Derick's fingers laced through mine as we walked to the garage where Nicki and Matt waited. What had possessed me with Natalia? The memory of her face—shock blooming into fury—flashed in my mind. Tomorrow's training would be hell, her revenge served cold and methodical. Yet I couldn't summon regret. Did I feel a twinge of guilt for claiming what she'd spent a lifetime preparing for? Perhaps. But not enough to surrender Derick, not when the Moon Goddess herself had chosen us. Each dismissive glance, each barbed comment Natalia had thrown my way had worn against my patience like water on stone until something finally broke. Through our bond, I sensed Derick's amusement at my outburst, a warm current beneath his silence.
Nicki and Matt waited by the car, his arm resting around her waist. I blinked, barely recognizing her beyond the gym attire I was used to. Draped in a black satin skirt shining under the garage lights, she revealed a toned midriff beneath a snug dusty rose crop top. Her height, accentuated by six-inch stilettos, made her presence all the more formidable. The fighter who repeatedly floored me in training now stood transformed—a lethal butterfly reborn.
Matt looked much the same as at the Mating Ceremony—faded jeans with a worn spot on the knee and a navy button-up that clung to his broad shoulders. His chestnut hair was artistically tousled, hinting at his carefree spirit. The ever-present silver wolf pendant glinted subtly, symbolizing his loyalty.
Nicki narrowed her eyes playfully, hands on hips. "What took so long? My stomach's playing death metal in there." She patted the car. "Almost gnawed on the seats. Called dibs on the headrest—car's version of chicken nuggets."
Matt rolled his eyes, mockingly pleading to the Moon Goddess. "Tried explaining the seat cushions are the ribeye deluxe, but she's set on headrests being meat lollipops." He tapped his temple with a smirk. Their shared laughter filled the air, adding warmth to their bond, magnetically pulling them closer.
Nicki's grip was firm as she tugged me toward the sleek sedan, my hand slipping from Derick's hold, leaving a lingering warmth.
"Nicki." Derick's voice was low and commanding, an Alpha's subtle warning.
Nicki spun gracefully, earrings catching light as she locked eyes with him. "Just want to ride with her to the restaurant," she stated evenly, tension crackling between them.
Matt intervened with practiced ease, defusing their silent standoff with calm assurance. "You see Cassy every day during training," he reminded Nicki gently.
Derick's posture softened slightly at Matt's intervention, silently appreciating his beta's tactful mediation.
"Fine," Nicki relented, flipping her keys deftly. "But I'm driving." The keys' metallic clink was a decisive underscore to her words. Matt and Derick exchanged nervous glances.
Matt cleared his throat. "Alpha," he addressed Derick with respectful deference, "perhaps riding with me, in the front seat, isn't such a bad idea."
I stood frozen between them as my emotions spun wildly: a touch of amusement at their territorial behavior, irritation at being treated as an object to claim, and a guilty thrill at being so fiercely desired. My wolf relished the attention while my human side bristled at their disregard for my autonomy. I bit my cheek to suppress laughter as these powerful werewolves—capable of tearing through forest in a heartbeat—debated seating arrangements like kids divvying candy. Derick's jaw tightened, Nicki's shoulders set stubbornly, and Matt wore a diplomatic grimace—a drama I hadn't anticipated but couldn't look away from.
Nicki and I settled into the sedan's luxurious backseat. Matt squeezed into the driver's seat, while Derick's broad shoulders filled the front passenger space. The engine purred to life, vibrating beneath us. At the estate's gates, sunlight bounced off polished metal bars where reporters had recently clamored for a shot. Today, the entrance was peacefully clear. Matt acknowledged the stoic guard with a casual salute; the gates opened with silent precision, and we rolled onto the main road. The estate faded behind us as we headed toward the restaurant.
My breath misted on the window as I leaned closer to the glass, taking in skyscrapers that pierced the clouds. Sunlight turned steel and glass towers into a dazzling mosaic. I'd only seen such sights in films—never dreamed of passing them in a luxury car, reminded by the engine's steady hum that this wasn't some daydream escape.
We stopped in the back of the bistro where weathered brick met polished glass, golden hour light turning the windows into sheets of amber that cast honeyed shadows across our faces. Matt pulled the car alongside a narrow alley lined with potted herbs—rosemary and basil releasing their fragrance in the evening warmth. He let us out before circling away to find parking, the sedan's tires crunching softly on scattered gravel. I turned to Derick, my fingers brushing against the cool metal of the door handle, the question forming on my lips as I took in the discreet entrance. "Going in the back so we have more privacy." Derick confirmed my question. Matt joined us a second later.
"Come on guys! First group date selfie!" Nicki thrust her phone outward, corralling us together. My body tensed as Derick's warmth pressed against my right side, Nicki's against my left. The screen reflected our faces—Matt grinning over our shoulders, Derick's eyes not on the camera but on me, and my own expression, startled and uncertain, like a fawn at the forest's edge. My throat tightened. This wasn't just a photo; it was evidence. Proof that I existed outside the walls that had contained me, breathing air that wasn't filtered through someone else's permission. My fingers uncurled at my sides, stretching wide as if testing newfound space.
Nicki's arm dropped, her phone forgotten as she caught my expression. Derick was already turning, his eyes darkening with concern, the bond between us vibrating with his sudden anxiety. "Cassy?" His voice broke on my name, fingers brushing my cheek where a tear had escaped.
My chest ached with a fullness I'd never known, as if happiness itself was too vast to contain in a body that had known only emptiness. "I've never—" The words caught, and I swallowed hard. "I've never been in a photo where I wanted to be seen." I reached for his hand, squeezing it until my knuckles went white. Looking at their faces—Nicki's fierce protectiveness, Matt's quiet understanding, Derick's love burning like a beacon—I managed a wobbly smile. "I'm ready now. I want to remember this."
Nicki's eyes sparkled with understanding as she pulled us together again. This time, I didn't shrink away but leaned into the moment, my cheeks aching with a smile that felt foreign yet perfect on my face. When the flash went off, my heart swelled so suddenly I nearly gasped. "Wait," I whispered, fumbling for my own phone with trembling fingers. "Could you take one of just us?" Derick's arm tightened around my waist, his pulse quickening against my skin as Nicki captured frame after frame—each one a treasure I'd never thought I'd possess. As we finally turned toward the restaurant entrance, I clutched my phone against my chest like a talisman, afraid that if I looked at the photos too soon, they might dissolve like a dream upon waking.
The backdoor opened with barely a whisper of sound. A man in a crisp black suit appeared, his eyes sweeping the alley before landing on Derick's face. Recognition flickered, then his expression smoothed into practiced neutrality. He touched his earpiece. "Perimeter secure," he murmured, then bowed. "Alpha, your private room awaits. We've established Route C through the kitchen." Derick's fingers tightened around mine as we slipped inside, Matt positioning himself between us and the street. The door sealed with a pneumatic hiss. In the kitchen, a chef's knife froze mid-slice through a tomato, the red juice pooling unnoticed. Workers turned away with mechanical precision, their bodies angled just so, creating a human corridor. I caught one young dishwasher stealing a glance, only to receive a sharp elbow from his colleague. The hallway split ahead—left to the main dining room where crystal clinked and laughter bubbled, right to a staircase marked "STAFF ONLY" where our guide was already motioning for us to go.
Derick's warm fingers laced through mine, his thumb brushing reassuringly against my knuckles as we ascended the carpeted steps. The staircase curved slightly, each step covered in plush burgundy fabric that muffled our footfalls. At the landing, a hallway stretched before us with mahogany-paneled walls adorned with oil paintings of misty landscapes. Four identical doors with brass handles lined the corridor. Our guide—a slender man with silver at his temples and perfect posture—stood sentinel before the third door, his white-gloved hands opening it with practiced precision. He bowed at the waist, his spine forming a perfect right angle as we passed. Inside, a crystal chandelier cast honeyed light over a round table draped in crisp white linen. Four high-backed chairs upholstered in deep emerald velvet awaited us, each place setting gleaming with polished silver and delicate bone china. In the center, a lush arrangement of blood-red roses and baby's breath spilled from a cut-crystal vase, their perfume hanging sweet and heavy in the air.
Derick pulled out the chair for me. The velvet cushion sank beneath me as I settled in with trembling fingers. Matt did the same for Nicki, who slid into her seat with practiced grace. A waiter materialized beside our table, leather-bound drink menu in hand. My eyes darted over unfamiliar names—mojito, old fashioned, something called a "French 75"—each word more foreign than the last. My mouth went dry. "Just water, please," I whispered, staring at the tablecloth while Nicki confidently ordered something with tequila and lime.
My eyes scanned the menu, the letters blurring as my stomach tightened with familiar dread. The last time I'd asked Josh about a food I didn't recognize, he'd grabbed my wrist so hard it bruised for weeks, hissing that I should be grateful for whatever was put in front of me. At the Blackwater manor, I'd learned to silently accept whatever the maids served, never asking questions, never showing curiosity. Now, surrounded by exotic words like "confit" and "reduction," my fingers trembled against the heavy paper as I fought the urge to fold myself smaller in my chair.
I glanced up to find Derick watching me, his eyes gentle. My fingers fidgeted with the corner of the menu, creasing it slightly. "These words—confit, reduction, aioli—" I whispered, the foreign terms catching in my throat. "I've never seen half these ingredients before." My shoulders hunched inward as I leaned closer to him, voice dropping so the others wouldn't hear my ignorance. "Could you maybe choose something for me? Something... normal people eat?"
I saw a flicker of something—not pity, but understanding—pass through Derick's eyes before he reached for my menu, his fingers brushing mine. "Why don't we just order a sampler of everything?" he suggested, his voice warm with invitation rather than instruction. My eyes widened at the extravagance, but before I could object, Matt leaned forward.
"First time I ate here," he confided with a conspiratorial wink, "I couldn't pronounce half the menu. Kept calling the sommelier 'summer-leer.'" Nicki snorted, setting down her menu with a decisive thump. "Yes to the sampler!" she declared, squeezing my hand across the table. "We'll be your culinary tour guides. And I definitely should have worn my stretchy pants."
I grinned as the waiter approached our table, his crisp white shirt and black vest a stark contrast to the warm amber lighting of the bistro. He balanced an empty tray against his hip with practiced ease while jotting down our drink selections in a leather-bound notepad. When my turn came, Nicki leaned forward, her silver earrings catching the light as she insisted I try the strawberry banana smoothie—"It's like dessert in a glass, but they blend it with actual fresh fruit, not that syrupy stuff." The description made my mouth water, and I nodded my agreement, feeling a small thrill at ordering something simply because it sounded delicious.
As we waited for our food, I traced the rim of my water glass with my fingertip. "So how did you three become so close?"
"This one," Derick said, tilting his head toward Matt with a half-smile, "found me hiding behind the classroom bookshelf in kindergarten. The other kids kept asking if they needed to bow or if my lunch box was made of gold." He chuckled, shaking his head at the memory. "Matt just plopped down next to me with his dinosaur figures and asked if I wanted to be the T-Rex or the Triceratops."
Nicki leaned forward, eyes sparkling mischievously. "Then I showed up in sixth grade and found the crown prince making poor Matt carry his backpack up three flights of stairs."
"I had a sprained wrist!" Derick protested, but his eyes danced with humor.
Nicki's eyes gleamed with mischief as she twirled her straw. "And every day at precisely 12:15, poor Matt would appear balancing three trays—one with Derick's lunch, one with drinks, and somehow a third with extra desserts." She leaned toward me conspiratorially. "The day I transferred in, I watched this boy nearly trip over a backpack while Derick sat there like royalty. I marched right over, plucked a chocolate pudding cup off that third tray, and told His Highness he could fetch his own spoon."
My jaw dropped as I turned to Derick. "You didn't!"
Derick's cheeks flushed. "I was thirteen! And—"
"—and I wouldn't let him help," Matt cut in, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "The king had mentioned choosing a Beta soon, and there I was, this scrawny kid from a nonimportant family. So I appointed myself royal food-bearer." He reached for Nicki's hand. "Until this one stormed in and ruined my perfect system."
"Saved you, you mean," Nicki corrected, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.
Derick's fingers found mine beneath the table, his thumb tracing circles against my palm. "We tried to shake her for years," he said with a theatrical sigh, eyes crinkling at the corners. "But Nicki's like that stray cat that keeps coming back no matter how many times you change the locks."
"And thank the Moon Goddess I did," Nicki declared, tossing her dark hair over one shoulder. She gazed at Matt with such tenderness it made my chest ache. "The very first day I saw him struggling with those lunch trays, something inside me just... knew." Her voice softened. "Like my wolf was whispering, 'There he is. The one we've been waiting for.'" She turned to Derick then, narrowing her eyes playfully. "Even if he came with an entitled royal pain in the tail as a package deal."
Derick's eyes found mine across the table, a current of warmth passing between us that made my breath catch. His fingers interlaced with mine beneath the tablecloth, thumb brushing over my knuckles in a gesture so tender it sent shivers up my arm. I leaned slightly toward him, drawn by an invisible thread that seemed to connect our hearts, as we both turned to watch Nicki and Matt lost in their own world of whispered devotion.
The door exploded inward, slamming against the wall with a crack that made me jump in my seat. Our waiter stumbled through, his face drained of color, chest heaving. His eyes locked on Derick, wide with panic. "Alpha," he whispered, dropping his gaze to the floor in submission, "they have cameras. The reporters found you—they're coming through the kitchen now."