Chapter 25: Liquid Courage

Calla's POV

I couldn't sleep.

The penthouse was quiet. Sierra had crashed hours ago, exhausted from everything that had happened at the ball.

Darius was locked in his office with Marcus and the other pack leaders, planning how to break into the most dangerous prison in the supernatural world.

And I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling like I was drowning.

Morgana's granddaughter. Three generations of suppressed power. Two alphas. A mother I thought abandoned me but was actually imprisoned. A prophecy that said I'd either unite everyone or destroy them.

It was too much. All of it was too much.

I threw off the covers and grabbed my phone. 10:17 PM.

I needed to get out. Away from pack politics and mate bonds and expectations. I needed to feel normal for just one night.

I changed quickly, pulling on jeans and a black sweater. Then I went to Sierra's room and borrowed a baseball cap and sunglasses from her closet. In the bathroom, I found an old blonde wig she'd worn for Halloween last year.

I looked at myself in the mirror. With the wig tucked under the cap and the sunglasses hiding half my face, I barely recognized myself.

Perfect.

I grabbed my wallet and phone, then took the stairs down to avoid the elevator cameras. The lobby was empty except for the night guard, who barely looked up as I walked past.

The cool night air hit my face as I stepped outside. I pulled out my phone and ordered a cab, then waited on the corner, away from the building's entrance.

The cab arrived ten minutes later. "Where to?" the driver asked.

"Downtown. The human district." I slid into the back seat. "Anywhere with bars."

He nodded and pulled into traffic. I watched the city lights blur past the window, feeling the knot in my chest loosen slightly with each block we drove away from pack territory.

Twenty minutes later, he dropped me off on a busy street lined with restaurants and bars. Humans walked past in groups, laughing and talking, completely unaware of the supernatural world existing alongside theirs.

I envied them.

I picked a bar at random, a place called The Blue Moon. The irony wasn't lost on me, but I didn't care. I just needed somewhere dark and anonymous.

Inside, the bar was half full. Soft rock played from speakers, and the lighting was dim enough that my sunglasses didn't look completely ridiculous. I slid onto a barstool at the far end and took off the cap, keeping the wig and sunglasses on.

"What can I get you?" The bartender was older, maybe fifty, with kind eyes and a friendly smile.

"Whiskey. Neat."

He raised an eyebrow. "Rough night?"

"You have no idea."

He poured a generous amount and slid the glass over. "Well, whatever it is, I hope this helps."

"Thanks." I took a sip. The whiskey burned going down, warming my chest.

The bartender moved away to help other customers. I sat there, nursing my drink, trying not to think about tomorrow. About the prison break. About seeing my mother for the first time in years. About the full moon in two nights and what would happen if I couldn't control my wolf.

I finished the first glass and ordered another.

"Make it a double," I said.

The bartender gave me a concerned look but poured it anyway. "You want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Fair enough." He set down the glass. "But pace yourself. I don't want to carry you out of here."

"I'll be fine."

He didn't look convinced but moved on to serve someone else.

I was halfway through my second drink when someone sat on the stool next to me.

"This seat taken?"

I looked over. A guy, maybe late twenties, with sandy brown hair and a charming smile. He wore a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and jeans that actually fit properly.

"It's all yours," I said, turning back to my drink.

"Rough night?" he asked, echoing the bartender's earlier question.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Well, you're drinking whiskey alone in a bar at ten-thirty on a weeknight." He signaled the bartender. "Beer, please. Whatever you have on tap." He looked back at me. "So yeah, kind of obvious."

I almost smiled. "Just dealing with some family stuff."

"Ah." He took his beer from the bartender. "Family stuff. The worst kind of stuff."

"What about you?" I asked. "What brings you here?"

"Celebrating." He raised his glass. "Got a promotion today. My friends bailed on me, so I figured I'd have one drink before heading home."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks." He took a sip. "I'm Alex, by the way."

I hesitated. "...Riley."

The lie came easily. Riley sounded normal. Safe. Nothing like Calla, the prophesied wolf who might destroy the world.

"Nice to meet you, Riley." Alex tilted his head. "You always wear sunglasses in bars?"

"Fashion statement."

"At night? Indoors?"

"Bold fashion statement."

He laughed. It was a nice sound, genuine and uncomplicated. "Fair enough. I won't judge. We all have our things."

I found myself relaxing slightly. This was nice….normal. Just two people having a drink and a conversation.

"So what do you do, Riley?" Alex asked.

"I work in..." I scrambled for something believable. "I'm a librarian."

"A librarian? Really?"

"Why do you sound surprised?"

"I don't know." He studied me. "You don't look like a librarian."

"What do librarians look like?"

"Cardigans. Sensible shoes. Hair in a bun." He gestured at me. "You look more like you're about to rob a bank or something with that disguise."

I couldn't help it. I laughed. Actually laughed.

"There we go," Alex said, smiling. "I knew you could smile."

"It's been a rough week."

"Family stuff that bad?"

"You have no idea." I finished my second drink and ordered a third. The alcohol was making everything feel softer, less urgent. "What about you? What do you do?"

"I'm an architect. Just made junior partner, hence the celebration."

"That's impressive."

"Thanks." He took another sip of his beer. "It's been a long road. Lots of late nights and stressful meetings. But it's worth it."

"Is it?" I asked. "Being successful? Does it make everything else easier?"

"Not really." He considered it. "But it helps. Gives you something to focus on besides all the messy personal stuff."

"Like what?"

"Like my ex who won't stop texting me. Like my parents who keep asking when I'm going to settle down." He shrugged. "You know. Regular human problems."

Regular human problems. God, what I wouldn't give for regular human problems.

"What about you?" Alex asked. "Besides the family stuff. What's got you drinking alone on a Tuesday night?"

"Just... life." I swirled the whiskey in my glass. "Making big decisions. Trying to figure out who I am and what I want."

"Sounds complicated."

"It is."

"You want my advice?" He leaned closer. "Stop thinking so hard. Life's too short to spend it worrying about everything. Sometimes you just have to go with your gut."

"And if your gut is telling you to do something crazy?"

"Then maybe crazy is exactly what you need." He smiled. "Sometimes the best moments come from the worst decisions."

The bartender changed the music. A slow song came on, something jazzy and smooth. Alex stood up and held out his hand. "Dance with me."

I stared at him. "What?"

"Dance with me," he repeated. "Come on. When's the last time you did something spontaneous?"

"I don't—"

"You're already drinking whiskey alone in a bar wearing a disguise. How much more spontaneous can you get?" His smile was infectious. "One dance. Then I'll leave you alone to your brooding."

I looked at his outstretched hand. At his kind eyes and easy smile. At the promise of one normal moment in a life that had become anything but normal.

"One dance," I heard myself say.