Chapter 25

Prue

The next day rolled in with that same restless energy I hadn’t been able to shake since the damn “pack tour” with Alpha boy. If you could even call it that. I spent most of the night tossing and turning, replaying the way his scent clung to me, the way my stupid heart raced when he leaned too close, and the way the bond mocked me with every reminder that he was "mine". Ugh. My wolf hummed in smug delight, but my brain? My brain wanted to gag.

So, in the morning, I tried to keep to myself, plotting how to go with my morning in Andrew-free zone. It was a decent plan. Almost flawless.

Until fate decided to laugh in my face.

Because the very second I twisted my doorknob, his door opened too. And there he was, stepping out at the exact same moment, as if the universe had staged it.

Andrew – the Alpha Boy himself.

I froze in my doorway, blinking, trying not to roll my eyes so hard they’d get stuck.

Really? What a perfectly clichéd, straight-out-of-a-movie coincidence. This was the kind of thing that happened in bad rom-coms – the heroine and the broody male lead emerging from their rooms at the same exact second, some awkward “oh hey” moment queued up. If music had started swelling in the background, I swear I would’ve stabbed myself with a fork just to end it.

“Hey.” He said softly.

“Hi.”

Yep. Earth-shattering conversation skills on display. We stood there for another heartbeat, both of us studying the other’s face like we were trying to solve a puzzle we weren’t sure we wanted the answer to.

“Slept well?” he said finally, his voice smooth but carrying that underlying authority that always grated against me.

“Yeah. Something. Whatever.” My tone was flat, maybe even leaning into sarcasm, because what else was I supposed to do? Beam at him like we were some kind of picture-perfect couple?

His eyes flicked over me, sharp but soft all at once, like he was trying to read something between the lines. And damn it, my stomach tightened because the bond liked the attention. I hated that.

I crossed my arms, tilting my head. “So what now? Do we bump into each other every morning like some running gag?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. “Guess the pack house isn’t big enough.”

Oh, he thought he was funny.

“Well, then you better start walking out five seconds later, Alpha boy,” I said, letting the sarcasm drip from every syllable. “Wouldn’t want people to think this is some… movie setup.”

He raised a brow, amused. “What kind of movie?”

“The kind I don’t want to star in.”

I shot the words out quickly, sharper than they needed to be. Sarcasm was safer – it kept me in control, gave me something to hide behind. But the second his brow stayed arched, his eyes lingering on me like he actually enjoyed this back-and-forth, my pulse betrayed me. Damn it. Why did my chest feel so tight, like the air had suddenly thickened?

It wasn’t even a real question. He wasn’t asking about movies. He was asking about me. Testing the waters. Poking at me in that infuriatingly calm, steady way that made me feel like he already knew what I’d answer before I said a word.

And that was the real danger: Andrew didn’t flinch. He didn’t get defensive. He didn’t snap back like he used to just few days ago when I pushed. No, now he just stood there, smirking faintly, letting me hurl sarcasm while his eyes said, go on, little wolf, show me more.

Heat coiled low in my stomach. Goddess, I hated it. Hated how the bond turned everything into a tug-of-war. One second I wanted to claw at him, tell him to get out of my space, and the next… the next I wondered if his mouth would taste as smug as that smile looked.

Stop it, Prue. Just stop.

I forced my lips into a flat line, breaking eye contact like that might cut the invisible thread pulling between us. It didn’t. If anything, it tugged harder, reminding me that no matter how sharp my tongue got, no matter how much sarcasm I stacked as armor, my body was already betraying me.

And he knew it. Oh, he definitely knew. He tilted his head slightly.

“I haven’t seen you at pack meals.”

I shifted, pretending it was nothing.

“Yeah. I haven’t been there yet.”

“Why?”

Another shrug.

“I just grab something from the kitchen when I’m hungry. Not really running by the clock.”

His brows drew together in that classic disapproving Alpha way.

“That’s silly. You’re a were. You should always be hungry.”

It sounded so ridiculous coming from his mouth that I almost rolled my eyes. Almost.

“Come,” he said firmly, not waiting for me to agree.

And, of course, my feet betrayed me by following.

The first floor hallway was buzzing with footsteps,voices carrying from omegas doing chores, the faint clatter of dishes drifting up from the dining hall. The hall of meals was nothing like the sterile kitchen I’d been sneaking into. Long, heavy wooden tables stretched across the room in a wide U-shape, the kind that demanded people face each other, shoulder to shoulder, whether they liked it or not. Platters of food – steaming pancakes, roasted bacon, piles of bread, bowls of fruit – covered every surface. Wolves were already seated, eating, laughing, their voices colliding in a chaos of sound.

Some glanced at me as Andrew led me in, curiosity flickering in their eyes before they turned back to their conversations. At the head of the main table, the Alpha and Luna sat like royalty presiding over their unruly court, both calm and watchful in their own ways.

Andrew steered me toward his guys who had already claimed seats. I lowered myself into the chair beside him, suddenly very aware of how out of place I felt. I've never eaten together with this many weres, I've never even been in one room with this many animals.

The energy of the room was contagious – rowdy, unfiltered, alive. It reminded me of something from another life. A friend back in one city had Italian roots, and I’d been dragged into her family dinners more than once. Those nights had been loud, messy, filled with food and laughter that never seemed to end. This felt the same – except instead of olive oil and pasta, there were piles of bacon and bread, slabs of pancakes passing from hand to hand.

It wasn’t… bad. Actually, it was fun. Warm.

My chest tightened. Dangerous thoughts. Because this wasn’t my pack, nor my family. This wasn’t my community either. I wasn’t one of them, no matter how much the bond wanted me to feel like I was. I stared down at my plate, forcing myself to focus on food. Safer that way.

The guys tried to rope me into conversation – Greg made some crack about Andrew’s brooding face, John asked what I thought of the house – but I only gave them small smiles, a hum here, a shake of the head there. Just enough to acknowledge them without giving away anything real. I might have come off as rude for not engaging in conversation properly, but better to stay on the outside.

And being on the outside gave me plenty to notice.

Like those sharp glares cutting my way, thrown with the precision of circus knives by curious she-wolves and a few nosy weres, all silently demanding to know why I was sitting next to Andrew, chatting with his left and right hand like I belonged there. Better not to indulge in real conversations with the guys – no need to stir extra drama. I had to lie low. I was “omega” and a lone wolf, after all. In some packs, that’s practically a death sentence. Okay, maybe not that dramatic – probably more of a rogue thing – but close enough. Every pack has its underdog. The weakest link. Whether you’re made into one or forced into becoming one depends on the group.

I looked around the table and my eyes lowered and ran over the surface of the wood. It was… let’s say less than refined. Bread crusts everywhere, chicken bones piled in little graveyards, olive pits at the side of the plates, charred bacon edges shoved away, forgotten. Someone laughed so hard they nearly sprayed water across the table. Another tore into a hunk of meat with his hands.

I wrinkled my nose in my mind. Weres eat like pigs.

But I kept my expression neutral. Survival mantra 101: Know your place in a group - stay polite at all cost. Right now, my place was guest. Outsider. One against many. So I swallowed my judgments with my food and let my eyes roam over the pack instead of joining in.

Belonging had a cost. And I wasn’t sure if I could – or should – pay it.