Harper
The moment before Jess had walked over to me had seemed like an eternity. I watched him with that woman draped over him, her dark hair swaying like a tail every time she laughed. She nuzzled her cheek against his jaw with a practiced rub, marking him with her scent even in human skin. Then she leaned in and bit the bottom of his ear, hard, until he jerked away with a smile and a barked “Watch it.” Everyone nearby saw it. Until she noticed me and walked away, Maddie following her.
My wolf made a noise I didn’t recognize. Half snarl, half plea, all humiliation. I dug my nails into my palm until the pain became sharp enough to dull everything else.
I was still in the clothes from this afternoon. They’d been perfect then, a costume for the world I’d imagined could exist: soft blue tank, slouchy pink sweater, jeans without a single run or stain. My hair was in waves twisted into pretty spirals by Maddie’s careful fingers. I’d spent fifteen minutes making sure my eyeliner was perfect. Now I wondered if I should have left the makeup off, left the bruises visible, made it easier for the crowd to point and say: there, that’s the whore who let the world eat her alive.
The bonfire heat painted my skin and filled my nose with the crackle of sap and fat. I wanted to run, but my legs refused to work. My insides churned. For a moment I was back at Eyrie, the spotlight hitting my face, stage smoke curling up my thighs. Rage in the front row, his mouth open in a leer, and the demon king’s voice in my head: Good girl, now make it look like you want it.
I did. I always did, because the witches made sure of it.
Steiner’s club employed three different witches, all with their own specialty cocktails of compulsion. I still remembered the first time I tasted the “blue smoke.” It came in a shot glass rimmed with black salt, and the moment it hit my stomach, it was like someone had pulled my soul out and replaced it with honey. My body would flush, lips swell, thighs go slack and hungry. Every nerve lit up. It made me want to writhe, to please, to be touched, to be watched. It made me want to perform so bad I would claw my own skin off if I weren’t allowed on stage.
But none of that desire was mine. I’d be screaming inside the whole time, watching myself move and touch and moan, knowing that no matter how much I begged to stop, nothing would obey except the mask. I became a marionette, a living wet dream with no driver behind the wheel.
That was what the men paid for. Not just the body, but the obedience. The blankness.
I knew that was all Jess saw now. I was a haunted house, and he wanted no part of the ghosts rattling in the attic. After I told him I didn’t want to do this here, he’d turned back to the fire—didn’t even notice I’d walked away.
The air shifted behind me. I tried to step back, but nearly collided with a circle of three women, all holding red plastic cups and all wearing the same shade of judgmental smirk. I didn’t know them. Their names were irrelevant; they were always some variant of Lauren or Kaitlyn or Jessa.
One of them—the tall one, pretty in a fake-tan, gym-hard way—leaned in and stage-whispered, “Well, at least she’s not on a pole tonight.”
The others tittered, glancing at me sideways.
The laughter cut through me sharper than any knife. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, could only turn and walk as fast as I dared, keeping my chin up. If I were going to be the pack’s latest charity case, I’d at least do it with my spine straight.
Their voices followed, softer but not soft enough:
“Poor Arsenal. Can you imagine? Your fated mate is a—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Iwillsay it. She’s a stripper. And probably more than that.”
“You know Arsenal. He likes ‘em easy.”
My wolf whimpered again. I wanted to run, to shift and tear something to pieces, but all I could do was drift toward the shadows at the far end of the clearing.
Past the bonfire, the land dropped off into a gentle slope, studded with picnic tables and old farm implements that someone had painted turquoise for a “rustic” vibe. Most of the crowd was clustered by the fire, but a few couples had paired off here, away from the chaos. I saw Bronc at one of the tables, Juliet in his lap. They were an odd pair—the Alpha so big he looked like he could break her in half, and the Luna curled up against him like she’d never known anything except safety.
I wanted to hate them for how easy it looked. Instead, I hovered nearby, letting their voices roll over me like static.
“You know what I think?” Juliet was saying, her hand tracing circles on Bronc’s forearm. “I think they are just about the two most broken people I’ve ever seen. It breaks my heart.”
Bronc grunted, but he didn’t sound annoyed. “You said it yourself—everybody’s broken. Some of us just hide it better.”
Juliet kissed his neck, soft, then said, “I just hope they figure it out. Otherwise, she’s gonna end up running. And we both know what happens when a wolf starts running.”
Bronc’s voice dropped so low it was almost a growl. “If she tries, Arsenal will hunt her to the ends of the earth. It’s how he’s built.”
There was a silence. Juliet leaned back and looked her mate full in the face. “He looks at her the same way you looked at me when you pulled me out of that jungle. You thought I was too broken. You didn’t think I’d make it all the way back to you.”
“You scared the shit out of me,” Bronc said, his mouth quirking.
She gave him a gentle smile. “I was afraid I was too broken to love. But you loved all the pieces back together.”
Bronc squeezed her to him. “Maybe they can love each other enough to put their pieces back together.”
