Not nearly as busy as Fright Night, but enough people are milling about that the house is loud. The speakers have been hauled out, and one of the third-years is playing DJ in the lower den. He keeps the vibe low, warm, and inviting, giving people enough space to laugh and talk without the music drowning them out.
I recognize a few of the mates I’ve seen frequenting the house, and they all wave politely as we continue up the stairs, heading for the ranked floor.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “I thought Fright Night was canceled this month. Dame said he didn’t want to give the inquisition an excuse to nosy around.”
“It is. There’s a howl tonight,” Elliot answers without looking back.
“A what?”
“A howl. It’s like a bonfire. Pack only. We usually do it right before the moon.”
“Oh.”
I don’t ask any more questions as we climb the steps, though I do start to wonder what ‘pack only’ means when I spot a few claimed partners wandering through the halls.
It appears someone, probably Elliot, has cleaned the man cave. The drink stains are notably absent from the coffee table, and it now smells less like Dame and more like him. Which I’m grateful for as the near constant buzzing in my chest quiets the moment the door closes behind us.
Elliot sets my things on the couch, and an ear-splitting grin takes over his face as he spots the little green book peeking out from the top of my bag.
“Should I be looking at leashes?” he asks, holding the book up for me to see.
He thumbs the bookmark I have placed, nearly three-fourths of the way through. I would be further along if it weren’t for the fact that the second act was so sad. I had to set it aside for a couple of weeks just to collect myself. But I’m back in the thick of it now, and unfortunately for me, I do love it. But that doesn’t mean Elliot needs to know that.
“Maybe,” I say, smirking at him the way he does me.
But he knows me too well to fall for it.
“Yeah, right, you little monster. You know you love it.”
I flinch at his words.
“Don’t call me that.”
“What?”
“Don’t call me a monster,” I repeat.
He smiles, mistaking my statement for part of our little game.
“Alright, we’ll stick with baby. I like that more anyway.”
He reaches for me, and I back away, retreating until my ass bumps into the desk.
“I’m serious, Elliot. It’s not funny.”
His head cocks at the sudden shift in my tone, and his ears flatten as he registers the solemn look on my face. Still, it takes a moment for his smile to fade.
“Iris,” he says softly, shaking his head. “You know I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Yes, I know that. But I also know he’s right. And even though the words are true, I cannot bear to hear them. Not fromhim,anyway.
“I’m fine, Elliot.”
“Iris, if you don’t stop saying that, someone in this house is going to get hurt.”
“Why would someone get hurt?”
“Because every time you lie, and say you’re fine, the fact that I can’t fix it, makes me want to break things.”
