11. Eleven

eleven

E vera’s soft snores woke me early the next morning. For a second, I wondered why the pounding in my head was so loud and the taste in my mouth so stale. Then I spied the vodka bottle on the nightstand and remembered why I didn’t usually drink liquor.

Why, Gaia? I groaned internally.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and started for the bathroom, rubbing sleep from my eyes as I went. My foot caught on something, and I slid before catching myself. I glanced down at the floor and gritted my teeth.

The green envelope had my name on the front, just like the one from the previous day.

Great, I thought. Another chance for Finneus to humiliate me and the pack to gossip about me like I’m not there.

Annoyed, I snatched the invitation from the floor and slipped out of the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind me so I wouldn’t wake Evera. There was no reason for both of us to feel this awful.

Bright sunlight streamed in through the kitchen window, which made the throbbing at my temples exponentially worse. Penn sat at the table drinking his morning coffee. I tossed the envelope at him like a frisbee. He caught it deftly in one hand.

“Showoff,” I muttered, taking a detour to the fridge.

The gallon jug of cold spring water nearly made me weep. For the first time in my life, I drank straight from the bottle.

Penn watched me an expression equal parts curiosity and amusement. “Do you want a glass?” he asked.

I took several gulps before glaring at him and gesturing to the thick stationery in his hand. “Want to save me a paper cut and tell me what new fun awaits me today?”

He groaned audibly and leaned back in the chair, as if he’d been sitting in the same position for far too long. Penn studied me. “You guys have a good night?”

My hangover and I weren’t really in the mood for chitchat. “Am I supposed to thank you? For letting my best friend into the house that I own, while you camp out every night like my living room is a hotel?” I glanced around. “Is the reservation desk upset I didn’t register a second guest? My sincere apologies.”

Penn’s eyebrows raised. “You done?”

He rose from the table, and I actually thought he was going to do the polite thing and leave. No such luck. Instead, he headed for the pantry and began rummaging through the shelves. Too tired to stand, I took the water bottle and sat at the kitchen table, watching Penn debate a sack of biscuit mix from the village.

“Is this still good?” he asked.

I folded my arms on the table and used them like a pillow. “Does it go bad?”

Penn decided it was fine and carried the bag over to the counter. “Scrambled or over-easy?” he asked as he tapped the buttons to preheat the oven. “You’ve never had a clear favorite.”

I almost told him I didn’t want him doing me any favors, but the thought of buttery biscuits and salty eggs— did I have bacon in my fridge? —was too good to pass up. Besides, I liked the idea of him serving me. It was the least he could do while living in my house rent-free.

“Scrambled, with milk. Use the whisk, and don’t rush the heat,” I ordered.

Penn fought a smile but didn’t comment.

Once the mixing bowl was out and the baking sheet lined, he brought me a mug of coffee. “Want a shot of bourbon in it?” he asked, one side of his mouth quirking in thinly veiled amusement.

“How about two fingers of fuck yourself,” I grumbled.

He laughed. “I don’t know if I should let you play with Evera again. She’s clearly turning you from the polite girl I once knew into a sailor.”

I sipped the coffee to clear the brain haze. “The girl you knew is gone. And this woman,” I jabbed a thumb toward my chest, “doesn’t like her eggs burnt.” I made a run-along-now gesture to drive home the point.

Gold threads appeared in his gray irises, though Penn didn’t seem annoyed with my attitude. If anything, he almost seemed to like it.

By the time I finished my first cup of coffee, Evera had made her way downstairs. One side of her hair was matted to her skull while the other stuck out as if she’d teased the strands with a comb. She lifted an eyebrow and jerked her chin to where Penn stood at the stove with his back to us.

“He cooks?” she said.

I shrugged. “Jury is still out on whether it will be edible.”

Her laugh quickly turned into a groan, but I barely noticed. My own offhand use of the word “jury” conjured the previous night’s dream. The tribunal. Estonia. The fae. A man named Colin Aspen who’d called me sister.

“You okay, Drake?” Evera asked, sliding into the chair across from me at the table.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” I shook my head. “Sorry. I just spaced for a second.”

If Penn hadn’t been in the kitchen, I might’ve told Evera about the dream. I knew it was ridiculous, but the scenes felt so real. Even now.

He poured coffee for Evera and brought the mug and pot over to the table, refilling my cup without a word. The timer beeped on the stove, and Penn hurried off to remove the biscuits from the oven.

“If only he had an apron,” Evera said with a dramatic sigh.

“His domestic abilities do not make up for the fact we hate him,” I reminded her, not bothering to keep my voice down.

Penn pretended to ignore me and went about preparing two plates. He set one in front of me and the other on Evera’s placemat. The roiling in my stomach intensified; I was both starving and wondering if eating was such a good idea.

“Be sure to write me a good review,” he teased.

“Are you not eating?” I asked. “Should I be worried your special ingredient is arsenic?”

His eyes narrowed, gaze holding mine. Penn grabbed the fork he’d put on the side of my plate and speared the pile of eggs. He made a Broadway production of shoving the bite in his mouth. I must’ve still had a lot of alcohol in my system because I really wanted to be the fork for a second.

Get it together, I chastised myself.

Penn swallowed. “I’ll be out front if you need me to taste anything else,” he said, then sauntered out of the kitchen.

Evera’s wide-eyed stare was bloodshot and a bit glossy as she watched him leave. I’d seen her in this condition more than once, and I couldn’t help but giggle a little. When she finally turned the astounded expression toward me, I guffawed.

“You look just like I feel,” I said.

“I feel like I look.” She took a big bite out of a biscuit, and her eyes rolled back in her head. “Gaia, that’s orgasmic.”

The food did smell amazing. Yet it wasn’t until I bit into the flaky, golden baked good that I understood what she meant. The dill he’d added to the eggs gave them a rich flavor that made my mouth water for more.

Color returned to Evera’s cheeks as we both devoured our food. Once our plates were empty, she gestured to the envelope Penn had left on the table.

“What’s that?” she asked.

I leaned back in my chair. “I’m guessing an invitation to the next courtship ritual, but I don’t have the energy to read it.”

Her brow furrowed. “May I?”

“Be my guest.” I finally felt human again with hydration, caffeine, and calories. I wasn’t exactly eager to disrupt the momentary balance in my gut but figured it was better to get the unpleasantness out of the way.

Evera’s eyes widened as she skimmed the card inside, then they darted to my face. I didn’t have the strength to care about what new injustice I’d face that day.

“Out with it,” I said.

“You are cordially invited to another bullshit function,” she said with exaggerated fanfare.

I smiled. “Oh, goodie for me.”

“Want a date?” she asked.

Frowning, I waggled my eyebrows. “That depends. Is my escort going to be red-headed with a temper to match?”

She pretended to fan herself with the invitation. “Only of course.”

After spending the afternoon sprawled in my living room with my bestie, watching comfort movies we could recite word for word, Elton turned up to escort Evera back to her mother’s house. I understood why Finneus always wanted babysitters with me, and it wasn’t for my protection. Evera, however, wasn’t a threat, and I wondered if maybe the guard was Penn’s doing.

As much as I hated to admit it, allowing her into my house had been a sort of nice gesture. So was leaving my father’s book. And making breakfast. Placing a guard, particularly Elton, on Evera right after Finneus made it clear her life depended on my behavior didn’t feel like a coincidence.

Finneus wasn’t the type to make empty threats, and he’d proven that taking a life didn’t weigh on his conscience. I hadn’t appreciated how dangerous the situation was for Evera, simply for being my closest friend. She didn’t deserve to pay for my disobedience, so I vowed to be more careful going forward.

These thoughts plagued me as I showered and got ready for the Ball of the Betrothed—the name Finneus had used on the invitation. So did the knowledge my father’s body was nearby in the Gold Cave. Had that been Penn’s doing as well?

I would go see him, one way or another. First, I needed to make it through the night without causing a scene.

My body moved as though on autopilot while I dressed in yet another ballgown that was neither black nor emerald and shoes that squeezed my feet. Penn wasn’t downstairs when I descended the staircase but rather waiting on the porch with Donnelle.

The two men were deep in conversation, which they halted abruptly when I joined them. Donnelle always looked nice for formal functions, but tonight his tuxedo appeared brand-new and much higher quality than his normal fancy attire.

It seemed Finneus was already bestowing gifts and favors on his intended’s family.

Penn scrutinized the amethyst-colored gown I wore. “You ready?” he asked.

I side-stepped him and started down the walk, swallowing all the comments I wanted to make. Penn wouldn’t make Evera pay for my insolence, at least I didn’t think he would, but I would need him if I wanted to see my father’s body. I wasn’t na?ve enough to believe he’d let me out of his sight again to sneak away.

Despite my bravado, my insides turned to jelly when our trio entered the Temple of the Alpha. Finneus had elected to hold the event in the grand ballroom, where he’d murdered my father and stolen the crown.

For the first time in my life, I prepared to enter the room without Dad. The moment hit me harder than I anticipated, and all the eyes on me didn’t help. Penn offered me his elbow. I pointedly ignored the gesture and squared my shoulders.

Head held high, spine ramrod straight, I walked to the dais alone. The symphony quartet played the ballad of the Ophiuchus, and my fingers clenched around the handfuls of my skirt I held up to keep from tripping over the fabric. The whispers were louder than the previous day.

“Traitor’s blood,” someone hissed as I passed, prompting laughter from the surrounding shifters.

Hilarious. And so original, I thought but held my tongue.

“How the mighty have fallen, am I right, Drake?” Paula called out. “Not too good for my brother anymore, are you? Too bad no one wants damaged goods.”

I’d rather be damaged good than a sanctimonious asshole, I thought.

Penn’s deep growl rumbled behind me, and Paula had the good sense to shut her mouth.

I made it up the first three steps to the dais before I faltered. The memory of the acrid scent of blood filled my nose, burning the recollection deeper into my psyche.

When my gaze fell to the place where my father took his last breaths, I froze with one foot on the top step. I didn’t know how long passed before I felt the gentle nudge of a hand on the small of my back, but I still couldn’t move. Then I heard a whisper from somewhere behind me.

“Don’t show weakness,” Penn murmured. “Your strength is your greatest asset.”

“I don’t need a pep talk,” I snapped, though his words had spurred my feet into action. I whirled to face him. “Especially not from you.”

Attracted by our argument, several strays rushed forward from the back of the ballroom. Penn held up his hand to halt them.

“We’re fine,” he said without looking at them. “Right, Drake?”

I took a deep breath and scanned the crowd, who all waited with bated breath to see what I would do next. My eyes found Evera, and my resolve wavered.

Don’t do something stupid. It’s her ass on the line.

A lump formed in my throat, making it harder than normal to swallow my pride. I spun on my heel and strode to my seat, willing my lip to stop trembling. Penn’s advice was, sadly, accurate. Weakness was like a drug to other wolves, especially strays.

I sank into my familiar chair, and Penn nodded to the men stationed at the doors of the ballroom. The assembly rose as Finneus entered, Belinda clinging to his arm. I stood too, out of respect for Evera. If Finneus wanted to believe otherwise, that was fine.

Belinda’s column dress was golden with an attached emerald capelet covering her bare shoulders. When they reached the dais, she offered me a small smile, which I returned. Finneus, however, didn’t share his mate’s good mood.

“That’s not your chair,” he said.

I realized the unintentional misstep immediately. The seat to the left of the alpha had been mine since Tavin Williams had dragged a stool in front of it for me to climb up. Now, that seat belonged to Belinda.

“It’s okay, Finn,” Belinda insisted.

I hid my surprise at the nickname only Penn and my father had ever used. Finneus and his bride-to-be had grown chummy in a very short time, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

He spoke to Belinda but looked at me. “No, my love. It’s not.”

Think of Evera.

I tempered my expression to hide my wounded ego and gathered the skirts of my gown before stepping aside and yielding to Belinda.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

I put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

The emerald resting between her clavicles caught the light, and I sort of wanted to take back my words.

With me out of the way, Belinda stood in front of her chair and turned to face the audience. I held my head high as I moved to the gilded chair at the alpha’s other side. Penn hadn’t claimed it, so I assumed that meant it was for me.

A stray stepped forward and blocked me. My chest tightened. Was this all part of the show? Had Penn escorted me up here just so his brother could humiliate me further?

Spittle flew from the stray’s mouth as he growled in my face. “You aren’t worthy of such an honor.” A pungent scent wafted from him, like desperation and poor decisions punctuated by gingivitis.

My wolf rose to linger just beneath the surface, poised for a fight.

“The girl meant no disrespect, I am sure,” a sultry voice said.

I turned to find Malia sweeping toward us.

“Tonight is a celebration. Let’s not ruin it, Thomas,” she continued, addressing the stray by name. She batted her big eyes at me. “You look… beautiful, Drake.”

The pregnant pause suggested her words and thoughts weren’t aligned.

Malia gestured toward an empty chair at the end of the table. “I realize this must be difficult for you, but only you can decide when it becomes easier.”