Chapter 43 Vespera #2
Then the tech crew erupted. Applause from the booth, from the wings, from the handful of people in the house. Not polite appreciation. Genuine, enthusiastic response.
The work lights came up. I stood there, still in character, heart racing, completely wrung out.
De Scarzis appeared at the edge of the stage. "That," he said simply. "That right there. Tomorrow, the scouts will see that. And they'll fight over you."
"I'm terrified," I admitted.
"Good. Use it." He studied me for a long stretch. "You know what separates good performers from transcendent ones? Good performers hide their fear. Transcendent ones alchemize it into something the audience can't look away from. You did that."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"Go. Rest. Hydrate. I'll see you tomorrow for your final warmup." He paused. "And Vespera? Thank you for trusting me with this. For trusting yourself."
The pack was waiting outside the stage door when I finally emerged, street clothes back on but stage makeup still intact because I was too exhausted to care.
All three stood when they saw me. Dorian reached me first.
"I've never seen anything like that," he said, voice rough. "The scene where you broke down—I felt it. Everyone felt it."
"You made me cry," Oakley added. "In front of everyone. I'm never going to hear the end of this from Corvus."
"I didn't cry," Corvus said. "But only because I was filming."
"You cried," Oakley and Dorian said in unison.
Despite my exhaustion, I smiled. "So it worked?"
"Worked?" Dorian cupped my face, careful not to smudge my makeup. "The scouts are going to lose their fucking minds tomorrow. You're... you were extraordinary."
"I'm exhausted." The adrenaline was crashing hard, leaving me shaky and wrung out. "I need food. And to not talk about it."
"We can do that," Dorian said immediately. "Where do you want to go?"
The fact that he asked instead of decided felt like another small victory.
The diner was exactly what I needed—bright fluorescent lights, cracked vinyl booths, and greasy food that had no business being as good as it was. We'd picked up Stephanie and Robbie on the way, cramming six people into a booth meant for four.
I ended up wedged between Dorian and the wall, his thigh warm against mine, his sandalwood scent mixing with fryer grease and burnt coffee. Comforting in a way that should have been weird but wasn't.
"I'm saying," Robbie argued, stabbing a fry for emphasis, "if you can train a dog to detect cancer, you can definitely train one to detect bad dates. Think about the market potential."
"That's not how scent training works," Oakley protested from across the table, already on his second cup of coffee.
"You don't know that."
"I literally wrote a fifteen-page research paper on canine behavior and scent discrimination."
Stephanie snorted. "Of course you did."
"It was for my Animal Cognition elective—"
"Nerd," Robbie declared.
"Says the man who can recite all of Sondheim's lyrics," Stephanie shot back.
"That's art, not nerdery."
"That's literally the same thing!" She threw a wadded napkin at him.
I watched them bicker, a smile tugging at my lips despite my exhaustion. This. This was what I needed. Not careful discussion of my performance or anxious speculation about tomorrow. My people being aggressively normal at midnight in a diner that probably had health code violations.
"You're quiet," Corvus observed, his dark eyes tracking my face. He'd positioned himself at the end of the booth with a clear view of everyone—old habits from years of managing pack dynamics.
"Tired." I stole one of his fries. "And processing."
"Fair." He nudged his plate closer to me. "Eat. You barely touched dinner."
"I was too nervous to eat before dress rehearsal."
"And now you're too tired to eat after," Oakley added. "Which means you need to eat anyway or you'll crash tomorrow."
"Stop managing me," I said, but grabbed another fry.
"We're not managing," Dorian murmured near my ear, voice low enough that only I could hear. "We're taking care of you. There's a difference."
I turned to look at him. His ice-blue eyes were soft in the harsh diner lighting, all the sharp edges worn down by exhaustion and something that looked like wonder.
"You really were extraordinary tonight," he continued. "That monologue at the end—I felt it. Everyone felt it."
"You're going to make me cry in this diner."
"Please don't. Oakley will write a research paper about it."
"I would not—" Oakley started.
"You would," Stephanie, Corvus, and I said simultaneously.
Robbie raised his coffee cup. "To Vespera. Who's going to absolutely demolish the competition tomorrow and have Broadway scouts fighting over her."
"That's premature," I protested.
"That's confidence." He grinned. "The Drama Queen always wins, remember?"
"I thought I was supposed to be more humble now."
"Fuck humble," Stephanie said. "Tomorrow you walk onto that stage and you remind everyone why you're the lead. Why you earned this."
I blinked back sudden tears. "When did you get so motivational?"
"I've been watching TED Talks." She grabbed my hand across the table. "You've got this. We all know it. Now you have to prove it to the people with money."
The conversation shifted after that—Robbie's increasingly absurd anecdotes from his new job, Stephanie's dating disasters with a Beta who couldn't decide if he wanted commitment or chaos, Corvus's dry commentary on academic politics at his firm. Normal things. Safe things.
I leaned into Dorian's side and let it wash over me, bone-tired but content.
Walking back to the pack house felt different than it should have.
Autumn had properly arrived, the air sharp and cold, leaves crunching under my combat boots.
Stephanie had peeled off at her dorm with a fierce hug and whispered threats about what she'd do if I didn't kill it tomorrow.
Robbie had headed to his hotel, making me promise to text him the second curtain fell.
Now it was the four of us under streetlights, our breath fogging in the October air, and something about the night felt electric.
Maybe it was the lingering adrenaline from the performance.
Maybe it was knowing tomorrow would change everything.
Maybe it was the way Dorian's hand kept brushing mine as we walked.
Whatever it was, I felt wound tight. Restless. My skin too sensitive, my senses too sharp.
"Tomorrow changes everything," Corvus said quietly.
"Stop saying that," I muttered. "You're making it worse."
"Tomorrow terrifies me," I admitted when the silence stretched too long. "What if I freeze? What if the performance isn't as good as tonight? What if—"
"You won't," Oakley interrupted gently. "You know why? Because you're not performing for the scouts. You're performing for you. That's your secret weapon—you don't do this for validation. You do it because you have to."
"That's annoyingly insightful."
"I contain multitudes."
We reached the pack house, porch light glowing warm against the dark. Home. Still strange to think of it that way, but less strange than it used to be.
At the door, the bond pulled. That natural pack instinct to curl up together before a big day, to draw comfort and strength from proximity. My body was already responding—pulse quickening, skin warming, that low hum of want starting in my belly.
Fuck. Not helpful right now.
"Do you want company tonight?" Dorian asked carefully, reading something in my face. "Or do you need space?"
I should say space. Should go to my room, focus, sleep, wake up ready. That was the smart choice. The disciplined choice.
But I'd spent two hours channeling every emotion I had into a performance, and now my body didn't know what to do with all the energy still coursing through me.
"I don't know what I need," I admitted.
Inside, the house was quiet. Warm. Oakley moved toward the kitchen automatically—probably to make sure I had water and snacks for tomorrow. Corvus headed for his office, giving me space to decide.
Dorian lingered. Ice-blue eyes tracking my face in the dim entryway lighting.
"You're wound up," he observed.
"That obvious?"
"Your scent's sharper. Jasmine with something underneath." He stepped closer, careful. Testing. "Adrenaline crash?"
"Maybe." I swallowed. "Or maybe I spent two hours being someone else and now I don't know how to be myself again."
His hand came up to cup my face, thumb stroking my cheekbone. "You were extraordinary tonight."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true." His voice dropped lower. "Watching you on that stage, completely in your power—I've never seen anything more beautiful."
The bond hummed between us, warm and wanting. I leaned into his touch without meaning to, and his pupils dilated.
"Vespera," he said carefully. "What do you need?"
Kiss me. Touch me. Help me burn off this energy. The thoughts came unbidden, and from the way his breath caught, he could read them in my face.
"I need to focus," I said instead, even as my body betrayed me by swaying closer. "Tomorrow is—"
"Tomorrow is important." His other hand settled on my waist. "But so is tonight. So are you."
"Dorian—"
He kissed me before I could finish the protest. Soft at first, questioning, giving me room to pull back.
But the instant his lips touched mine, something in me broke open.
All the carefully controlled energy from the performance, all the fear about tomorrow, all the want I'd been pushing down—it flooded through me in a rush.
I grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, kissing him hard enough to bruise. He made a low sound in his throat and backed me against the wall, his body pressing into mine, one hand sliding into my hair.
This. This was what I needed. To remember I was alive, real, wanted—
"Get a room," Corvus said dryly from the hallway.
I broke the kiss, panting. Dorian rested his forehead against mine, breathing equally hard.
"Sorry," I managed.
"Don't apologize." Corvus's dark eyes were amused but warm. "Pointing out that the entryway probably isn't the best location."
He was right. But now I was even more wound up, body singing with want, Dorian's sandalwood scent wrapped around me like a drug.
Oakley appeared from the kitchen, took one look at us, and raised an eyebrow. "Should I make coffee or leave you alone?"
"I need to sleep," I said, even though my body was screaming the opposite. "Tomorrow—"
"Is important," all three said in unison.
I laughed, slightly hysterical. "I'm a mess."
"You're perfect," Dorian corrected. He stepped back, giving me space even though I could see it cost him. "Go to bed. We'll be here if you need us."
But I couldn't leave it like that. Couldn't kiss him like that and then disappear. It felt wrong. Unbalanced.
I crossed to Oakley first, rising on my toes to press a kiss to his cheek. Meaning it to be quick. Sweet. But he turned his head at the last second and caught my mouth instead, the kiss warm and surprisingly gentle for someone who'd watched me devour his pack leader instants ago.
"Sleep well," he murmured against my lips. "Dream of your kingdom."
Then Corvus, who I expected to dodge or make a comment. But he let me kiss him, brief and chaste, his hand coming up to steady my waist.
"You've got this," he said quietly. "Tomorrow and every day after."
I stepped back, looking at all three of them. My pack. My mates. My choice to make, every single day.
And right now, I was choosing to walk away. To focus. To be ready for the most important performance of my life.
Even though my body was screaming at me to stay.
"Goodnight," I managed.
"Goodnight, Vespera," they replied.
I made it to my room before my legs got shaky. Closed the door and leaned against it, heart racing, skin too hot, body thrumming with unfulfilled want.
Tomorrow. Focus on tomorrow.
I forced myself through the motions—washing my face, removing the last traces of stage makeup, changing into sleep clothes that felt like sandpaper against my oversensitive skin.
Tomorrow's outfit was already laid out. Professional.
Perfect. The dress I'd wear to meet scouts and maybe change my life.
On my nightstand, my mother's letter sat in its cream envelope. I picked it up, needing the grounding.
"I'm not you, Mom," I whispered to the quiet room. "I'm choosing differently. I'm choosing to stay and fight. To be bonded and free. To want them and still choose myself first."
The letter didn't answer. It never would.
But the truth of my words settled into my bones.
I looked at myself in the mirror one last time. Marks on my throat—permanent and visible. Exhaustion in my eyes. Arousal still flushing my cheeks. But also something else. Something new.
Power. Real power. The kind that came from choosing yourself every single day, even when your body was begging you to make a different choice.
"Tomorrow, I show them who I am," I said to my reflection. "Tomorrow, everything changes."
My phone buzzed. Dorian: Sorry if I made that harder. Sleep well. You're going to be extraordinary.
Me: You always make it harder. That's kind of your thing.
Dorian: Is that a complaint?
Me: Go to bed.
Dorian: Only if you do.
I climbed into bed, body still humming with want, mind racing with tomorrow's possibilities. Sleep wouldn't come easy—between the arousal and the anxiety, I was thoroughly wired.
But eventually, exhaustion won.
And when I slept, I dreamed of stages and spotlights and choosing myself over and over and over again.