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After we were all caught up on the headache and danger before us, the pack started talking about their days outside of the Lost Valley. Stories of kicking arse, adventure, and too much drinking before the world went sour. Werewolves lived a long time, their lifespans just shy of two-hundred years.

A guy called Will loved wine. He waxed lyrical about it for ten minutes before Declan stepped in, gushing about whiskey and jamming on his guitar.

Jenny thanked him under her breath, scowling at Will.

“There’s nothing sweeter in this world than sitting under a night sky, the moon and stars out, jamming to the notes in your head,” Declan said. “It’s so freeing, so calming.” He stroked his chin. “And can also be romantic with the right people.”

Was it just me or were Elio and Vaughn hanging on his every word?

“Nice,” I answered.

“Do you play any instruments?” Lia asked me.

“No.”

“He sings beautifully, though,” Medusa said.

“We heard him,” Alistair chimed in. “An incredible voice.”

Ugh. Let’s not go here.

“Give us a song,” Oskar said.

The other wolves joined him in his request.

Cue the blushing.

“Don’t force yourself,” Vaughn said, leaning rather close to Declan.

“It’s sweetcream,” I replied.

Medusa patted my arm. “Sorry, sugar. I started this. Vaughn’s right. Don’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

Actually, I wasn’t that uncomfortable, slight heating of the face aside. “Honestly, I don’t mind. What should I sing?”

My parents both smiled, something like pride sparkling across their features.

Or was that just me being a prick?

“Something you love the most,” Declan suggested.

How about a new one about how I love myself some vampire king? I’ll call it Silky Silv Sensations.

Erm, no.

The song I loved the most was ‘Melody of Little Maple.’ I guess I could sing a bit of it again, see if anything happened while I did. Two birds, one stone.

Pfft. It probably wouldn’t work. But at least the troops would be entertained.

“Okay.” I wriggled in my seat, clearing my throat. “I’ll give you a small taster.”

“We don’t do small,” Nora, another wolf, announced.

The other wolves, apart from Jenny, chuckled.

I rolled my shoulders, preparing to sing by counting myself down, getting out the first line before the melody shifted in sudden lurch, the words changing of their own volition.

The song of us, it burns so bright.