Chapter 3 - Cecelia
I rub my sweaty palms on my apron, trying desperately to stop my fingers from trembling. The few hours between lunch and dinner did nothing to calm my nerves, and instead, my trepidation has grown until it threatens to swallow me whole.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Agatha’s stern voice snaps me into composure, my spine cracking ramrod straight as if she’d slapped me across the face.
Her disgruntled sneer when I look up is as good as if she did.
“I-I—” My quivering lips are my undoing, and Agatha rolls out a string of curses as she marches toward me, her eyes like dark pits of hellish fire.
I flinch and close my eyes, as if bracing myself for physical torture, and it comes in the form of her shoving a hot pot of soup in my face.
I take the handles carefully, not wanting to defy the manager of the pack center in any way.
“Go do your job, mutt!” she rumbles, specks of her saliva stinging my face. “There are werewolves waiting to eat. You’re wasting time.”
I nod tentatively, her coldness seeping through my spine like a cold shiver as I carry the steaming pot of soup through the doorway leading to the open dining area. An echo of laughter from years ago enters my eardrums, as if reminding me that I shouldn’t be fazed by Agatha’s abuse.
It’s the reason I became numb in the first place—because the one man who I thought could defend me remained silent and stood by while I was being abused.
I shouldn’t have had faith in him, anyway. What was I thinking when he rejected me that same morning?
Because dinner is meant to be a buffet, I stick to the wall to take the pot toward the buffet table, my ears focused on the chatter that spreads through the hall.
The Lunaris Pack is abuzz with excitement about the upcoming alpha trials, as they have been for a few weeks since Alpha Sirius announced that he’ll be retiring once a new leader emerges victorious.
Many have high hopes for Alpha Sirius’s son, Simon, while others whisper that the only Lunaris wolf who’d volunteered to join the black ops squad has a good chance of becoming the alpha if he wins.
They’re talking about Dominic, and it’s impossible not to hear his name being whispered. As I tentatively steal toward the buffet table, it becomes progressively difficult to ignore the name I’ve been hell-bent on burying ever since that fateful night.
Three Years Ago
“I can’t believe you dragged me into this,” I whisper in Donna’s ear, clinging to her arm like a lifeline as she orders another round of drinks.
“I told you, it’ll be fun,” Donna chirps as she throws a wink at the bartender.
“Fun?” I wince as I scan the local bar littered with the Lunaris Pack wolves who frequent this place when they need to let loose. It’s a place I avoided for most of my adult life, but Donna insisted that we had to celebrate my birthday.
As if there’s any reason to celebrate this night, I think glumly. Since my father died three years ago and left me orphaned, I’d been avoiding this day so I wouldn’t be reminded of my dismal status in the pack. But Donna had other plans.
“Is this your idea of fun, Dons?” I ask, turning back to her while she extracts a little brown bag from her purse.
“This is my idea of fun.” She winks at me this time, gesturing to the bag before pulling on the strings to open it. I catch the potent, bitter smell of wolfsbane, and I gasp.
“You’re not serious,” I mutter in disbelief as Donna proceeds to sprinkle some of the crushed herbs on the surface of our drinks.
It’s the only herb lethal to a werewolf, but in the correct dose, it amplifies the effects of alcohol and allows the liquor to have a longer-lasting effect against the fast metabolism of a werewolf that usually burns it out before one becomes drunk.
“You think anyone here isn’t high on wolfsbane?” Donna sneers as she passes me a drink. “This is how we let loose around here, and that’s exactly what you’re doing tonight.”
My eyes flit from Donna to the glass in my hand—some pungent amber liquid I don’t have a name for because I’ve never had a drink before. I give it a circumspect sniff, my nose scrunching offensively.
“I—I don’t know, Donna…” I begin reluctantly, but before I can let my wariness take over, Donna grabs my wrist and pushes the glass toward my face.
Not wanting to disappoint my best friend since she went out of her way to turn an ordinary day into a special one, I chug down the drink in one gulp, keeping my eyes pinned on her until the burn of the liquor flowing down my throat is too ghastly to bear.
I flinch and squeal as it slips down, pressing my eyelids shut as Donna chuckles bemusedly.
I notice that she casually sips her drink as she watches my reaction, and somehow, I’m spurred into ordering a refill, riding on this sudden bout of bravery that throws my caution to the wind.
A second round turns into a third, then a fourth, as both Donna and I sit at the bar, taking turns pointing out the flaws of every werewolf we can see on the dancefloor.
It’s something I usually wouldn’t do, often the target of the vulgar words that leave my lips now, but it sure feels good to be on the opposite end of them.
No one hears us, and with Donna as my shield, no one bothers to come around to make a mockery of me.
Feeling dizzy, I lean my arms on the counter, my head woozy from all the alcohol and wolfsbane I’ve consumed. Even Donna appears to be drunk, but that doesn’t stop her from swaying in time to the rhythm of the music playing over the speakers and leaning over to whisper into my ear.
“I wanna dance,” she says brightly. “Wanna join me?”
“Uh-uh,” I shake my head, a dismissive hand swaying in the air. “Y-you go ah-head,” I tell her, too drunk to control my slurring voice. “I’m g—gonna s-sit right h-here.”
Donna doesn’t protest or push me to join her, and instead pats my shoulder with understanding before hopping off the barstool and dancing her way to the floor.
I’m way too out of my mind to let anxiety come over me now that I’m alone.
I actually like the feeling of not being in control of my mind, which would normally wander and overthink everything.
Now, in this moment of respite, I can let my eyes drift closed and sway my head to the beat of the music that my best friend dances to.
“Cecelia…?” A voice I wasn’t expecting to hear calls my name from the side, prompting me to open my eyes, and I find my gaze arrested by the imposing presence of the only male werewolf in Lunaris who could ever cause my heart to skip a beat.
My lips are about to lift into a smile when I employ the little consciousness I have left to stop myself.
I can’t let my best friend’s older brother know that he has this kind of effect on me.
It’s been like this for years, since I was old enough to know what having a crush on someone meant.
I’ve always been aware of his status in the pack and how he’s a promising candidate for the alpha position once Alpha Sirius decides to step down.
Besides that, he’s my best friend’s brother, and he’s forbidden to me.
“Dominic…?” I whisper, blinking to clear my hazy vision, and find his unmistakably charming smile directed at me. He’s always been so cold and stoic whenever he’s around, so his smile comes as a surprise.
It instantly clears my vision, as if the deep dimples between his sharp jaw and high cheekbones sober me up and demand my attention. A frown knits my brows as Dominic takes a seat on the empty stool beside me, appearing calm and collected as he orders a drink.
I can’t stop myself from watching his movements as he runs long, dexterous fingers through his long, silky, dark tresses, pushing them back from his forehead as if to show off his sharp features.
I’m so drunk at this point, I’m probably imagining that he’s staring at me expectantly when he turns.
“I’ve never seen you at this bar before,” he remarks smoothly, his eyes twinkling with something like wonder and intrigue.
I gulp hard again, and it’s the liquor that gives me the courage to proudly declare, “It’s my birthday!” with a sheepish grin.
His brows lift, his lips curling to a warm smile when he leans in and whispers, “Happy birthday, Cece.”
He hovers for a moment that sets my heart aflame and my mind racing with thoughts—mischievous, sinful thoughts I shouldn’t be having. It’s probably my drunk state, coupled with his closeness, that fills my lungs with an intoxicating, minty scent that arrests my airways and demands my submission.
When he pulls back and stares at me again, it’s like I can see the contemplation flashing briefly over his features before he offers, “Would you like to get some fresh air? It’s stifling in here.”
My heart pounds in anticipation as I let my imagination run wild and believe, for a hot moment, that Dominic Rivera is trying to get me alone. This has never happened before, but neither have I been drunk.
“Er—sure,” I say with a casual shrug as Dominic slides off the chair and holds out a hand.
Without thinking, I slip my hand into his and allow him to lead me outside.
***
The moment I spot Dominic at the hall’s entrance, my chest tightens, and I’m sprung out of the memory and into the present reality, in which I desperately wish I hadn’t slipped my hand into his that night.
What happened after that is something I’d rather forget, but seeing him enter the pack’s cafeteria hall brings those memories back like a flood that scatters my composure.
I need to get away as quickly as possible, before he sees me and before I’m thrown into an awkward situation that his absence prevented for the past three years. Quickly setting the soup pot down, I notice how the room erupts in louder chatter as many rush forward to greet Dominic.