Chapter 2
You Can't Say Excuse Me?
IRIS
“Hurry up! We’re going to miss it!”
Elsie fusses at me from her position up ahead.
“Miss what?” I call back.
“The sirens! They’re only playing a few songs!”
Her short legs are moving faster than I thought possible in those heels, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Where there’s a promise of good music, Elsie is never far behind.
“Come on!” she shouts.
“I’m coming!”
She curses me under her breath when I don’t pick up the pace, and I chuckle to myself. She’s being dramatic. We never miss Fright Night. Not unless someone’s dying.
It’s the one night a month when Crescent House is open to the other creatures on campus; only an idiot would miss it.
“Hi, Owen,” Elsie calls out to the hulking werewolf guarding the front steps.
He’s leaning against one of the stone gargoyles that sits sentinel at the bottom of the stairs, and he lifts his chin in greeting, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips as his eyes rake over her.
“What’s up, Elsie. Lookin’ good, mamas.”
He leans in for a hug, but Elsie keeps it brief, pulling away as he starts to linger.
Owen looks innocent enough at a glance, tall, muscular, soft eyes, but from what Elsie tells me, he is anything but.
“Thanks.” Elsie smiles sweetly. “You too.”
“Save me a dance, alright?”
Elsie nods, and Owen’s gaze lingers on her full figure, caught somewhere between her heavy chest and wide hips. But the pleasant look on his face fades as his gaze shifts toward me.
“Ashbourne,” he says curtly, averting his eyes.
I stifle a laugh.
“Oh, come on, Owen. I don’t bite.”
He chuckles, only mildly amused.
“I’m pretty sure you do,” he mutters, staring down at the ground in front of him.
“Care to find out?” I tease, dragging a nail along his bicep.
A small shiver runs across his skin, and the taste of his lust blossoms on my tongue as Elsie and I giggle.
“Have a nice night, Owen.”
Elsie winks, and he blushes.
There’s nothing like Fright Night to put you in the mood for love. Or at least something close to it.
Crescent House’s bright white exterior is pristine, and the surrounding grounds are almost eerily silent as we make our way toward the pillared porch.
When you’re in the habit of throwing the most infamous parties on campus, it pays to be unsuspecting. But that’s more difficult than it sounds for a place this large.
Big enough to house ninety fully grown wolves, and if we squeeze, about two hundred and fifty horny university students, Crescent House isn’t exactly inconspicuous. Even with the carefully curated facade, there’s no hiding the flavor in the air.
Lust and brew.
Sweat and seduction.
All of it seeping through the cracks, rolling down the moss-covered steps as we make our way inside, and music pours out in every direction.
The sirens are out for blood tonight.
Their song blares over the cheap speakers at the back of the house, the kind of beat you can feel in your chest as it rewires your heart and bends you to their will. And for better or worse, it’s working.
The wolves are howling, holding a note to rival the banshees, and the orcs have already started wrestling in the upper den. An activity they typically save for after midnight. But why not start early?
Above our heads, idling in the entryway, the faeries are huddled around the chandelier, arguing with a pack of pixies over a centuries-old beef they’ll never settle. Even the cats can’t resist the call as they lounge around, lazily sipping their brew, tails swishing back and forth to the beat.
The cacophony of noise brings a smile to my face as Elsie and I follow the music into the lower den.
A cluster of first-years is gathered around the makeshift stage, swaying beneath the strobing lights. Their weak resistance leaves them at the mercy of the sirens’ song, but no one steps in to save them.
They’ll be fine….I think.
Better than the boy tonguning a naga in the corner anyway.
“Iris! Elsie!”
Kitty’s voice comes from the kitchen doorway.
“Over here!” she shouts, her words barely piercing through the music. “You made it!”
She bounces up and down as we draw closer, her bushy blonde tail sweeping through the air at unmatched speed.
“You look so good!” she exclaims, clapping. “And you changed your hair!”
I nod, brushing my waist-length knotless braids over my shoulder, as Elsie proudly announces, “Don’t you love it? I did them!”
“Oh my gods,” Kitty muses. “That must have taken forever.”
Elsie shrugs, and we both smile as we try not to think about yesterday’s hours-long debacle.
I’d spent most of my day sitting between Elsie’s knees in front of the TV while she oscillated between praising and cursing her technique.
As a bit of a purist, she insisted on doing things “the human way,” but after a few hours and one too many hand cramps, she gave up and cast an enchantment to handle the rest.
“You have no idea,” I say, following Kitty into the kitchen.
A crowd has gathered there to watch a friendly competition of brew pong between the elves and the druids. From what I can tell, the elves are winning, which isn’t surprising since they always cheat.
“Fates!” Elsie curses as we squeeze past a few dragon-born boys.
One of them paws at her with his talons, blowing heart-shaped smoke rings her way. She gives him a knowing smile before brushing him off.
“Is the entire campus here tonight?” she asks.
“It’s the moon!” Kitty calls back. “People are getting antsy. Looking to let off some steam.”
“Including you?” I ask.
She spins on me, eyes wide.
“Yeah. Duh!”
Most people don’t realize that Kitty loves Fright Night more than anyone.
They get confused by her pretty pink glasses and heart-shaped eyes and assume she’s a quiet girl who prefers reading alone in silence, which isn’t entirely untrue.
But for some reason, no one ever seems to wonder about her nickname or how she got it.
She giggles excitedly as she pours out a few shots, only stopping when we all toss them back in unison.
“Oh, gods,” Elsie groans, a sour look on her face as she slams her cup back on the counter. “That’s disgusting.”
Kitty shivers slightly as the brew’s effects spread from her head to her toes, while I merely curse silently as the warm liquid runs down my throat.
“Fates! What is that?” I ask.
“Dragon’s blood!” Kitty replies.
That explains the burning pain in my stomach.
“Where are the boys?” Elsie asks once she’s recovered.
Kitty lifts her nose, searching for a scent, but before she can respond, the energy shifts, the conversations stop, and everyone turns to watch the Crescent alpha and his beta enter the room.
They move in perfect sync. Steps coordinated, eyes scanning everything, radiating power so great I can feel it pressing on my skin.
For a brief moment, they appear rather formidable.
Damien, wider than a refrigerator and tall enough to grab a minotaur by the horns.
Elliot, dressed in his signature all-black outfit, sporting that lethal-looking stare.
Together, they more than justify their monikers—the Wolf and the Shadow.
If I didn’t know any better, I might be intimidated. But seeing as how I’ve watched them both strip down to their underwear and sprint into Lake Janua while laughing like schoolgirls, I have no choice but to boo as the surrounding heads bow.
“Booo,” I shout at them. “Boooo! Stand up!”
Kitty and Elsie join me, jutting their thumbs toward the floor.
“Booo!”
“Boooooo.”
Dame shakes his head, already wagging his finger at us.
“You’re not allowed to boo your alpha,” he says dryly, leaning against the counter.
“Good thing, you’re not my alpha,” Elsie fires back.
Dame blinks, seemingly confused by this response.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he is.
The way he mothers us all, you’d think Elsie and I were born with the Crescent mark on our backs, like the rest of them. But considering Elsie’s point, he redirects his irritation toward his sister.
“Fine,” he says, jutting his finger at Kitty. “But you’re definitely not allowed to boo your alpha.”
Kitty answers by blowing a raspberry in his face, and Elliot stifles a laugh, clearing his throat.
Dame’s hands clench into fists, and a low growl rumbles in his chest as Kitty squares her shoulders, a clear challenge in her eyes.
In moments like this, I’m reminded that Dame and Kitty aren’t just siblings but twins.
It’s easy to forget when they’re so different.
Not in appearance, of course.
They both share the classic Broussard eyes—wide and blue—and their coloring is similar. Dark, beige skin and tightly coiled sandy-blonde hair.
But since Dame always looks like he’s seconds away from tearing someone’s head off, and Kitty seems more likely to kiss everyone she meets, it’s easy to forget the close relation.
When it becomes clear neither of them will back down, Elliot steps between them, risking their wrath.
“Issue a challenge or shut up,” he directs.
To which they both snarl but make no move to recite the rites.
“That’s what I thought,” Elliot adds, shoving a cup of brew into their hands.
Kitty downs hers in one giant gulp, while Dame decides to sip on his at a more even pace.
“Don’t you three have someone else you could go harass?” Dame asks, frowning down at us.
“Of course,” Elsie says, downing her drink. “But you make it so easy.”
In response, Dame shakes his head.
“You should pace yourself, Rosewater. You’ve got a long night ahead of you.”
Elsie frowns as she pours herself another drink.
“Don’t be such a baby, Dame. This isn’t my first time.”
“I’m aware of that,” he answers dryly, taking the cup from her hand and setting it on a nearby shelf, well out of Elsie’s reach.
She pouts, crossing her arms and stomping her foot as he chuckles under his breath. If it weren’t for her dark complexion, she’d probably be beet red right now.
“What’s up, Iris?” Dame asks, tilting his chin toward me. “You planning on terrorizin’ my wolves tonight?”
“That depends on how well behaved they are,” I say.