“Yeah maybe, that’d be cool,” Mason says. “Oh! I forgot. You won’t have to wait too long to see a different Rocky Pack queer.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mia is heading to New York tomorrow.”
My heartbeat speeds a little in excitement. “How come?”
“Her dad was invited to some New Year’s Eve party your alpha is throwing—guess she’s going as his plus-one.”
Suddenly, the traffic light turns green and I, along with the crowd around me, pour across the street.
“You still there?” Mason asks when I reach the other side, and I realize I haven’t responded. The truth is I’m not sure if it’s the crowd around me or the crowd of thoughts in my head that have me distracted.
“Why were they invited?” I ask. “We were just there.”
“You got me,” Mason replies.
Something isn’t sitting right.
“Maybe it’s just like an alpha thing, like a thank-you for the blood moon trip—you know, political back-scratching.”
Aisha was just telling me about how Jericho would need his allies close to him, and suddenly I’m legit worried. Is something going on?
“You there or has some devastatingly handsome New York wolf stolen your attention?” Mason jokes.
“I’m here,” I say.
Only this new level of worry is making it harder to block out the buzzing at the edge of my mind. I can barely hear Mason as I reach Grand Central.
“Hey, I’ve gotta go,” I say, pretty sure I just interrupted him midsentence. “I’ll call you soon.”
“You better,” he says.
I hang up and head to the train, pressing a hand to the side of my head.
THE PACKHOUSE OF THE ELITE
The packhouse looms above me, a glimmering rectangular giant, a high-rise stretching to the stars. A cold breeze whips down the sidewalk as I stand gawking up at it. I pull the collar of my puffer jacket tighter to block out the icy wind. Underneath, I’m wearing yet another smart shirt and fancy jacket Mom helped me pick out––a maroon blazer and white button-down with black-accented buttons, and another ironic bow-tie.
Seriously, all these pack events are going to bankrupt me.
This time however, I’ve paired my dress pants with sneakers—a stubborn little signifier that I’m still myself.
Glancing up and down the sidewalk, I hope a familiar face might suddenly turn a corner, but instead the only people I see are older, wealthier wolves, heading through the automatic glass doors, ignorant that I even exist.
I’ve been in this weird daze since my call with Mason yesterday. Somewhere up there are Alpha Morven and Mia, and I have no idea why.
When I finally called Katie, she was friendly enough but told me she was going to the party with Todd and Simon. Aisha is still pirouetting downtown. And without either of them, curiosity is the only thing stopping me from turning and going straight home—well, curiosity and Jasper.
Knowing there won’t be a response, I pull out my phone and check if Jasper has replied to the text I sent five minutes ago:‘I’m here.’Yep, no reply.
I guess I’m on my own. Head up, shoulders back, I make my way through the entrance.
This isn’t my first time visiting the packhouse. As kids we were brought on an educational outing organized by the alpha’s team. Elite pups were bussed in from across the state and given a tour of some of the offices, the boardrooms, the cafeteria. For all intents and purposes, the building is just like any other flashy office in New York, like the kind that’s owned by some megamedia conglomeration. But inside it’s all wolf business: pack security, pack finances, interpack relations. I’m sure Clayton’s dad has a corner office with a stupidly stunning view.
A purple carpet has been laid out to mark the path from the doors to the elevators, and the same woman from the Yule Ball, the one with the iPad and superior smirk, is standing by a potted plant, waiting for me.
“Good evening, sir, and welcome to the Elite Pack New Year’s Eve Bash. Can I take your name?”
