Chapter 7: Bar Trouble

By the time I reached The Rusty Howl, I’d downgraded from full panic to “mildly deranged.”

A win, in my book.

The place was its usual brand of depressing.  Wood paneling that smelled like wet pine and regret, neon signs buzzing like angry hornets, and the jukebox eternally stuck on 90s country heartbreak hits.

Cassie was already at the bar, twirling a straw in her drink like she was plotting someone’s downfall.

“You look like you fought a raccoon and lost,” she said the second she saw me.

“Close,” I said, sliding onto the stool beside her. “Four raccoons in human suits.”

“...You’re not joking, are you?”

“Not even a little,” I said, waving at the bartender. “Whiskey. Something that tastes like amnesia.”

Cass frowned. “You sure you’re okay? You’re pale.”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Just need about twelve ounces of self-care in liquid form.”

When the drink came, I tossed back half of it in one go. The burn hit hard enough to make my eyes water. “See? Therapy.”

Cass snorted. “You’re a disaster.”

“I’m a graduated disaster,” I corrected. “Valedictorian, baby. I can fall apart with honors.”

We laughed, and for the first time that day, the tension loosened. My wolf, too, went quiet, curling somewhere deep inside like it finally believed we were safe.

The bar filled up slowly. Locals, mostly. A few familiar faces from campus, and some strangers who smelled like motor oil and trouble.

That’s when I noticed them. Three men at the back, all in leather jackets and bad intentions. They weren’t the usual Rusty Howl drunks. They moved too quiet. Watched too closely.

One of them - tall, dark hair, a jaw like a blunt weapon - leaned toward the others, muttered something, and they all looked straight at me.

I turned back to Cass. “Okay, don’t look now-”

She looked.

“Cass!”

“Sorry! Reflex!”

The tallest one stood, stretching like a predator testing his leash. Then he started walking toward us.

Cass whispered, “If he’s hot, blink twice.”

“Cass, if I blink twice, it’s because he’s eating me.”

He stopped right beside me, leaning a little too close. His breath smelled faintly of beer and something wild - definitely not human.

“There’s something off about you, sweetheart,” he said, sniffing slightly. “Can’t decide if it’s good or dangerous.” he said, voice low, drawling. “You smell… different.”

My blood froze.

Cass frowned. “Excuse me?”

He ignored her, eyes still locked on me. “Pretty, too. Real pretty.”

My wolf bristled, pacing beneath my skin.

“I think you’re mistaking me for someone who gives a damn,” I said, lifting my glass. “Now move before I accidentally redecorate your jeans with whiskey.”

He grinned. “Feisty.” His friends chuckled from their table. “I like that. You sure you don’t want to ditch the human and come run with real wolves tonight?”

Cass’s eyes widened. “Okay, I’m officially uncomfortable. Clara-?”

“I got it.” I put down my glass and stood up. “Back. Off.”

He took another step forward, sniffing, his pupils dilating. “Huh. You’re not just some half-blood, are you? You’ve got power in you.”

Every hair on my body stood on end.

“Touch me,” I said softly, “and I’ll show you how much.”

He laughed and reached for my arm.

That’s when the air shifted. A ripple of something electric passed through the room, sharp enough to silence the jukebox mid-song. The drunk at the dartboard froze mid-throw.

Then I smelled them.

Kieran. Damon. Rowan. And the fourth one, the quiet one whose name I still didn’t know. All shadows and restrained violence.

The tall wolf froze halfway to me, nose twitching. “What the-”

They stepped through the door like the bar itself had summoned them. Four men, all in dark clothes, eyes gleaming faintly gold under the flickering light.

Cass whispered, “Holy shit. Who are they?”

“Apparently my brothers,” I muttered.

The drunk wolves didn’t seem impressed. “You got backup, sweetheart? That’s cute.”

Rowan was the first to move. He was fast. Too fast. One moment he was standing, the next the drunk was slammed against the wall, feet off the ground.

“You talk to her again,” Rowan said, voice low and gravelly, “and you’ll never talk at all.”

His eyes flashed amber.

The man’s friends stood, growling, but Damon and Kieran were already between them and the door, blocking every escape route.

The whole bar erupted into chaos. Chairs scraping, someone shouting to call the cops, Cass gripping my wrist so tight I could feel her pulse.

The wolf in me rose, panicked, half thrilled, half terrified. Kieran looked at me once over his shoulder - a silent command. Stay put.

The drunk wolves lunged.

What happened next was fast, brutal, and absolutely impossible. The brothers moved like predators unleashed. Precise, in sync, not just strong but inhuman. I couldn't just not to look at them.

When one of the drunks swung a broken bottle, Kieran caught his arm mid-air and I heard the distinct sound of bones snapping.

Damon kicked another across the floor like a rag doll. Rowan slammed his target against the pool table, shattering wood.

The quiet one - the one who hadn’t spoken yet - caught the last man by the throat and hissed, “You dare lay a hand on our blood?”

And that’s when it happened. Their eyes glowed gold. Teeth sharpened. Muscles shifted under their skin.

Cass screamed. And I… froze.

Because I could feel it. The same wild energy roaring in their veins flickered in mine, answering like an echo in my blood.

Kieran turned toward me, eyes glowing brighter than the rest.

“Now you see, Clara,” he said softly, almost tender. “We are what we are.”

My wolf surged inside me, howling in recognition.

Cass gripped my arm, shaking. “Clara, what- what the hell-”

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Because everything they’d said, every impossible word…

It was true. I was their sister.