Chapter 2 The Full Moon
CHAPTER TWO
the full moon
CHEYENNE
“You should go out with him,” Javi murmurs, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb as he watches me flit around my bedroom in search of my missing sneaker.
I wish I could say this is the first time I’ve misplaced something after getting blackout drunk the night before, but I’m far too accustomed to these scavenger hunts.
“Who?” I grumble back as I bend down to take a peek underneath the bed. No shoe, but somehow my sunglasses wound up under here…
“Iver.”
I roll my eyes, dropping to a knee and reaching an arm under the bed. “I don’t even know him.”
“You know that he obviously likes you,” he replies with a teasing lilt to his tone.
“He doesn’t know me,” I huff, sweeping my hand back and forth blindly until my fingers curl around my favorite pair of aviators. I’d thought these babies were gone for good– it never occurred to me to check under here during that search.
“You do realize that’s the point of going out, right?” Javi snorts. “So you can get to know each other.”
“Sounds like a lot of work,” I mutter as I push back up to my feet, sliding the sunglasses on before pivoting around to continue the hunt.
“Chey…”
“Javi,” I reply flatly.
He heaves a sigh, and even though I’m not looking his way, I can picture the pitying expression on his face that accompanies it.
Which is why I don’t turn around to engage him.
We’ve done this song and dance way too many times at this point, and it’s growing tiresome.
I wish he’d just give up and accept that I’m destined to be a recluse.
“You can’t go through your whole life alone,” he says softly.
“I’m not alone, I have you,” I quip as I start rifling through the laundry hamper, bound and determined to find my damn sneaker.
It’s one half of the only pair I’ve got, and I’d rather not resort to wearing my ratty hiking boots to this full moon run.
Unlacing them to shift would be a pain in the ass.
Javi sighs again in quiet resignation. “Have you checked your dresser?”
My aviators slide down the bridge of my nose as I twist around to face him. “Why would my shoe be in my…?”
The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk and I snap my own shut, rushing over to the dresser. I hold my breath as I pull open the top drawer, and damnit I hate that he knows me so well.
My cheeks flame as I pull the white low top sneaker out, swiveling back around and narrowing my eyes as I point the toe of it in his direction. “Don’t look so smug.”
He shakes his head with a low chuckle. “What can I say? Drunk Chey is predictable.”
“Yet you still stood there and watched me search.”
“Free entertainment,” he shrugs.
I whip my precious sneaker at him with a snarl, a laugh tumbling from his chest as he ducks to dodge it.
“You’re a real dick, you know that?” I grumble, turning back toward the dresser to hide my smile and shifting my sunglasses up to rest atop my head.
I peer down into the drawer again, finding the bottle of gin that I’d assumed I finished off last night resting amongst my socks.
Evidently I didn’t, and there’s just enough liquor left inside to take the edge off my frayed nerves.
Lifting the bottle out of the drawer, I remove the cap and bring the rim to my lips, twisting back around as I tip it back.
It’s a struggle not to choke on the taste when it hits my tongue.
Gin isn’t my favorite, but beggars can’t be choosers.
My friend Meg offered me this bottle because she said it ‘tastes like gross pine needles’, and I was all too quick to accept.
In hindsight, she was right about the pine needle thing.
Javi eyes the bottle as I lower it from my mouth, his jovial expression now replaced by a disapproving frown.
He doesn’t like how much I drink.
Hell, I don’t either, but alcohol is the only thing I’ve found that numbs my mind enough to sleep most nights. Or to function some days. Everyone has their own coping mechanisms for dealing with trauma, and this is mine.
His gaze lifts, but he doesn’t say anything about the booze when our eyes meet. Rather than judgment, all I find lurking in his dark eyes is a deep sense of understanding. Javi knows how rough tonight is bound to be for me, and he’s nothing if not a supportive bestie.
I don’t do well in crowds. Or with strangers. The full moon run tonight with the Westfield pack involves a crowd full of strangers, so suffice to say I’m not looking forward to it.
“We should probably get going,” he urges, pushing off from the doorframe and beckoning me with a flick of his head. “Iver said people usually start arriving at his packhouse around seven, and I wanna be there before the rest of our pack shows up.”
I take another swig from the bottle, wiping my mouth off on a wrist as I swallow it down. “What about Lo?”
“She’s already over there,” he replies as he stoops to pick up my shoe from the ground, tossing it onto the bed to join the other one. “Said her family always gets together before the run.”
“Surprised you passed up family bonding time,” I snort.
“Would you have come tonight if I didn’t drag you?” he asks, arching a dark brow at me.
I stare back at him blankly.
“Exactly,” he deadpans. “Put your shoes on, let’s go.”
Taking one last sip from the bottle, I re-cap it and set it on top of my dresser with a soft clink, then move over to the bed and sink down on the edge.
I can feel the weight of Javi’s stare on me as I drop my sneakers to the floor and slip my feet into them, turning to meet it as I push up to stand.
“What?” I ask.
The corner of his mouth ticks up. “What if he asks you out again tonight?”
“It’ll still be a no,” I reply flatly, stepping over to check my reflection in the full-length mirror beside the door.
“C’mon, Chey, just give the guy a chance,” Javi urges as I smooth the wrinkles out of my t-shirt. “What have you got to lose? I mean, Iver seems like a catch.”
“Still a no,” I sing-song as I pluck my sunglasses off my head and comb my fingers through my blonde waves.
“He’s good looking, right?” Javi presses. “And he’s definitely from a good family.”
I roll my eyes, leaning toward the mirror and rubbing at the dark circles beneath them.
“And from what I’ve seen so far, he’s a nice guy,” he continues. “And he’s well respected around here, he’s his pack’s Alpha…”
I shoot him a sideways glance, lips turning down in a frown. “None of that changes my mind. If anything, the fact that he’s an Alpha makes it an even firmer no.”
Javi’s eyes widen a fraction, then he dips his chin in an understanding nod, pressing his lips together in a tight line to signal that he’s finished pushing the issue. He knows he’s the only Alpha wolf I trust. He’s the only person I trust in this world, period.
I check my reflection in the mirror one last time, running through the same motions I always do before going anywhere. I sweep my hair in front of my shoulders. Tug down my left sleeve. Adjust my chunky cuff bracelet on my left wrist that I always, always wear.
It’s better to cover up so people don’t ask questions. I don’t want them to stare, or for me to have to explain to a bunch of strangers why I’m damaged goods.
Too bad the superficial damage on the outside is nothing compared to the damage within.
Ican’t remember the last time I was around this many people all at once. The Westfield packhouse is enormous, but it feels like there’s barely any air in here with the sheer size of the crowd that’s gathered inside. The ostensible lack of oxygen is making me dizzy.
So far, I’ve managed to avoid talking to people for the most part.
I’ve just been hanging out on the fringes, watching Javi eat up the attention he and Lo are getting from her former pack and dodging Lo’s persistent brother.
Each time Iver spots me through the crowd, he makes a beeline in my direction, and I promptly disappear amongst the mass of people before he can engage.
At this particular moment, though, it’s hard to avoid looking his way since he’s standing in front of the room commanding the attention of everyone in it.
He’s fulfilling his Alpha duties by making pre-run announcements to his pack, but even though I’m not part of said pack, his eyes keep coming back to me.
They keep locking with my own, lingering there before skipping over the crowd again.
It’s not that I’m not attracted to Iver Anderson. To the contrary, I’m not sure I’ve ever been more physically attracted to someone in my entire life. The man looks like an Abercrombie model with his blonde hair, blue eyes, and tall, muscular build. If I had a type, he’d be it.
Still doesn’t mean I can go out with him.
Despite the fact that he’s already seen my mark and doesn’t seem deterred by it, I know how the world works.
No man wants to date a woman who’s already been marked.
Sleep with her, maybe, but I have no interest in that, either.
I’m a freak among shifters who recoils from the slightest physical contact.
This mark, and the way I got it, has made me defective.
Iver may think he wants me, but he doesn’t. Not really.
“Let’s go run!” he booms, clapping his hands together eagerly to the chorus of howls that follows.
The commanding tone of his voice rattles all the way down to my bones, and I try not to panic as I fall in with the crowd as they make for the back doors of the packhouse, tucking in my shoulders to try to avoid touching anyone else.
Once I’m out on the back lawn, I’m able to draw a deep breath and reclaim my space, moving to the periphery of the crowd while Iver advances ahead toward the treeline.
He rucks his shirt off over his head, and good god since when are men built like that?
! My eyes pop wide, heart stuttering in my chest. I can’t look away.
Iver is all tanned skin and solid muscle, his large body sculpted to absolute perfection.
I sink my teeth into my lower lip as my gaze rakes up the ladder of his defined abs and sweeps across his broad chest. He’s got a tattoo over his left pec– surprising, given his otherwise clean-cut appearance– and another that covers his right bicep, the black ink dancing on his golden skin as he moves to drop his pants.
I suck in a breath as I avert my gaze, trying and failing to ignore the way my pulse is suddenly fluttering erratically, something strange and uncomfortable twisting in my lower belly.
I focus on a single blade of grass at my feet, my eyes glazing over.
I ball my hands into fists at my sides. Exhale slowly.
A low howl cuts through the air and I jerk my head up just in time to see a beautiful tricolor wolf running toward the edge of the forest. My heart skips another beat. Shit, his animal form is just as beautiful as his human one.
More people start shifting to their wolf forms, the ranked members of Iver’s pack following him into the woods, then the ranked members of my own. Pretty soon, everyone is tossing their clothes off and shifting, howling with delight and taking off for the trees.
My skin tingles as my inner animal presses forward, eager to join in.
I grit my teeth against the urge, waiting until everyone else is gone and the coast is clear before finally stripping off my own clothes and gathering them into a neat little pile.
Then I slip into my wolf’s skin and bolt for the treeline, beyond ready to shut off my brain for a while and just run.