Oh.
Rudolph was drunk.
Ding, ding, ding!
“How do you know they’d planned something?” I sighed, not wanting to talk to an angry drunkard with love problems. I didn’t sign up for werewolf therapy at three in the morning.
“We do the same. Just better. Morecreativelythan your discount pack,Ivana.”
My jaw clenched so tightly, my teeth ground together.
“Okay, I’m sorry I checked on you. I didn’t mean to?—”
“Apology accepted.”
Thumping bass and high-pitched laughter blasted through the background. I yanked the phone away from my ear.
Some sloppy voice inserted itself. “You promised us a dance! We’ve been waiting for ourturrrrrrn, like you told us.”
Excuse me while I throw up in my mouth a little.
“Already cheating on your mate?” I prodded. “Why am I not surprised?”
“What if I am? Huh? Why do you care?” Then came a muffled, “You. Get me another beer. Make it two.”
My eye twitched at how primitive he was acting.
“You’re drunk, Lucien,” I said flatly. His breath caught. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk later.”
“Smart as ever, my nasty little rabbit.”
Something in his words—perhaps the sarcasm, perhaps the fact that he had interrupted my sleep for the umpteenth time—made me snap.
“I’m not a rabbit, and I’m not yours, Rudolph!” My eyes blazed in the dark. “You found your mate, remember? So why don’t you go tormentherinstead of blowing up my phone?”
A low, dangerous growl came across the line. It made every hair on my neck stand on end.
“Alright. I’ll do just that.”
“Great. Give her my condolences!”
“Fine!” he snarled.
“Fine!” I growled in return, slamming my fingers into the phone to end the call, wishing it was his face.
I let out a hysterical, semi-muffled scream when I noticed my screen was once again cracked.
Damn Rudolph and his superpower of irking me with just a click of his tongue.
CHAPTER 17
YVAINE
It was said that meeting your soulmate felt like a walk on the moon. Otherworldly. Soundless. Just like floating, no gravity.
The younger werewolves didn’t buy into it. For them, mates meant an arranged marriage forced by the Moon Goddess.
We’d grown up hearing tales of physical sparks and epical bonds—how one look was all it took to know, how one touch turned you into a furry torch, and how your heart stopped being yours, its beat dependent on the actions of your other half.
