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“That’s it. It’s all over.” Giselle picked at a slice of pepperoni on her meat lover’s pizza, wishing she could scarf down the greasy goodness, but depression had turned her stomach against her. She sighed like a woman on death row, knowing the end was near. Arguably, the more rational side of her mind knew better, but that voice of reason was so small it could hardly be heard over the packed restaurant. In the booth next to her sat a rowdy bunch what appeared to be freshmen. They had no clue what was in store for them. Tomorrow would change their lives entirely. But tonight that wouldn’t suppress their wild hoots and hollers about how cool they were going to be. Bunch of kids, just like her, if she’d let go of the angst. Frustration had angry words teetering on the edge of her tongue. Giselle wanted to make a snide comment, but before she opened her mouth, reason won out, and she realized it was her own annoyance rather than the rowdy boys next to her that was more bothersome.
Sammy’s was the most popular pizza joint in town, but this evening saw it packed tighter than her sister Taylor’s shoe closet. By her count, half the population of her school and maybe some from neighboring ones were there, along with families and more small children than her poor ears could handle.
Kids were loud... too loud. The screeching and laughter had her wolf retreating to the farthest reaches of her mind for peace. Noise drowned out nearly all other sounds, making it hard for her to concentrate on her own table and hear the footsteps of her date as he returned.
Forty-five minutes Giselle and Damien had waited for a table to become available. Forty-five minutes of pure hell. And then to top that off, it had taken an additional thirty ear-splitting minutes of listening to others enjoying their pizza before her own had arrived.
Operating purely on hunger, Giselle had wolfed down half the pizza so quickly she’d barely even tasted it, and that’s when the depression struck her. This was the last pizza she’d eat as a free woman. After tonight, it would be the institutionalized meals filled with taking turns talking about her day and minding proper manners. Not to mention the whole food, organic, homogenized, non-GMO, tasteless, soul-less cooking she’d be subjected to. Her wolf still salivated at the thought of more meat, but the human side of her warred with an anxious stomach. And now all that remained was a single slice.
“Oh, don’t look so sad, Elle.” Damien returned to their table bringing an invisible cloud of soap and a bit too much cologne with him. At least he didn’t smell as bad as some boys her age, though he could cut back on the body spray. Human girls weren’t as sensitive to the nasal burning that followed a fresh application of manly smell, but she was no human, and her eyes were beginning to water from the fumes. He took his seat and reached across the table, fingers dangerously close to that last slice of pizza.
She was sure he’d been trying to hold her hand, but the wolf in her was agitated, and possessive. Involuntarily, Giselle let out a little growl.
“I will never understand your mood swings,” Damien sighed. He pulled back his hand and busied himself with the salt shaker instead.
“Sorry. I’m in a funk. Not ready for summer to be over.” She glanced around, noting similar disillusioned looks on other faces belonging to upperclassmen like herself. Tomorrow would be the first day of another school year, and there was no getting out of it. The summer had been so much fun. She’d celebrated her official adoption and been welcomed into the pack with open arms. They’d spent every free moment swimming, shopping, and hiking, and the moonlight runs... pure heaven. Her wolf lived for those. Total freedom to wander the desert, chasing jackrabbits, and the invigorating feeling of the warm breeze rushing through her fur. Some days, the best part of being a wolf was the shedding of her human skin and letting the animal take the lead. As a wolf, her senses were stronger. She relied much more on instinct and feeling.
Lost in the daydream of exchanging her clothes for a fur coat and breaking into a full run in the soft desert sand was enough to have her wolf rising to the surface, whimpering for one last run before rules and order demanded she adhere to curfews again.
The weight of the human world became secondary when she was a wolf, as if it were only a dream. She didn’t even need to run with her pack to enjoy herself, unlike other wolves. Being alone only heightened the sensation of pure freedom. But she was a lone wolf no longer. She had a pack – one that she’d never dreamed she find. And even with their quirks and rules, she was coming to the realization that with them was where she belonged.
Even Damien, supernatural in his own right, could never appreciate that true sense of freedom. Giselle wondered if there were some kind of witch equivalent, she but doubted it. Witches seemed stricter in their rituals and ceremonies than even some religious humans she’d met over the years. Magic was not fun; it was something to work at. Duty and service, those Damien seemed to understand, and Giselle was certainly learning it too, being in a pack. Duty and service were the opposite of freedom in every way, and that sobering thought brought her back to reality.
She let out another loud sigh and turned away from the last slice of pizza staring her down, begging to be eaten.
Martina would be proud. Her new mom was constantly harping on her about her diet, even more so in recent months since she’d joined the whole plant-based foods movement. If it weren’t for the fact that wolves needed meat, she’d have sworn Martina would have made them all go vegan. A shudder ran through her body, sending her wolf retreating to the farthest depths of her mind at that horrid thought.
Martina’s voice whispered in the back of her mind: Good little wolves eat more than just junk food, dear. You need lots of lean meat – and veggies, too!
Despite the desire to eat a half-pound burger just to spite Martina’s new diet regime, she couldn’t have asked for a better mom. She’d never truly had one of those before. Foster moms were nice, until they found out about her condition. Martina had been the first to truly accept her and even love her for what she was. Still, though, at times her thoughts wandered to her own mother. She had to be out there, somewhere.
Questions like that lead her down a dark path of anxiety coupled with feelings of abandonment she’d rather not deal with. The foster life was not real life; just an endless stream of heartbreaking loss. Not something she’d wish on her worst enemy. Being tossed from one home to another, never a good fit for any family because of her... condition.
“If you don’t snap out of this funk, I’ll work my magical mumbo-jumbo on you.” Damien wiggled his fingers and winked.
That smile of his was magic enough. He never failed to charm her with it, and this time was no different.
“You act like it’s the end of the world, not the end of summer.” Those magic fingers of his tiptoed their way toward the remaining slice of pizza.
She’d already snapped at him once, so she let him feel he stole it. “Might as well be the end of the world.” Giselle pouted. “My schedule arrived last week. I got Mr. Harper again. You know that guy has it in for me.”
Damien drew in his breath. “Eww, sorry.”
“Yeah. I had to take another lab credit for my transcripts, so Chem 2 was my best option. Harper barely passed me last year. I swear he tried to find every reason to take off points in my labs. That man hates me. But he’s the only chemistry teacher.”
“You couldn’t take physics or life science?”
“If I pass Chem 2 this year, I’ll take physics senior year. That’s what the career counselor said.”
Damien swiped the last slice of pizza off the pan before Giselle could mutilate it further and shoved it into his mouth.
“Hey!” She playfully snarled at him.
He chewed his bite quickly and winked at her. “You weren’t eating it. Just peeling off meat chunks.”
“Hyena,” Giselle teased him.
Damien shrugged. “As long as I get a slice or two, call me what you will.”
“Speaking of scavengers” – Giselle nodded to the two girls walking through the front door – “Here come my sisters. Cunning little wolves. They waited just long enough to join us in the kill.”
“What?” Damien choked on a pepperoni.
“Well, they knew I’d be here and that Sammy’s would be packed. Now they don’t have to wait for a table.” If she’d been smarter, Giselle might have tried the same thing.
Taylor and Di sauntered up, all smiles, and scooted right into the booth as if they’d been invited.
“Thanks for saving us a seat, Elle,” Di said. She tucked her Grey hobo bag in between herself and Giselle, and then picked up a menu. “Are we ready to order?”
Giselle snickered. “How long did you hang back at the house before deciding Damien and I had had enough alone time?”
Taylor stashed her own purse and pulled out her lipstick and mirror. “Oh, no. We weren’t waiting. We went shopping. Di needed a new back-to-school outfit.”
“Because the one you bought last week wasn’t trendy enough?” Giselle asked.
“Well, I heard that Cynthia Struthers is planning on wearing a canary yellow romper. The one we spotted at the mall last week. It had the cutest ties at the hem of the shorts and that really deep V-neck. Pairs perfectly with those white rope wedges. Anyway...”
Giselle’s mind wandered as soon as Di and Taylor started talking clothes. Fashion was one thing. She enjoyed looking her best, but Di and Taylor made a career of being on top of all the latest trends, and she could hardly keep up. The last time she’d worn a romper, she was probably still in diapers, and now they were the latest trend, especially in blinding colors like yellow and hot pink. Not something she’d be caught dead in. But she’d never say that out loud. Smiling and nodding, she let Di go on about having to make a statement on the first day of school. It wasn’t until their blank stares had landed on Giselle that she realized she’d been asked a question.
“Uh... Whatever, right?” The standard catch-all reply usually worked, accompanied by a smile and shrug when Giselle didn’t know the question.
Taylor huffed in response. “Honestly, Elle. You know I live and breathe fashion. Just let me pick out your outfit, okay?”
Happy to not have to do anything, and at the same time to avoid an argument with her sisters, Giselle nodded eagerly. “Sure. Make me beautiful.”
“Ah. That’s my department,” Di said. “I’m thinking we go with an updo for you. Nothing severe, but we’ll get your hair out of your face and do a little contouring on those cheeks.”
Damien chucked.
“Keep laughing, witch, and I’ll send them over to your house for a little manscaping.” Giselle narrowed her eyes wickedly at him, half considering the option. It would make for a fun video to post on her profile. She’d get a million hits for sure.
Damien held his hands up in surrender. “No, thanks. I’m good here. I’m happy to silently bask in the glory of having three gorgeous girls at my table and the entire restaurant jealous of me.”
Giselle laughed. “Who’s jealous?”
Damien looked around the room, and his eyebrow quirked up. “Well, those people are, for sure. They’ve been staring at us since we came in here.”
Giselle looked in the direction he indicated. Two guys she’d never seen before were looking at them, but as soon as Giselle spotted them, they turned their heads away, toward a woman approaching their table. “Nah, they’re just waiting for their mommy to get back from the bathroom.”
Damien looked back and then did a double take.
“What’s the matter?” Giselle asked, catching the odd way he’d straightened up in his seat.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me. I can smell a lie, remember?”
“You can’t smell a lie,” he said.
“Maybe not literally, but I can hear the uptick in your heart and the sudden whiff of deodorant. You’re sweating now... You’re busted. ’Fess up! You know them?”
Damien looked back again, his brow furrowing giving age to his features. “No. But I recognize the pendant that woman is wearing. She’s a witch, but not my coven.”
“This is Vegas, remember? Tourist town,” Taylor said, as if he needed the reminder.
“And I’d be okay with that if we were closer to the strip. But...” Damien’s words trailed off. He reached for his phone and sent a quick text. “You know how it is... Supes all have to check in.”
Giselle rolled her eyes. “Momma has you trained well.”
“It’s all fun and games until a war breaks out,” Damien defended.
“Can we order already? I’m starving,” Di said, setting her menu heavily on the table.
“Good luck grabbing a waiter. Our drinks have been empty for hours.” Damien tilted his ice-less empty cup for effect.
“Shut up. We haven’t even been her for hours,” Giselle said. She stood and grabbed hold of the nearest guy in a white shirt and apron. “Find our waiter.... please.”
Looking something between shocked and annoyed, the guy eased out of her grip and nodded.
“Want to tone down the Alpha a bit, Elle? We don’t want anyone spitting in our food,” Taylor said.
“That’s the thanks I get for trying to help.” Giselle sat back down in the booth.
“Thanks, sis,” Di said with a smirk.
Damien’s eyes drifted back over to the two guys and the lady sitting with them. Giselle caught his distraction and wanted to press the issue, but thought better about it. Wolf business was enough stress; she didn’t really want to add in witch politics on top of that. And she would have left it there, except for the fact that the woman not only met her eye when she caught Giselle looking but held her gaze as if challenging her for dominance.
Witches don’t do that.
Giselle’s wolf rose to the surface, instinctively ready to meet that challenge. She curled her fingers, her nails elongating and sharpening into claws.
Long fiery red hair, a speckling of freckles across her nose, and the deepest green eyes she’d ever seen... if Giselle’s wolf weren’t already on the edge of surfacing, she might have picked up on the resemblance and the glimmer of familiarity there. But she was too far gone; her wolf, an Alpha, could not back down from this challenge.
The dominance game lasted long enough for others to notice, but just before Giselle took to her feet and added words to the tension, the woman smiled, nodded, and then turned away. Not a defeat by any stretch of the imagination; she’d gotten the better of Giselle, and that cocky smile proved it.
When Giselle had returned to her senses, she noticed how close to a change she’d come. Hairs on her arms and hands had bristled, and her nails sharpened into claws. She quickly hid them under the table and met the shocked expressions of her friends.
“Wanna tell me what that was all about?” Taylor asked.
Giselle looked to Damien. “I need to know who that woman is.”
Damien nodded. All humor had left his face, replaced with pure fear. “Yeah,” he practically choked on the words. “I’ll find out.”