James

Richard leaned in, his voice a low conspiratorial whisper against the thumping bass. "Don’t worry, Alpha. The plan will soon come into play. Trust me, before the night is over, you’ll have what you want."

An hour after the pups were put to bed, the party finally shed its family-friendly skin. It took time for some parents to return, so the DJ eased the transition, spinning smooth R&B while the remaining pack members cleared the tables, creating a makeshift dance floor in the yard. The bar crew, including Sammy, used the lull to restock, their movements efficient and practiced. Trishelle helped, meticulously sorting the rented silverware, counting each piece with a focus that belied the flush on her cheeks.

It still amazed her, this feeling of belonging. She was treated like an equal, a member of the pack, not just the kitchen help. The warmth of it spread through her chest, a foreign and welcome sensation. She was oblivious to the stolen glances from unmated males, too caught up in Sammy’s presence to notice the way their eyes lingered. Still, his protective aura was a silent, effective shield, and they kept their distance.

Richard, ever the master of ceremonies, watched the crowd. When the energy shifted, when enough bodies were swaying to the music, he gave the DJ the signal. In a flash, the main lights died. Huge beam lights exploded to life, painting the night in strokes of electric blue, magenta, and emerald green that sliced through the sky. A collective roar went up from the pack, a primal sound of pure, uninhibited joy. Those who had been hesitant came running back, drawn by the promise of real release.

Richard grabbed the mic, his voice booming over the speakers. "Alright, everyone! Tonight is my birthday bash, and I want every single one of you to have a blast!" A cheer answered him. "Don’t worry about waking up early for training tomorrow. Our kind and beloved Alpha has already given you the morning off!" The whoops and cheers were deafening. "And I’ve already put things in place for breakfast, so the kitchen staff and the Omegas can let loose as well!" More cheers, this time tinged with gratitude. "So just kick up your heels and get down and dirty as much as you want. Tonight, we are all equal!" Richard raised his glass, a king toasting his court. "Let the real party begin!"

With his speech concluded, he made his way back to their table. Clinking his beer bottle against James’s whiskey glass, Richard took a long swig. He nodded his head to the heavy beat, his eyes scanning the crowd. Several she-wolves were already eyeing him down, their lips parted, their expressions promising a night of filthy fun. Normally, he’d be all over it—a threesome, maybe more, to celebrate another year. But tonight, he had a mission. He needed to get his Alpha out of his own head, and hopefully, get that omega out of his system.

James was getting the same looks, the same offers, but his gaze remained fixed on the bar. Even in the shifting, chaotic light, he could see her. She was perched on a stool, a small, bright spot in the darkness, laughing with Sammy as he worked behind the counter. A low growl rumbled in James’s chest. He glanced over at Richard, who was now grinding against a willing she-wolf against a large oak tree. The girl’s top was already rolled up under her arms, and Richard had his mouth latched around her nipple, his hips moving in a dirty rhythm.

Clearing his throat, James strode over and tapped him on the shoulder. Richard ignored him. James tapped him again, harder this time.

Richard knew who it was. He’d felt James’s irritated push against his mind link ten minutes ago and had promptly shut him out. With a theatrical sigh of reluctance, he released his first conquest of the night with a wet pop and turned to face his fuming Alpha.

James quirked a single, unimpressed eyebrow. The look was clear: What the hell are you doing?

Richard just sighed. Turning to the panting she-wolf, he whispered something in her ear. A slow, gleeful smirk spread across her lips. James recognized her instantly. Candice. The same she-wolf who had been so nasty to Trishelle about her clothes. He remembered the confrontation, the way Candice had looked at his omega like she was something stuck to her shoe. A knot of unease formed in his gut. He hoped whatever Richard had just sent her to do wouldn’t hurt Trishelle. He watched as she fixed her top, her eyes gleaming with purpose, and disappeared into the crowd, heading straight for the bar.

A warning growl escaped James’s lips. He grabbed Richard by the back of the neck, his grip tight. "You’d better not be doing something you’ll regret."

Richard just shrugged, unconcerned. He opened his mind link just enough for James to hear. "Relax, Alpha. Your meal will be served soon."

Trishelle

Back at the bar, the world was a blur of colored lights and pounding music. Trishelle and Sammy were having the best time, catching up on two years of life in snatched sentences between drink orders. Sammy’s job was simple—restocking ice and handing out bottles—and the crowd was thinning as people migrated to the dance floor. Trishelle leaned against the bar, just watching. She imagined this was what a human club felt like. She’d never been to one, never been to any party like this. Everything was new and intoxicating.

A few males worked up the courage to ask her to dance, but one sharp glare from Sammy was all it took to send them scurrying back into the safety of the crowd. She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. Why would they even look at her when there were so many beautiful she-wolves here, ready and willing? Clearly, the werewine was a potent force tonight.

She was just contemplating heading back to her room. A few omegas were eyeing Sammy, their interest clear, and who was she to stand in his way? Just as she slid off her stool, someone stumbled into her, spilling a cold, sticky drink down the front of her shirt.

"Oh my god, I am sooo sorry," a slurred voice giggled. "Guess I’m a little tipsy."

Sammy saw it happen and was there in an instant, a handful of napkins in his hand. Trishelle looked up into the wobbling face of Candice. Of course.

Sighing, Trishelle took it as her cue to leave. "It’s alright, Candice. Don’t worry about it. I was just heading in anyway."

"No, you can’t leave!" Candice grabbed her hand, her grip surprisingly tight. "The Alpha gave us the night off. And the birthday boy himself said you don’t have to do anything in the morning. Please don’t leave because of me. Alpha will be so mad at me. I don’t want him to be mad at me." Candice’s eyes, artificially wide, filled with fake tears, and against her better judgment, Trishelle felt a pang of pity.

"Alright," she conceded. "I won’t turn in. At least not yet. But I can’t stay like this."

Nodding vigorously, Candice slipped her arm through Trishelle’s, her body suddenly far too close. "Let’s go get you changed! I’ll help!"

Trishelle’s internal alarm bells started ringing. Candice usually went out of her way to avoid her like she carried a plague. This sudden friendliness was beyond strange. She shot a desperate look back at Sammy, stretching her hand out to him. "It’s okay, Candice. I’ll just head to my room and change. I’ll be right back."

"You promise?" Candice looked like a child about to be abandoned.

"Yeah, I’ll be right back," Trishelle said, trying to sound reassuring. "Right, Sammy?"

"That’s right, pretty lady. Don’t worry. I’m gonna make sure she comes right back."

Candice beamed at them both and finally detached herself, disappearing into the pulsing crowd. Turning, Sammy and Trishelle made their way toward the quiet of the pack house. In her room, Trishelle went to grab a bucket and a rag to wipe down the sticky mess on her shirt, but Sammy snatched them from her hands.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"I’m going to get cleaned up, duh."

"No way, Rosebud. You are going to get into the shower like a normal person. I can’t believe that’s how you were planning to freshen up."

"Well, that’s what I do," Trishelle mumbled. "The other omegas don’t like it when I use their bathroom." She knew Sammy would lose his mind if he found out she usually bathed in the lake, even in the dead of winter.

"Well, Rosebud, they ain’t here right now," he said, using his stern, older-brother voice. "Get your butt in there while I look for something decent for you to wear."

Trishelle was going to protest, but one look at the familiar stubborn glint in his eyes told her it was a losing battle. Accepting defeat, she grabbed her toiletry bag and a change of underwear and headed into the small adjoining bathroom. Turning on the shower, she stepped under the hot stream with a sigh of pure bliss. How long had it been since she’d felt a hot shower?

Deciding to indulge

, she washed her hair with the cheap, generic shampoo, lathering it until it felt thick and clean. She even risked using the conditioner left on the shelf, letting it sit while she worked. While she waited, she grew bold, digging through the medicine cabinet. Her fingers brushed against a small package of disposable razors. A reckless impulse, a gift to herself, took over. Might as well feel pretty, she thought, even if she had nothing pretty to wear. She carefully shaved her legs and under her arms, the smooth skin a novel and thrilling sensation.

Meanwhile, Sammy was on a mission in her bedroom. He pulled open the top drawer of her dresser and sighed. It was filled with faded, shapeless t-shirts and worn-out leggings. He tried the next drawer, and the next. Each one was the same. It was a collection of clothes designed to be invisible, to hide the woman he knew was underneath. After pulling out every last item and running a frustrated hand through his hair, he began packing them back, neatly folding each piece. If he’d known he was coming back, he would have brought her things, proper clothes that didn’t look like they’d been mended a dozen times. It seemed things hadn’t improved as much as he’d hoped for his friend.

He turned away from the dresser and kicked it in frustration. A thud sounded from the side, and he looked down. The broken handle of her old hairbrush had fallen off. Leaning down, he noticed something tucked away in the back corner, almost completely hidden. It was a small shopping bag, the logo of a popular, expensive boutique printed on the side. Frowning, he dragged it out.

Peeking inside, his fingers brushed against a fabric that felt impossibly soft, luxurious. It was nothing like the worn cotton of her other clothes. He reached in and pulled out the item, holding it up. It was a dress, deep emerald green, made of a silky material that shimmered even in the dim light of the room. It was simple, elegant, and utterly stunning.

A slow, knowing smile spread across Sammy’s face. "Well, well, well," he murmured to the empty room. "What do we have here?"