inside my chest, mourning a bond that could never be spoken aloud. And I let the heartbreak wash over me like a tide, drowning in the knowledge that loving someone meant wanting their happiness more than your own.
Even when their happiness meant learning to live without them.
The fire burned down to ash and memory, and I sat in the darkness holding the boy I loved, knowing that this moment was as close to forever as I would ever get.
It had to be enough.
Even when it felt like dying.