Chapter Eight

BILLIE

Fleming insists we need smoothie bowls after all that, and we stop at a trendy place. When we get back to the Underground Rock House, he helps me carry everything up. I unlock the door to my suite, and jump out of my skin when Raven and Thorne come around the corner behind us.

“Sorry, just wanted to know if you had a fruitful trip. And I’m to give you this.” He hands me a bright pink card. 

You are Invited

To the Underground Lair for a night of Music and Debauchery

This invitation only good for the bearer of the name 

Billie Marie Black

The Phantom

I turn the card around. On the back, there’s a message in cursive writing.

Come to the cellar sometime, we can make music together. I’ve heard you sing to yourself in your studio, and your unique voice deserves attention. I won’t bite, I promise. 

-P

“The party is on Saturday. It’s kind of a big deal for anyone new to get an invitation,” Raven says.

“I’ve never been to a party,” I say. “I don’t really know how they work. Do I bring something?”

“Not a thing, the Phantom orchestrates everything. Just bring yourself and maybe that black velvet mini dress,” Fleming says.

I nod. Inside, I’m panicking, but I can’t let them see me sweat. I have a feeling all this is leading to something, maybe an invitation to join their gang. I don’t know if I want it, I just know I want them to like me.

I’ve never felt that way before, either. I guess that’s what happens when you make friends.

“Don’t worry, small girl. I’ll make sure no one bothers you if you don’t want them to,” Thorne says, sensing my anxiety.

“Thanks, big guy. Well, I guess I’d better get ready for classes tomorrow.”

They file out, one after the other, Fleming kissing me on the cheek and Thorne patting my head.

Almost immediately, there’s a knock at my door. I answer it to find Dominic on the other side. “Come in, I was just unpacking all this.”

He comes into my room and leans against my desk chair. “So tomorrow’s your first day of classes.”

“Yep.” I twist my hands together.

“Nervous? It’s okay to be,” he adds.

“I don’t fit in here. I keep telling myself I belong here like anyone else, but…” I sit down on the edge of my bed, across from him.

“Imposter syndrome,” he says. “Totally understandable, you don’t know anything about these people except they’re rich, they’re werewolves, and they can be assholes when they’re drunk.”

“Yeah.”

“Here’s the thing…don’t let them smell your fear. Most of them are good kids, if condescending and a little snotty. But the bad ones…fear is an aphrodisiac. Which isn’t always a bad thing in the right situation,” he says, arching an eyebrow, “but in this case, you don’t want the wrong kind of attention.”

“What kind is that?” I ask nervously.

“The kind where Tris rips off someone’s dick for speaking to you the wrong way.”

Oh. Okay, then.

“Everyone keeps saying things like that.”

“Because they’re true.” He leans forward. “You’re going to have to get used to the idea that the kid is smitten. Taken with you. I***a-crush. And when Tristan focuses in on something he wants, it’s all he can see. He barrels right on over any obstacle. He’ll mow the world down just to stand next to you.”

I gulp. “He just met me. To be honest, I didn’t think he liked me that much.”

“That’s his other curse, dollface. He’s a man of few words, so he comes off blunt and sharp-edged, but deep inside, he’s a romantic. The biggest romantic of us all. He’s been looking for his fated mate since he was 15 years old.”

“Fated mate?”

“His…person.”

“Okay, let’s say all this is true. What if he gets to know me and realizes I’m not…his person?”

“Doesn’t work that way,” Dominic says. “You’ll just have to trust it that he means what he says and knows what he’s saying. Most of the time. Words aren’t his strong point. But when it matters, he’ll come through.”

I take a deep breath. “And what if he’s not my person?”

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t work that way either.”

“But I’m human.”

“Have you ever noticed a lack of female werewolves? Most of us end up with humans, or human hybrids with latent genes.”

“Is this why everyone is being so nice to me? Because of a crush?” I think about the pink invitation on my desk. “The Phantom wants to make music with me. Does he mean it?”

“He’s sincere. We all think you have an incredible voice, and he’s the best music teacher. His studio is next to your practice space, you should say hi.” He smiles wryly at me. “Everyone is being nice to you because they want you to be a Freak and join us in the Underground. They like you for you. Think about joining. You’d be the first female human member.”

“I’ll think about it,” I agree.

“Good. We have orgies, you know.”

I gulp again. Werewolves are known for their debauchery. He laughs at the look on my face. “Speaking of the party, my sister Abby is at a fancy beauty school and needs practice models. Maybe we could go see her Friday after class? It would be a favor for her, really, and you could get a new haircut to boost your confidence.”

I smile at him. “Okay, but only if she really does need practice.”

“Good. I’ll let you get settled in for tomorrow.” He picks a pen up off my new-old desk and writes a number on a wall calendar above the desk. “Text me literally any time, I’m up for anything at all hours.”

I hug him. It feels good. “Thanks, Dom.”

“I’ll pick you up here for breakfast in the morning. Can’t face those bitches alone.”

When he leaves, that’s when I notice a rose-colored velvet box on my vanity. I pick it up cautiously.

There’s a note.

Billie Black,

Welcome to Crescent University.

-Tristan O’Donnell

I open the box. There’s a beautiful rainbow moonstone medallion inside, set in a filigree circle, like a full moon. It hangs on a smooth gold chain. I put it on and look in the mirror. It hits on my breastbone just above my cleavage, nestled perfectly.

I shouldn’t accept this.

But I’ve never owned anything beautiful like it.

My childhood was filled with poverty and instability, and the last two years have been spent on working so my mother could have treatment. The only thing that made me feel any control was dance. I never had anything tangible of my own.

Until now.

I smile to myself. If this is what being courted by Tristan O’Donnell is like, I’m in for an interesting ride.

He and his wingmen have game, I’ll give them that.

Later, I fall asleep for the third night in a row to the music of howling, yipping wolves below my window, and I wonder which of them it is.