Chapter 86 I think he wants another wife.
Maureen Laskovic:
I should have known the night was doomed to spiral the moment the theater lights dropped to black.
The screen flickered awake. That signature low, creeping violin slithered through the speakers—the universal audio warning that something awful was coming. My stomach twisted before the first jump scare even landed.
Nyxara leaned in, her breath warm against my ear. “Why is it already so dark? Did we miss the opening credits?”
“It’s a horror movie,” I whispered back, already questioning every decision that led me here. “They don’t waste time on pleasantries.”
Ten minutes later, I was gripping my popcorn bucket like a lifeline. Twenty minutes in, Nyxara’s fingers dug into my forearm hard enough to leave crescent marks. By the half-hour mark, we were both trembling like leaves in a storm.
Then the possessed woman started crawling across the ceiling—limbs bending wrong, eyes glowing, head twisting like an owl’s.
Nyxara let out a sharp, involuntary yelp.
I screamed louder—full-throated, embarrassing, zero dignity.
A guy two rows ahead actually ducked behind his seat. Someone hissed “Shhh!” like we were the monsters. I don’t remember deciding to leave, but suddenly we were scrambling over legs, half-crouching, half-running down the aisle while the entire theater turned to stare at us like we’d just performed the real horror.
The cold night air slapped my face as we burst outside. I gulped it down like I’d been drowning.
“No,” I declared immediately. “I officially disown that entire experience. May the moon goddess have mercy on me.”
Nyxara clutched her chest, dramatic as ever. “Her head. Rotated. Backwards. Maureen. Backwards.”
“And the zoom!” I threw my hands up. “Why does the camera creep closer right before the jump? It’s psychological warfare!”
She burst out laughing, the sound bright and relieved. “I thought you said you liked scary movies.”
“In theory,” I muttered, cheeks burning. “In theory, I’m brave. In practice… I’m a coward with excellent survival instincts.”
We stood there on the sidewalk, breathing hard, a little embarrassed, a little giddy. The adrenaline buzz made everything feel sharper—the streetlights, the distant traffic, each other. We weren’t super close yet. There was still that careful, polite space between us. But surviving public humiliation together? That shrinks distance fast.
“So,” I said, nudging her shoulder lightly. “We can’t just go home now. I’d look pathetic crawling into bed at 9:30 after screaming like that.”
“Agreed,” she said, straightening like she was accepting a mission. “We need redemption. Something fun. Something victorious.”
“Rock, paper, scissors. Winner picks the next spot.”
Her eyes narrowed playfully. “You’re competitive, aren’t you?”
“Violently so.”
We faced off.
“Rock… paper… scissors!”
She threw paper. I threw rock.
Her grin spread slow and wicked. “Club.”
I groaned so loud a passing couple glanced over. “Noooo.”
“Yessss.”
“Nyxara—”
“You agreed to the rules.”
I stared at her. She stared back, unblinking, victorious.
I sighed theatrically, shoulders slumping. “Fine. But if I lose a shoe in there, or get glitter in places glitter shouldn’t go, I’m blaming you forever.”
The club hit like a wall of sensation.
Massive. Pulsing. Violent purples and electric reds slashing across the walls. Bass so deep it vibrated in my ribcage, in my teeth. Masked omegas glided through the crowd balancing trays of neon-glowing drinks—pheromone-laced cocktails that shimmered like liquid starlight. The air was heavy: expensive perfume, fresh sweat, alpha musk, something sweeter underneath. Overwhelming. Intoxicating.
This is a lot, I thought, eyes wide as we pushed through bodies. Too much. Too loud. Too… everything. But there was a thrill in it too—the chaos, the anonymity. No one here knew me as Vuk’s wife. Just another omega in a pretty dress, tipsy on possibility.
We snagged a booth in the back after dodging elbows and wandering hands. A masked omega server approached immediately.
“What can I get you ladies?” His voice was smooth, practiced.
Nyxara glanced at me, mischief in her eyes. “Something strong. Make it burn.”
I nodded, trying to look confident. “Same.”
He disappeared into the crowd.
I turned to her, suddenly shy. “Okay, confession: I’ve literally never been to a club before. Like… ever. Crazy, right?”
She laughed softly. “A little. We really are opposites. You’re all cozy movie nights and soft blankets. I’m… this.” She gestured at the chaos around us. “But opposites can be fun.”
The drinks arrived fast—glowing blue, fizzing, dangerous-looking.
We clinked.
“To surviving possessed ceiling ladies,” she toasted.
“To never doing that again. Ever.”
We drank.
It burned all the way down. I coughed. She coughed. Then we dissolved into giggles like teenagers.
After the second round, the music stopped feeling oppressive. After the third, it felt electric, alive, like it was moving through my veins.
We talked—really talked.
“How’s life treating you?” I asked, genuinely wanting to know.
She smiled, soft and private. “Good. Really good. They’ve been… gentle with me. Both of them. Safe.” Her eyes went distant for a second, fond. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel that.”
“I’m happy for you,” I said, meaning it. “You deserve gentle.”
A couple of males sauntered up then, all swagger and cologne.
“Ladies,” one drawled, leaning too close. “Room for two more?”
Nyxara didn’t even glance up. “No.”
I smiled sweetly. “Respectfully, no thank you.”
They tried again. “Just one dance? Come on—”
“Still no,” I said, firmer.
They slunk off, mildly offended.
We cracked up.
“You shut that down so fast,” she said, impressed.
“I don’t do unnecessary drama. Plus—” I lifted my hand, ring catching the strobe lights. “I respect my man. A lot.”
By the fifth drink, I was undeniably drunk. The world had soft edges. Dancing sounded genius.
We stumbled onto the floor, hands in the air, laughing at how ridiculous we looked. The music swallowed us. Bodies pressed close, but not too close. I felt free. Loose. Wanted.
At some point, the lights shifted—deeper reds, slower bass. A spotlight hit the main stage.
Male performers emerged.
Tall. Masked. Bodies sculpted like they were carved for this. They moved with predatory grace—hips rolling, muscles flexing under oiled skin. One locked eyes with the crowd, smirking. Another dropped low, thighs spreading, inviting stares.
My breath caught.
Oh. Wow.
This is… a lot. Hot. Objectively hot. But also… weird? Do I like this? Part of me was fascinated—the raw power, the confidence. Another part felt awkward, exposed. I’m married. Happily. But gods, they move like sin.
Nyxara nudged me, grinning. “You’re staring.”
“I’m… appreciating art,” I defended, cheeks flaming.
One of them—dark hair, silver mask—crawled to the edge of the stage, eyes scanning. He zeroed in on our spot. Smiled slow. Beckoned with a crooked finger.
My stomach flipped.
Play? Or no? The alcohol whispered yes. Loyalty screamed no. But tipsy Maureen was curious.
He extended a hand toward the crowd—toward me.
Nyxara laughed. “Go on. One dance. It’s harmless.”
I hesitated. Then—because why not?—I let him pull me up.
The crowd cheered.
He spun me gently, hands light on my waist. No grabbing. Respectful. Professional. His scent was neutral—masked, controlled. Safe.
We moved together for one song. I laughed when he dipped me dramatically. He whispered something silly in my ear that made me snort. It felt… fun. Flirty without crossing lines. I didn’t touch him back—not really. Just danced.
When the song ended, he bowed theatrically, kissed the back of my hand like a gentleman, and let me go.
I hopped down, breathless, grinning.
Nyxara was clapping. “Look at you! Club virgin no more.”
“That was… actually fun,” I admitted. “But I’m done. No more stage time.”
We returned to the booth. More drinks.
But the alcohol kept amplifying everything. My head swam. My heart felt too big.
“I need the bathroom,” I announced, swaying.
Nyxara squinted. “You sure you can make it?”
“Positive,” I lied, already veering left instead of right.
The bathroom mirror showed glassy eyes and flushed cheeks. I looked… cute. Messy. Adorable.
I pulled out my phone. Fingers clumsy.
Called him.
He picked up instantly.
“Maureen.”
I giggled. “Hi, handsome.”
Pause. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m elevated,” I corrected, leaning on the sink. “Very elevated.”
“Stay put.”
“You’re bossy tonight. I like it.”
“Maureen.”
“Hmm?”
“Thank the gods I have your location on.”
I gasped. “Stalker!”
“For safety,” he growled softly. “Do. Not. Move. I’m coming.”
I grinned at my reflection. “You love me.”
“More than anything.”
“I’m pretty.”
“You’re everything.”
“And you’re… jealous,” I teased.
“Of?”
“Everything that looks at me.”
A slow exhale. “Stay there. Please.”
“Okay,” I said sweetly.
I did not stay.
I wandered back out. The booth looked inviting. I flopped across it.
Just for a second.
Then sat up fast.
“Nyxara!”
No answer.
“Nyxaraaa!”
Panic spiked. I lurched upright. The room spun.
I pushed through bodies until I found her in a shadowed corner, cigarette in hand.
She saw me and stubbed it out fast. “Luna—Maureen—are you okay? You look wrecked.”
“I’m not drunk,” I insisted loudly. “I’m perfect.”
She grabbed my arms, steadying me. “Your pupils are saucers and you reek like a bar. Water. Air. Now.”
“Nooo,” I whined, feet planted. “The music’s in my bones. And… I haven’t found him yet.”
“Found who?”
“A good husband.” It came out so earnest I startled myself. “Tall. Kind. Who doesn’t look at other omegas like upgrades.”
She blinked. “Girl. You have one. Alpha Vuk. Growly. Protective. Ring. Remember? He’d burn this place down if he saw you like this.”
I stared at my ring. Twirled it. “Oh. Right.” My face crumpled. Tears hot and sudden. “But he wants another wife.”
Her eyes widened. “What? No, he—”
“He does,” I choked. “He’s been… distant. Looking. I feel it.”
She softened. “Come on. Outside. Fresh air. Talk.”
Halfway to the exit, I froze. “Nyxara?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“Okay—trash can. Or alley. Preferably alley.”
We barely made it. I bent over, heaving dry, tears streaming, mumbling sorrys between retches.
She rubbed slow circles on my back. “Breathe. First real bender’s always rough. You went hard.”
“I didn’t know it’d… amplify everything,” I groaned. “Too loud. Too spinny.”
“Alcohol’s a megaphone for what’s already there.” She sighed. “Vuk’s gonna kill me.”
“Don’t tell him,” I begged, straightening shakily. “He’ll give me that quiet disappointed look. The worst one.”
A hand closed around my wrist—firm, warm.
I turned.
Smiled brightly through tears.
“I have a husband,” I announced proudly.
The male blinked, amused.
“Alpha Vuk,” Nyxara said sharply, eyes going down. “Sorry, she didn’t mean—”
I pointed at the stranger’s face. “My husband’s more handsome than you.”
“Really?” he chuckled.
“Yes!” I nodded seriously. “So handsome. But—”
“But what?” he asked, light.
My smile cracked.
“I think…” Voice broke. “I think he wants another wife.”