The main househas disappeared behind me, but I can still feel my mother’s slap burning on my cheek. Still hear Alaric’s cold dismissal. Still see the way they all looked at me like I was a useless thing they wished they didn’t have to deal with.
A red light forces me to stop. A neon sign across the street flickers: Moonshadow Spirits. A shifter liquor store, judging by the wolf emblem glowing above the door.
I should go home. Should be responsible. Should not make stupid decisions when I’m this angry.
But screw that.
I park haphazardly and storm into the store. The clerk,a grizzled, older wolf with silver streaking his hair, barely glances up from his magazine.
“ID,” he grunts.
I slap my license on the counter and point at the bottles behind him. The ones with the highest alcohol content. The kind made specifically for shifter metabolisms.
“Three of those.”
He raises his eyebrows at me. “Rough night?”
“You have no idea.”
He doesn’t ask any more questions. Just bags the bottles and takes my credit card. Within minutes, I’m back in my car with enough alcohol to knock out a small pack.
Perfect.
The drive home passes in a haze. I barely remember parking or taking the elevator up. The penthouse door clicks shut behind me, and Cinnamon launches herself at my legs, tail wagging frantically.
I drop to my knees and wrap my arms around her, burying my face in her soft fur. She whines and licks my face, sensing something is wrong.
“I’m okay,” I whisper. “I’m okay.”
But I’m not.
I grab a glass from the kitchen and pour until amber liquid fills it halfway. I lift it to my lips and drain it in one long swallow. Fire burns down my throat, scorching everything in its path. I gasp, eyes watering, and immediately pour another.
The second glass goes down easier. By the third, warmth spreads through my limbs, and everything starts to feel softer. Lighter. The edges of my anger blur into an almost pleasant sensation.
I stumble to the couch and collapse onto the cushions, giggling at nothing.
Cinnamon jumps up beside me, her head tilting as she studies my face. Her paws knead my stomach, and I stroke her ears, the alcohol making everything feel distant and floaty.
“I’m not going to break down,” I tell her, my words slightly slurred. “I don’t care what they think. I don’t care about any of them.”
Cinnamon whines.
“We’re going to run away.” The words tumble out. “Yeah. We’ll sell all this fancy furniture, and we’ll just go. Somewhere far away. Somewhere no one knows us. Somewhere no one can mock us or hit us or tell us we’re not good enough.”
I lift my glass again, but it’s empty. When did that happen?
I reach for the bottle and pour more, the alcohol sloshing over the rim. Some spills on my shirt, and I laugh at it.
“You know what?” I look at Cinnamon. Really look at her. “You’re cute. I bet no one mocks you. I bet everyone thinks you’re perfect just the way you are.”
I lift her up, holding her in front of my face. She wags her tail, tongue lolling.
“Do you want to come with me?” I sway slightly in my seat, grinning. “Or do you want to stay with Emma? She’s nice. She’d take good care of you. Better than I can, probably.”
Cinnamon leans forward and licks my nose.
A grin spreads across my face, wide and slightly manic. “Of course you want to come with me. We’ll go on the run together, you and me. Live in cheap motels. I can pick up side gigs to feed us. It’ll be an adventure.”
