Lucas' POV
The girl's boots dragged against the restaurant's marble steps, scuffing gloss into dust. Her coat hung loose, threadbare at the elbows—a thrift-store relic in a kingdom of gold trim and crystal. I didn't blame the hostess for curling her lip.
This is the human quarter of Mediland. A high-end steakhouse in the human world is supposed to be stunk of judgment.
"No reservations?"The hostess flicked her gaze over the girl's messy cropped hair, the grease and blood clots crusted on her hem. Her voice was polished ice. "We're full. Try the soup kitchen down the block."
The girl didn't flinch. Just stared at the chandelier, jaw working like she was chewing the light itself. I leaned against the podium, leather gloves creaking. "Tell Danny I'm here."
"The manager?" A laugh, sharp as broken stemware. "I'm sorry, Sir. You look like a decent gentleman, but he doesn't entertain strays."
Then the doors swung open, and the scent hit me - musky, beneath cheap cologne. Werewolf. Danny's bulk filled the archway, sleeves straining over biceps tattooed with old pack sigils. His eyes widened, whiskey-brown flickering wolf-gold for a heartbeat. "Alph... Mr. Farrow?"
The hostess paled. Danny didn't look at her. Just gripped my shoulder, calluses digging in. Familiar. A remnant. "Mr. Farrow! They said you were rotting in some cell! How did you get out?!"
I shrugged. "Well, I punched the wall and howl to the moon, until they couldn't' take me anymore."
He roared with laughter and then barked orders -
"Move the VIP table! Bring the '45 Cabernet! Fetch the pianist! Run! Run! Run!"
His voice reminded me of the old days. He was the youngest Gamma in the history of White Walkers Pack.
Somehow, it felt like another life.
The girl slid into the velvet booth like a feral thing, hands already clawing at bread rolls. She ate like she was gutting prey: butter smeared on wrists, napkins shredded.
When Danny came and checked on us. For a brief moment, he just stood there silently and watched her eating.
I didn't say anything. The girl's hunger was a live wire, raw and howling. It filled the hollows in me, somehow.
Danny lingered after the steak arrived, voice dropping. "Our pack scattered after your arrest. Some joined other packs. A few went rogue." He hesitated. "I blended into the human world and started my own business."
"Do you still stay in touch with any of them?" I took a sip of wine.
"Yeah. Some old chaps and I meet on Sundays. Behind the old slaughterhouse. You should come."
The girl sucked marrow from a bone, oblivious. I nodded. "I'll be there next Sunday. Can't wait to meet up with you guys."
"And her?" Danny tilted his chin at her. "She your…?"
"Just someone I picked up from the street." The lie tasted stale.
He snorted. "Well, she's your type."
"What do you mean?" I frowned.
Danny looked amused. "You like girls with a good appetite. Luna used to eat like..."
He stopped because he saw the dark look on my face.
I never even saw Leah eat.
The girl licked grease off her thumb, and something cracked behind my ribs.
A memory: Leah at the pack feast, head bowed, plate untouched.
"I'm not feeling well, Lucas," she'd whisper. "Later."
But later never came. So many years mated, and I couldn't even recall the shape of her teeth, the sound of her chewing. Only the way she'd fade from rooms, a ghost starving in plain sight.
Danny left. The girl burrowed into the tiramisu, cream dotting her nose.
She noticed that I was staring at her and looked a bit awkward.
"Do you want some?" She pushed the half eaten tiramisu toward me.
"No. It's all yours." I said.
Laughter bubbled in her throat - crass, alive. My chest burned.
I never even saw Leah eat.
The pain was precise. Surgical. A blade slipped between bones.
The chandelier's reflection swam in my wine. Outside, someone was playing on the piano. My head was buzzing, so I counted her breaths instead. Sixteen. Seventeen.
The girl patted her stomach, sighing.
"We should have ordered the larger steak," she licked her lips and said. "Next time, we should order the larger steak."
I stared at my reflection in the restaurant glass. A hearless Alpha's shaggy corpse, still breathing.
"Next time," I put the wine glass on the table and said.
-
The beauty salon was located a few blocks away from the restaurant. I guided the girl through the door, her matted curls brushing my arm like thistles. The hairdresser - a wiry man with nicotine fingers - snorted as she shuffled in. "What nightmare chewed on your head, pup?"
The girl flinched. I stepped closer, my shadow swallowing his. "Put it on Alpha Finn's account."
His shears clattered against the sink. Recognition flared in his bloodshot eyes. "A-Alpha Lucas. Forgive me, I didn't—"
"Cut it. Not your tongue. Her hair."
He worked in silence after that, blades flashing. Strands fell like dead leaves, revealing sharp cheekbones beneath. The girl's eyes widened in the mirror, a fawn seeing its first storm. When he finished, she resembled a beautiful boy - all edges and defiance.
The barber hovered, trembling. "Your beard, Alpha? On the house."
I met my reflection in the mirror and I did need a trim.
"I mean, you look raggedly handsome this way, Alpha Lucas," the hairdresser added nervously. "Very... Alpha-like... I mean..."
I nodded slightly to save him from a panic attack.
The razor buzzed like angry hornets. Cold steel kissed my throat.
I took a glance at the girl. She was drinking a can of soda while going through some pop magazines.
She looked so innocent and sweet.
When it was done, the girl froze. I could sense that her pulse quickened, sweet and frantic. A blush crept up her neck, the same fevered pink as the roses in morning dew.
"D-do you…" She touched her nape, where dark spikes bristled. "…like my new hairstyle?"
As I looked at her, a memory hit me like a punch in the gut.
Leah stood tjere, cropped hair shorn to her skull. Mother's shrieks pierced the packhouse walls. "A Luna doesn't disfigure herself! You shame my son!" I watched from the stairwell - Leah's shoulders folding inward, her missing eye weeping rust-colored tears.
I just stood there, watching them. Annoyance welled up inside me, and without a word, I turned around and walked away. I didn't want to deal with the drama.
Leah ran out of the room, sobbing. She caught up with me outside and asked, through her tears, "Do you like my new hairstyle?"
I didn't answer. I just kept walking, leaving her there, crying alone. It was only later that I found out she'd done it to get my attention, to try and break through the wall I'd built around myself.
The memory was a splinter under my nail. The girl waited, breath held.
I cupped her jaw, callouses catching on velvet stubble. Her warmth seeped into my palm, a cruel mimicry. "You look beautiful," I said.
Her smile cracked something in my ribs.