Chapter 241
Casper's POV
The Red Wolf used to smell like home—pine smoke, aged whiskey, and her. Vanilla and honey, clinging to the bar stools where she'd perch during her shifts, laughing at my terrible jokes while polishing glasses.
But that place is gone now. Not just temporarily closed like I'd told everyone. Fucking closed. Padlocked. Dead.
Because I can't walk through those doors without seeing her everywhere. In the corner booth where I'd first kissed her. Behind the bar where she'd lean over, giving me that look that made my wolf howl. In my goddamn bed upstairs where we'd—
Stop.
I down the rest of my fifth drink—some brutal concoction the bartender here calls "Wolfsbane Special," though there's no actual wolfsbane in it. Just enough high-proof spirits to knock a regular wolf on their ass. For me, it barely takes the edge off.
Moonrise Den doesn't smell like home. It smells like desperation dressed up in leather and expensive cologne. The kind of place where supernatural creatures come to forget, to hide, to pretend they're not running from something.
Guess that makes me a perfect fit.
"Another," I mutter, sliding the empty glass across the polished mahogany bar. The bartender—some fae guy with too many piercings and not enough questions—nods and gets to work.
The place is exactly what you'd expect from a supernatural hideout outside pack territory. Real leather seats, the kind that probably cost more than most wolves make in a month. Soft amber lighting that's supposed to be "atmospheric" but really just makes everyone look slightly dead. Crystal chandeliers catching the light, throwing prismatic shadows across faces that don't want to be seen clearly.
And the rules. Oh, the precious fucking rules posted in elegant script behind the bar:
No fighting. No pack business. No bloodshed. What happens in Moonrise Den stays in Moonrise Den.
Perfect. Because I'm not here to fight. I'm here to drown.
The fae slides my sixth drink across the bar. I catch it, amber liquid sloshing against crystal, and take a long pull. It burns going down—a good burn, the kind that reminds you you're still alive even when you don't particularly want to be.
Elowen.
Her name is a wound I keep picking at. Can't help it. It's been six months since I watched her walk away, six months since I played my part in the worst performance of my life, and every single day I wake up expecting the ache to be less.
It never is.
I close my eyes and she's right there. That smile that lit up her whole face, made those amber eyes sparkle like sunlight through honey. The way she'd scrunch her nose when she was thinking hard about something. How she'd unconsciously touch the marks on her neck—my mark, Cassian's mark—like she needed the reminder we were real.
And her laugh. Fuck, her laugh. Like bells and summer and everything good I'd never deserved.
The bartender knows better than to ask if I'm okay. I've been here every single day this month. Same stool, same drinks, same thousand-yard stare into nothing.
"You want some company, wolf?"
I don't have to look to know it's the vampire who's been eyeing me from the corner booth. Black hair, pale skin, the usual vampire aesthetic. Probably thinks a drunk Alpha's son is easy prey for conversation or whatever vampires do for fun these days.
"No." I don't bother looking up. "Just want to drink."
"Suit yourself." The vampire doesn't push it. That's the thing about Moonrise Den—everyone here is running from something. Nobody judges.
I reach for my glass again and realize it's already empty.
When did that happen?
"Another," I say, and my voice sounds rough even to my own ears.
The fae bartender raises an eyebrow but pours. He's seen worse, I'm sure. Seen plenty of supernatural creatures try to drink away their problems in this overpriced sanctuary.
My mind drifts—dangerous territory—to Cassian. To the pack. To the meeting I definitely missed today.
Fuck.
Father's going to be livid. Luna's going to give me that disappointed look that somehow hurts worse than Dad's anger. And Cassian...
Cassian's probably covering for me again. Making excuses. Holding down the fort while his twin brother pickles his liver in supernatural alcohol because he can't handle basic emotional regulation.
"Go to hell," I mutter to no one in particular, earning a few curious glances from nearby patrons.
The thing is, I know what they're all thinking back home. Casper's falling apart. Casper can't handle his responsibilities. Casper's a liability.
And you know what? They're right.
Without Elowen, none of it fucking matters. The pack meetings, the alliances, the careful political dance Father's so good at—it's all just noise. White noise filling the space where she used to be.
I grab my fresh drink, raise it in a mock toast to the empty air. "To mistakes."
The whiskey burns. Always does. But it's nothing compared to the burn in my chest every time I remember I'm the reason she left.
Not the only reason. Cassian played his part too. But I was there, in bed with Sarah—fake as it was, orchestrated by a demon and necessity—and I saw Elowen's face when she walked in.
Saw her heart break in real-time.
"I thought you loved me," her eyes had screamed, even as her mouth stayed silent.
I do, I'd wanted to scream back. I do, I do, I do—
But I couldn't. Because Selene was watching. Because if we didn't make it convincing, Elowen and our babies would die. Because sometimes love means destroying the person you'd die for, just to keep them breathing.
I take another drink. Then another. The alcohol is finally starting to work its magic—or maybe I'm just running out of feelings to feel.
Someone's watching me. I can sense it, that prickle at the back of my neck that says eyes on you. But when I glance around, everyone seems focused on their own supernatural drama.
Paranoid much, Casper?
Leo stirs inside me, a lazy shift of awareness. The hell-hound-that's-not-really-a-wolf has been quiet lately. Subdued. Like he knows we fucked up beyond redemption.
"We saved her," Leo reminds me, his voice gravelly in my mind. "We saved our cubs."
Yeah, and lost her in the process.
"Better alive and far away than dead and gone forever."
Can't argue with hell-hound logic, even when it tears me apart.