#2 Blood Moon Bonfire

Dee POV

I’m halfway through taping my ribs when I hear it. Footsteps. Echoing down the stone hallway outside my room. Heavy. Purposeful. Laced with smugness. Never good. No one comes down here unless they’re looking for something to break.

I slowly lower the roll of medical tape and sit up on the cot, bracing myself. I don’t bother hiding the bruises. There’s no point. The door creaks open with dramatic flair, and the stench of expensive perfume hits me before I even see her.

Saria Bloodhowl. Barely seventeen, all venom and lip gloss. She stands in the doorway like it’s a war crime to breathe my air. Her nose scrunches, and she visibly lifts her feet like the floor might reach up and stain her designer boots. “Ugh. This place is even worse than I imagined. Do rats braid your hair down here, or do you just wake up tangled?”

I say nothing. She scans the room with exaggerated disgust and actually shudders. I pop my gum and level my gaze at her.

“What do you want, Saria? I’m not required to work right now.”

She grins, sharp, cruel. The kind of smile that says I have power and I’m bored. “Ah, but you are, mutt. I asked Mommy, and she said you’re to serve us drinks tonight at the Blood Moon Bonfire. Me, Kade, our friends, you’re our own little personal serving wench.”

I groan, dragging both hands down my face. “Are you serious?”

She twirls a piece of her hair and grins wider. “Deadly. See you at eight, bitch. Oh, and wear your finest rags.”

She turns and walks out like she owns the world, not a single concern in that hollow little heart of hers. Her perfume lingers like a threat. I sit there for a long moment, staring at the cracked cement wall.

“Of all the fucking things,” I mutter.

Tonight. Of all nights. Midnight marks my eighteenth birthday. Which means, if the Moon has any mercy left, my wolf might actually show up. Right in the middle of their little bonfire. That’ll go over super well.

I hug myself, pressing my arms tight around my ribs and try to breathe through the ache. The physical pain is whatever. The rest? That’s the hard part. Being paraded in front of the pack like a living joke. Again.

“Just one more time,” I whisper. “One last night, Dee. Serve the drinks. Smile through your teeth. Then run like hell.”

I check the clock: 7:00 PM. One hour until showtime.

I pull out my “uniform” from under the cot. It’s a shredded, burlap nightmare stitched together by the Luna herself. She’d called it “the perfect look for a servant slut.” It barely covers anything and itches like a curse.

I don’t brush my hair. Don’t put on makeup. Don’t even try. They’d only mock me harder if I looked like I gave a damn.

I tug on the burlap, scrape it into place, and give myself one last look in the mirror. Hazel eyes, tired but unbroken. Full lips. Dirt smudged skin. My dark chestnut hair a tangled mess down to my waist. Still pretty, even when I try not to be.

I sigh and open the door. The walk to the bonfire pit takes a full twenty minutes through the thick of the woods. I take my time. Each step is a breath, a blessing, a goodbye.

The forest is alive tonight, quiet but watching. The blood moon rises through the branches, bathing everything in silver red light. The trees creak gently like they’re stretching. The air hums.

I move softly. Respectfully. “Hey old ones,” I whisper, brushing my fingers along the mossy trunk of a wide pine. “You doing okay tonight?”

The trees sway slightly. I smile. A pair of raccoons scurry across the path. I nod to them like we’re old friends. A fox peeks out from behind a log, blinks at me. I wink.

A soft chirp sounds near my ear. I freeze. Then smile. A bluebird lands gently on my shoulder, fluffing its feathers. I reach up and stroke its head with one finger. “Hey there, beautiful. You staying out of trouble?”

It chirps again, three quick notes, then flits off into the trees like it came just to say hi. The forest is the only place I ever feel safe and seen.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say it knows me too. “Wish me luck,” I whisper to the trees. “One more shit show to survive.”

I step out of the tree line and see the glow of torches in the distance. Laughter. Clinking glasses. Drums in the dirt.

The Blood Moon Bonfire has begun. And me? I’m the main fucking entertainment.

The clearing glows red under the blood moon, every flicker of torchlight painting shadows across the trees like twisted veins. The bonfire crackles at the center, massive, hot, and alive. It smells like smoke, whiskey, and sweat.

And I hate it. Wolves from every high ranking family are already here, heirs, alphas in training, betas and gammas showing off like it matters. Everyone's dressed in sleek black or blood red, all shining teeth and fake laughs.

I step into the firelight, and just like always, no one looks at me. They glance, then dismiss. Like I’m furniture. A shadow.

A piece of the background that exists solely to fetch drinks and absorb contempt. Good. The longer I stay invisible, the easier this is.

I head straight for the bar without a word. The bartender, a grumpy older gamma who won’t even make eye contact, nods at the prepped trays. I grab one and turn, holding it steady as I begin my rounds. Smile and serve, Dee. Stay quiet. Stay small. Just one more night.

The burlap dress scratches my thighs with every step. My ribs still ache from Kade’s earlier kick, but I don’t wince. Won’t give them that. My face is set, neutral and fucking Unreadable.

I move through the crowd like fog, unseen until I’m suddenly there, offering a glass with a bowed head and clipped tone. “Drink?”

Some take one without even acknowledging me. Some sneer. One guy, the future Beta of Ashridge, calls me “sweetheart” and licks his lips. I walk away before I say something I’ll regret.

They don’t even realize they’ve trained me to be silent. That I’m only invisible because I want to be. I pass three of Saria’s little girlfriends, daughters of elite families, all giggles and glittering eyes. One of them calls me a mutt under her breath. I don’t flinch. Just hand her a glass and move on.

I’ve been serving these people since I was fifteen. Carrying their drinks. Cleaning their messes. Listening when they think I’m deaf. And I’ve memorized everything.

Pack alliances. Smuggling routes. Who’s fucking who. Who’s paid to look the other way when a girl goes missing.

All tucked away in my mind, like daggers waiting for the right moment to be thrown.

They think I’m beneath them. But I’ve got enough dirt on this pack to bury it. I shift the tray to my left hand and roll out my shoulder, my eyes sweeping the perimeter. No sign of Kade or Saria yet. Probably taking their sweet time to make some over the top entrance. I can already hear their smug laughter in my head.

Just keep moving, Dee. Keep your head down. Serve the drinks. Count the hours. Midnight’s coming. My gum cracks between my teeth. Cherry. Faint. Familiar.

It’s the only thing in this whole damn place that feels like mine. I pass near the fire again, the heat kissing my skin like a warning. Wolves dance nearby, spinning in time with the drums. Some are already shifting, half phase wolves with glowing eyes and flexing claws. They’re showing off. Competing. Playing alpha.

Let them preen. I’ve fought harder battles in the dark by myself. A few more drinks passed out. More miles walked in this ragged excuse of a dress. The rope ties dig into my back. My arms are scratched and bruised and smudged with ash. But I walk tall. I serve silent.

They don’t know it’s my birthday. They don’t know I’m counting every breath until midnight.

And they sure as hell don’t know the girl in burlap is planning to vanish before the sun rises, with every secret this pack has ever buried.

You don’t get to own me anymore, I think as I hand off another drink.

Not after tonight.