Chapter 15
Next Saturday, Lorenzo took Charlie to a wedding.
The bride and groom were both werewolves, but so far Charlie had found the affair to be indistinguishable from a human wedding—a very expensive one.
They were back in the same clearing where the werewolf prom had been, but it was almost unrecognizable, save for the identical, breathtaking view of the town spread out below them.
Where the prom had been decorated like a low-budget music video with twinkling lights and streamers, the wedding was pure opulence: panel-glass floors covered the grass and earth, enormous stage lights had been affixed to trees all around the clearing, and in the center of it all, a circular black marble podium was dressed for the ceremony, surrounded by hundreds of delicate, spindly white chairs. It felt elegant and muscular.
And it all glowed under the light of an extremely full moon.
Lorenzo had assured him—multiple times—that they would leave well before the moon reached its zenith.
Apparently all inter-pack weddings ended with a communal run through the woods.
It was unnerving to realize that almost everyone he could see here now, dressed in their formal best, would transform in a few short hours.
But he desperately needed more werewolf content for his column, so it had been an easy choice to come.
So far, the many highly scripted preceremony rituals were more tedious than pulse-pounding.
Just in front of the marble podium, the fathers of the bride and groom were toasting each other as the rest of the guests listened respectfully.
Charlie got the impression that their remarks were less about the couple than a subtle contest to imply which one of them had paid for more of the wedding.
Charlie and Lorenzo were toward the edge of the clearing, standing with Lorenzo’s friend Gray—the pack’s formal event planner, who had almost kicked Charlie out of the prom.
“Have you slept at all in the last three months?” Lorenzo asked him quietly.
Gray was clutching his usual clipboard and wearing a ridiculously well-cut suit with fur detail at the cuffs and lapels.
“It doesn’t matter,” Gray said, tossing his head back to cover a nervous twitch in his neck. “Because this toast was the last of it. Everything from here on out is, y’know, whatever.”
“You mean like . . . the wedding?” Lorenzo said, shooting a small, private grin at Charlie.
Charlie flushed and looked away. Lorenzo looked so good; Charlie couldn’t believe how hard a time he was having acting normally around him, when all he was doing was standing there in his crisp black tux and smiling. It was so stupid. Nothing had happened between them.
Nothing but all of his stupid fantasies come to life.
He didn’t know what had come over him. He had never, ever been into biting before. Playful pain was one thing, but being bitten? So that someone could drink his blood? It had never held any appeal.
That was before. Since reconnecting with Lorenzo, he’d started to fantasize about it: Lorenzo slamming him against a wall, pushing him around, grinding their bodies together, and leaning in for a painful bite at the soft, vulnerable juncture of his neck—piercing, achy, and sweet.
In reality, it hadn’t been nearly so dramatic.
Lorenzo had made it look like he was manhandling Charlie, but he’d only guided him into place with his big, careful hands.
He was cool to the touch, but not unpleasantly so—being wrapped in his arms felt like sinking into cool sheets after a long day.
And even though his skin was cool, touching it had made Charlie flush with heat that he could still feel creeping up his spine.
He couldn’t stop hearing Lorenzo’s low almost-growl when he’d grabbed him; couldn’t stop feeling the phantom touch of Lorenzo’s lips just barely grazing his skin.
He wanted Lorenzo to bite him. He had no idea what lay beyond what they’d done at the vampire party, but he didn’t care.
He needed it.
It occurred to him that he hadn’t dreamt of Lorenzo once since that first, startlingly hot dream. He missed it. Maybe in a dream he could have found some relief from this aching preoccupation with getting bit. All he had now were daydreams, daydreams that were . . .
Leading him to stare at Lorenzo shamelessly. His small smile widened a bit as he noticed Charlie’s attention. “Like the tux?”
“Mm-hmm,” Charlie said, strangled. He prayed that was all Lorenzo thought it was—the intoxicating effects of formal wear.
Not the desire for Lorenzo to touch him, pierce him—drink him down.
He cleared his throat, focusing on Gray. “So, um, the actual—wedding part’s not important?”
Gray turned to stare at him slowly. “No, it is,” he said, dripping scorn. “We’re all just here to witness true love.”
He wandered off to glad-hand some of the pack luminaries. “Ouch,” Charlie said. “So he’s not a romantic, huh?”
Lorenzo sighed, though he was still smiling. “Well, you can’t blame him. This is all a bit . . . staged.”
“Aren’t all weddings?”
Lorenzo shook his head. “This isn’t really a wedding.
It’s a . . . an Instagram backdrop. An ad for the packs.
” He tossed back a flute of champagne from a passing tray, and Charlie tried not to stare at the bob of his throat.
“It’s a big, expensive party to celebrate the merger.
A few months ago these two packs were on the verge of ripping each other apart. Now they’re . . .”
“Making peace?” Charlie said.
Lorenzo shrugged. “I was going to say horizontally integrating.”
Charlie chuckled. “Are werewolf packs subject to antitrust law?” He blinked. “Wait, are they?”
Light music started playing, and the guests quieted as it became clear that the ceremony was about to begin.
An elaborately gilded officiant made his way down the aisle, followed by a dozen groomsmen, all walking to a Vitamin String Quartet cover of something Charlie couldn’t place.
“Why is it always so many people in the wedding party?” he muttered to Lorenzo, as another of the nearly identical groomsmen passed by.
“VIPs from each pack,” Lorenzo answered. When the groomsmen were finished, the groom walked down the aisle and took his place on the marble podium.
Next came a dozen bridesmaids, all in the same diaphanous shade of blush pink.
Once they were in place, the music swelled, and all eyes turned back to the edge of the clearing.
After a moment, a woman came walking down the aisle wearing a knee-length black dress.
She had dark circles under her eyes, and she looked nervous. “Huh,” Charlie said.
Before Lorenzo could respond, the woman reached the podium and whispered hurriedly to the groom as the officiant watched on in astonishment. Whatever she said, the groom reacted badly, turning his back on her and speaking swiftly to his groomsmen. “What . . .” Charlie started.
“I don’t know,” Lorenzo muttered.
Finally, the woman turned to the mic that had been set up for the ceremony, and said in a smooth, corporate voice, “I’m so sorry, everyone. A quick announcement, um, the wedding has been slightly . . . delayed.”
Furious murmurs swept through the crowd, and an older woman in a very expensive pantsuit stood up. “Where is she?”
“She’s—um,” the woman at the mic stammered, while seeming to gesture to someone across the clearing. “She’ll be—she’ll be right here.”
The groom’s voice was starting to become audible even without the mic. Turning from his groomsmen back to the corporate flunky, he shouted loudly enough for the whole wedding to hear, “Is she with Emily?”
Shouts and chaos broke out among the audience. “Uh,” Charlie said. “What does that . . .”
Audience members were starting to argue with each other. What had been a serene, almost boring ceremony a few minutes ago was swiftly starting to feel bruised and ugly. “I think perhaps,” Lorenzo said, sounding distracted, “the bride has run off with . . .”
Charlie was starting to hear things like liar! and betrayal! in the rising din. “A wolf from another pack . . .” Lorenzo added, as they watched the dawning mayhem.
The arguments were rapidly getting physical. The groomsmen were starting to brawl, and the bridesmaids were putting distance between themselves, two distinct sides giving each other forbidding looks. The very air seemed to darken.
“What—uh—what do you do?” Charlie stammered. Lorenzo had been invited to the wedding for the same reason he’d been at the prom, to serve as security. “You said vampires can, um—can handle werewolves?”
“Yeah,” Lorenzo said faintly. As they watched from the edge of the clearing, two hundred wedding guests—two hundred werewolves—were shouting, shoving each other, and starting to grapple.
Then a wash of bright moonlight hit the clearing as a cloud passed by overhead, and the human noises in the fray began to lose their grip, becoming low, loose, animalistic rage.
“We’re getting out of here,” Lorenzo said, and grabbed Charlie’s hand as they fled into the woods.
They weren’t the only ones running—human guests maybe, or werewolves who just had no interest in fighting, joined them as they fled—and soon the darkening woods were filled with the sounds of twigs snapping and desperate panting.
Charlie’s shoulder and arm were screaming with how fast Lorenzo was tugging him along, forgoing the path in favor of darting as quickly as they could between the trees, but he didn’t mind—he just ran.
He knew they were being chased. Something about the sight or scent of skittering prey must have caught the interest of the wolves back at the wedding, because he could hear snarls behind them, almost smell the scent of blood.
The air seemed to get colder and colder as it whipped by, and then a scream ripped through the air, followed swiftly by another.
Then Lorenzo stopped short, Charlie collided into him, and he realized it was because a wolf was in their path.