Chapter 9

Isabella

I still felt utterly humiliated. A whole week had passed since my eighteenth birthday, since that disastrous night at Erotic Paradise, and I couldn't shake the shame that clung to me like a second skin.

What the hell was I thinking, walking into that exclusive werewolf club? That's the strange part—I wasn't thinking at all. Which is completely unlike me. I analyze everything, overthink every situation until my brain hurts. I even make pros and cons lists for what brand of cereal to buy, for fuck's sake.

Since then, my desire to explore these special coming-of-age reactions has become even stronger. Why do I seem to have physiological responses that other female werewolves don't experience? But despite this curiosity, I hadn't researched other werewolf gathering places in the city. My first venture outside my comfort zone had ended in complete humiliation.

Does this make me want to try again? Absolutely fucking not.

Anyway, I had enough werewolf interaction serving drinks at the Howling Night Bar. The music pounded through the dimly lit space as I wiped down the countertop for the hundredth time. My white crop top uniform clung uncomfortably to my skin in the humid air, and my black shorts felt too tight, too revealing. But that was the point—female werewolf servers meant to attract attention.

"Give me a dry martini with lemon juice, little Omega," a greasy werewolf customer leaned against the bar, his eyes roaming over my body like I was on the menu.

My smile remained fixed but felt brittle enough to shatter. "That'll be twenty dollars."

He slid a twenty across the bar. "Keep the change."

"Thanks," I replied, my voice sickly sweet as I turned to prepare his drink.

My smile is completely fake, and my cheeks hurt from maintaining it. I'd perfected the art of the customer service mask—smile, nod, pretend I don't notice the way they leer at me. But inside, I was rolling my eyes so hard they might get stuck.

As I mixed his drink, I couldn't shake the sensation of being watched. Not just by the creep at the bar, but by someone else—someone whose gaze felt more intense, more focused. It was both exciting and irritating to know someone was watching my every move.

The Howling Night Bar wasn't a high-end establishment like Erotic Paradise, but it attracted plenty of werewolves. Especially during what the staff called "moon shifts"—the three days before and after a full moon when werewolf customers became more aggressive, more territorial, and left bigger tips if you played along with their games.

Dealing with high-ranking male werewolves was the worst—they expected Omega servers to accept their flirting, casual touches, and invasive comments. The management didn't care as long as it brought in money. I felt sorry for the other Omega waitresses, especially the younger ones who hadn't yet learned to build walls around themselves.

"What can I get you?" I asked automatically as the next customer approached the bar, finally looking up to see—

I froze, staring at the most handsome man I'd ever seen.

Golden short hair styled to perfection, amber eyes that seemed to glow in the bar's dim lighting, a jawline sharp enough to cut diamond, five o'clock stubble framing full lips. His shoulders stretched the fabric of his black button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. My heart stuttered for a moment.

He's totally my type. Damn, who am I kidding? He's everyone's type.

Something stirred inside me—my inner wolf, which had been restless since my birthday, suddenly became alert and intensely focused. She pressed against my consciousness, pushing forward as if trying to get closer to him. The sensation was so unexpected that I nearly gasped aloud. What the hell? Why is she reacting like this?

There was something vaguely familiar about him, though I couldn't place where I might have seen him before. He radiated power and authority, an aura that made other customers unconsciously shift away, giving him space without realizing they were doing it. My inner wolf whined, a strange yearning sensation that made my skin flush hot.

"What do you recommend?" His voice was like silk, deep and smooth, wrapping around me like a physical touch. My wolf practically purred in response, a warm sensation spreading through my chest.

"You look like a vodka man," I managed to say, my own voice sounding distant to my ears. "Top-shelf."

His eyes darkened slightly, lips curved into a smile that made my stomach flip. "You've just described me perfectly, haven't you? Very observant." He leaned closer, his scent washing over me—expensive cologne mixed with something wild and primal. "You're absolutely right. I'll have that."

My wolf strained against my control, making me want to lean in, to inhale more of his scent, to touch him. I'd never felt her this strongly before—this desperate, this insistent.

I quickly turned to prepare his drink, grateful for the momentary reprieve from his intense gaze. My hands trembled slightly as I mixed his vodka, the bottle nearly slipping from my sweaty palm. I could feel him watching me, tracking my every movement with those amber eyes. His gaze on my back felt like a physical touch.

When I turned back, drink in hand, he was leaning slightly against the bar, looking completely relaxed yet somehow coiled with potential energy. Like a predator at rest.

"Here you go," I said, sliding the glass toward him.

"Do you always take such care with your drinks?" he asked, his eyes moving from my face to my hands. "I've been watching you work. Your technique is... perfect."

My inner wolf preened at his attention, almost wagging an invisible tail. "Only when I think the customer will appreciate it," I replied, surprising myself with the flirtatious tone in my voice.

Our fingers brushed as he accepted the drink, and a strange sensation shot through me like an electric current, making my skin ripple with goosebumps. My wolf surged forward with such force that I nearly staggered, a deep yearning howl echoing in my mind. For a split second, I could swear he felt it too—his eyes widened, briefly flashing with a reddish glow before the expression vanished so quickly I thought I might have imagined it.

"Thank you, darling," he said, his voice dropping an octave lower, resonating with something primal that made my core suddenly clench with desire. His gaze never left mine, intense and knowing, as if he could see straight through to my wolf.

"You're... you're welcome," I replied, cheeks warming, words stumbling. "I haven't seen you here before."

"Perhaps you weren't looking carefully," he said with a hint of a smile. "Or perhaps I was waiting for the right moment to be seen."

He took a sip of his drink, still watching me over the rim of his glass. "Perfect," he murmured, and somehow I knew he wasn't just talking about the vodka. "I'll be back to... taste you again." Then he smiled again—a devastatingly perfect smile that seemed to steal all the oxygen from around me. With a slight nod, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

My wolf whimpered as he left, desperately clawing at my consciousness as if trying to follow him. Shit! I suddenly realized I'd been so captivated by him that I'd forgotten to ask him to pay for his drink. Great job, Isabella. Very professional. If I gave away free drinks, my boss would kill me.

I frantically scanned the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of his golden hair, but he was completely gone. My shoulders slumped as I turned back to the bar, already calculating how much would be deducted from my paycheck—

When I looked down at the bar, I saw money where his drink had been—a hundred-dollar bill for a thirty-five-dollar vodka.

Sixty-five dollars in tip. For one drink.

I slipped the bill into my pocket, my fingers trembling slightly. Not just because of the unexpectedly generous tip, but from realizing he'd left it there without me noticing. What had just happened?