Chapter 39

Prue

I reluctantly walked behind the Alpha boy, still fighting a whole internal war about whether I should have refused him outright, just said no and slammed the door in his face with enough dramatic flair to echo through the pack house for days, because honestly, that would have served him right and probably felt cathartic in a way yoga and breathing exercises never could.

As I looked at his back I remember our interaction during that break. He pissed me off with that outwardly untouchable façade while standing far too close to me, seeping his warmth into my cold bones, smelling like some kind of da.mn possession potion and almost brushing his lips against my skin – and suddenly, instead of squashing him like a cockroach under my boot, I had the crazy inappropriate urge to ride him like a wild stallion.

As we approached the lounge, I spotted John emerging from the kitchen with a glass in his hand, moving with that casual confidence boys seem to develop the moment they believe a space belongs to them, and before I could even brace myself for it, he threw an arm around my shoulders and guided me forward like we were lifelong buddies reunited at a high school reunion, forcing me to shift my body slightly away from him in sheer disbelief, because apparently personal space was an optional concept here.

He winked, completely ignoring my visible dissatisfaction, which was impressive in a deeply irritating way.

“Glad you’re joining our evening,” he said cheerfully, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that suggested something ranging from mild chaos to ritual sacrifice, though knowing teenage weres it was probably just alcohol and stupid ideas. “We’re planning to make it epic.”

Epic. Right. My brain immediately supplied images of questionable dares, broken furniture, and testosterone-fueled nonsense, and the eyebrow wiggling didn’t help either. Do they do orgies? Ritual bonding? Competitive shirt removal? Ugh! Disgusting horny weres.

“Why do you think it’s appropriate to put your hand on me?” I asked, deliberately ignoring whatever nonsense he’d just suggested and steering us firmly back to the issue my face had already tried – and failed – to communicate moments ago, because apparently body language was foreign to some people despite accounting for, oh, I don’t know, ninety-five percent of human communication.

My sentence made Andrew glance back at us, and for once – against all logic, pride, and common sense – I caught myself wishing he would interfere, step in, and rip John’s hand off me with that ridiculous, jealous, possessive mate energy, the whole don’t touch what’s mine nonsense I usually mocked in my head and out in the open.

The thought irritated me the moment it surfaced, because since when did I want that? Since when did I crave proof that I mattered enough to trigger his temper, to pull a reaction out of him that wasn’t calm, controlled, and infuriatingly restrained? It wasn’t about the hand anymore – it was about being claimed, defended, seen, even if it came wrapped in arrogance and alpha posturing I swore I hated.

I wouldn’t have stopped him, even if I would have snarled something along the lines of “I can defend myself,” because yes, I’m a strong, self-independent woman – or so I sarcastically reminded myself in my head. But he turned his head back and kept walking, and to my annoyance, a flicker of disappointment settled in my belly.

“Come on,” John laughed, entirely unfazed by my words and Andrew's glances. “You’re like my sister now, because Andrew is my brother – not just my friend and boss.”

He flashed a cheeky smile and glanced back toward the rest of the group, and yes, the nickname Dream Team officially stuck in my head right then, dripping with irony.

“You take your hand off on the count of three,” I said calmly, neutrally, with the kind of tone that carried real intent beneath it, “or it’s going to be removed from my body and disintegrated from yours in a very bloody and unpleasant way, so one – ”

Andrew and Greg snorted at my visual threat – let them. I'll show you entertainment.

I didn’t even get to two. John's expression shifted from are you serious to outright chuckling, as if I’d just delivered a joke instead of a boundary, which honestly said more about him than it did about me. Why do boys think they can put their sticky fingers on me without my invitation? I trully don't get it.

“Okay, okay, no need to go all violent,” he said, lifting his hands and stepping away. “You could’ve asked nicely instead of manipulating me into submission with a threat.”

He wandered deeper into the room and collapsed across one of the sofas in a near-horizontal sprawl, and I had to give him credit – at least he understood coercion and intimidation, even if he preferred to escalate till the dramatic ones.

“You should’ve taken the cue the moment I started the sentence with why,” I shot back without missing a beat, then sat down next to Greg, because I saw absolutely no reason to sit beside Andrew just because fate, biology, and some cosmic joke labeled him my supposed mate.

Still, I glanced at him as I settled in. He was already watching me. I couldn’t tell what he thought about the arrangement – or about anything, really – but after half a second I dismissed it as uninteresting, because overanalyzing Alpha boy’s microexpressions was not on my list of hobbies.

I listened to their conversation for a while, quietly observing, trying to figure out who Andrew really was when surrounded by his friends and team, because if this wasn’t the most authentic version of him, then what was? Ten minutes passed, filled with painfully average teenage-boy chatter, inside jokes, and discussions that circled nowhere, and I yawned despite myself. They clearly hadn’t brought me here to get to know me or bond with me, so why had the Alpha bothered dragging me here at all?

“So,” I cut in, interrupting them mid-conversation and drawing every gaze to me at once, “what do you do here for fun?”

“Many things,” Andrew replied cryptically.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes so hard I might sprain something. That was not an answer. Dude.

“Let’s play truth or dare!” John suddenly cheered, far too enthusiastic for a game that should have died with flip phones and questionable fashion choices.

I frowned at him. “That is the lamest teenage game in existence. Actually, scratch that – it’s a preschool kids game, so Goddess knows why almost-adults insist on dragging it out at every party like it’s a cultural cornerstone.” I hated that game – with passion. Greg chuckled beside me, but John just smirked, clearly pleased.

“Not the werewolf edition,” he said. “That’s where the dares get epic. Once we have our wolves, dares are basically anything we can physically survive. Our parents taught us.”

I frowned – that alone raised several concerns.

“Just last weekend we made Andrew jump from the third floor,” he added proudly, like he was recounting a heroic battlefield achievement. I arched a brow at Alpha boy, who met my gaze without flinching but said nothing, simply watching me with that assessing intensity that made me realize I wasn’t the only one quietly dissecting the personality traits, built in walls and coping mechanisms.

“Halfway down his wolf force-shifted because he said we were all idiots and he’d break his leg otherwise,” John continued, grinning ear to ear. “Epic.” Of course it was – mind the sarcasm.

“Let’s call the other guys!” he announced, that distant unfocused look sliding into his eyes as he mindlinked, which still looked strange to me – probably because it had always just been me and my dad, close enough to shout across rooms instead of invading each other’s heads.

Soon the lounge filled with more bulky bodies, deep voices, and the unmistakable presence of additional weres, some of them with girls tucked under their arms, and I found myself wondering – not for the first time – whether they were dating, bonded, or already mated.

“So are you in?” Jake shouted over the noise, pulling me out of my thoughts. I looked at his smug, teasing smile, feeling all too well that there was something up his sleeve.

“I’ll observe the epicness before I decide,” I replied cryptically. He kept smiling without letting any disappointment show – smart boy, good at poker facing. Do they teach that in ranked-member classes? Do they even have such classes? Whatever. My random curiosity and wandering train of thoughts sometimes surprised even me.

“Well, observe closely then!” he replied, still smug. Okay, he was ready to show off all the crazy tricks. So be it.

I guess my only real worry was that if I agreed to a dare he would call out some stupid shit like kiss the Alpha. Yuk. Or even worse – go to the bedroom and sleep with him. Double yuk. I don’t do strangers.

To my own surprise, I found myself following this silly game with genuine interest. The werewolf edition was way more interesting than the human one. Different kinds of challenges popped up – some involving wolf speed, others testing strength, balance – anything for epic entertainment. One guy had to identify ten different pack members by scent alone while blindfolded, which looked ridiculous from the outside but the wolves were taking it very seriously. Then someone tossed random objects across the room without warning and the person being challenged had to catch them before they hit the floor. Apparently it tested wolf reflexes, but half the time it just resulted in someone diving across the couch like an overexcited puppy.

Then someone had to run full speed across the yard blindfolded, guided only by other senses. After that three wolves chased one runner around the house with full wolf speed allowed. The goal was simple – don’t get caught for twenty seconds. Watching them blur past the windows made me realize humans had absolutely no concept of how fast wolves could move. In another dare two guys had to sprint toward a massive oak, run three steps up the trunk, push off, and land on their feet. One of them stuck it perfectly. The other rolled across the grass like a dropped bowling ball. After that came a challange where one of the bigger wolves lifted another guy over his shoulders and had to squat ten times while everyone counted loudly and heckled him. The human part of my brain kept calculating the number of herniated discs this should logically cause. And then a knife – yes, an actual knife – was tossed into the air and the challenged wolf had to snatch it by the handle before it hit the ground. I nearly spilled my drink watching that one. Few cut hands were result of this but they healed almost instantly so noone really cared.

At some point, I realized I wasn’t just watching anymore. I was in it – cheering, laughing, actually having fun. And then it hit me: human party games were about embarrassment. Werewolf games? They were about seeing who survived being a reckless idiot.