Chapter 56
Lucas's POV
The plastic collar dug into my neck as another wave of laughter swept through the dorm lounge. I forced a grin, trying to ignore how the black leather—fake, thank God—pressed against my throat like a mockery of everything I actually was.
"Dude, is that leash for your girlfriend to walk you?" Alex from down the hall called out, holding up his beer with a shit-eating grin.
The room erupted. I felt my face heat, fingers unconsciously reaching for the collar's edge. "Samantha's creative idea," I managed, keeping my voice light even as something in my chest tightened.
Tamed puppy. That's what she'd called it when she'd presented the costume earlier. Black collar, plastic chains dangling from my wrists, carefully applied "scar" makeup across my face and arms. She'd been so proud of the concept, so excited about playing the role of trainer to my... pet.
The irony wasn't lost on me. Here I was, an actual werewolf, dressed up as someone's domesticated animal while my real nature prowled beneath my skin, restless and angry as the full moon crept closer with each passing hour.
Samantha appeared at my side, her "beast tamer" costume immaculate—black leather corset, deep crimson skirt that swept the floor, thigh-high boots that added three inches to her height. The decorative whip in her hand caught the light as she surveyed the party with obvious distaste.
"It's so loud," she said, wrinkling her nose. "And these people are acting like children."
Across the room, my roommates had set up an impromptu pumpkin bowling game, using plastic cups as pins. Josh was lining up a shot, and the guys were placing bets on whether he'd knock them all down.
"Lucas!" Josh called. "Get over here, man! We need your legendary aim!"
I started to move toward them—God, I wanted to. Wanted to laugh and compete and forget about the weight of expectations and secrets and this damn collar around my neck.
But Samantha's hand closed around the chain at my wrist. Not hard, but firm enough to stop me.
"Let's go to The Crow's Nest," she said, her voice carrying that particular tone that wasn't quite a request. "It's quieter there. More... sophisticated."
I glanced back at Josh, who was watching us with a look I couldn't quite read. The other guys had paused their game, waiting.
"Dude, come on!" Alex urged. "One round! We're about to destroy Josh's perfect record."
I wanted to. Conall, how I wanted to.
Samantha's fingers tightened just slightly on the chain. Her eyes met mine, and there was something there—not anger, exactly, but a kind of wounded expectation that made my stomach twist with guilt.
"Rain check?" I called back, already knowing the answer in Josh's deflating expression. "Samantha wants to check out the bar."
The way Josh and Alex exchanged glances—like they'd seen this script play out before—made something defensive flare in my chest. But Samantha was already tugging me toward the door, her perfume cutting through the smell of cheap beer and fake fog machine mist.
"You're so sweet," she murmured as we stepped into the October cold. "Taking me out like this. I know you'd rather stay with your friends, but those parties are just so... juvenile."
I pulled my leather jacket tighter, grateful for the chill that bit through my thin costume shirt. The cold helped, made the restless heat under my skin more bearable.
The Crow's Nest smelled like expensive cocktails and college students pretending to be sophisticated. I shouldered through the crowd to the bar, Samantha right behind me, one hand resting possessively on my arm.
"Raspberry mojito," I told the bartender, then added for myself, "Double whiskey. Neat."
I needed it. The collar felt tighter with every passing minute, and the noise of the bar—music, laughter, dozens of conversations—pressed against my heightened senses like physical weight. My wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin, agitated by the confinement, the pretense, the—
A laugh. Clear and bright, cutting through the noise like a bell.
I knew that laugh.
My head snapped around so fast my neck cracked. The entrance. There, silhouetted against the doorway lights, was a group just arriving. And in the center, wearing a tattered grey dress and delicate veil that somehow made her look ethereal and heartbreaking all at once—
Ellie.
My breath caught. She was laughing at something one of her friends said, her face relaxed in a way I hadn't seen in months. And beside her, wearing a matching costume that made my vision go red at the edges—
Jackson Wilson.
The guy's hand rested at her waist, guiding her through the crowd. Not grabbing, not possessive, just... there. Natural. Like he had every right.
They were dressed as a pair. Corpse bride and groom. The coordination was obvious, intentional. They'd planned this together.
Something howled in my chest, something that had nothing to do with being human and everything to do with the other half of my nature that was too close to the surface.
She moved on. She actually moved on.
"Lucas?" Samantha's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Are you listening? I said this Valentino bag is on sale, and—"
I threw back the whiskey, barely tasting it as it burned down my throat. The bartender glanced at me, and I held up two fingers. Another.
My eyes tracked Ellie as she moved through the bar with her friends. I watched her lean in to hear something Lily said, watched her smile—that real smile that I used to think was just for me. Watched Jackson's hand drop from her waist but stay close, protective.
She looked happy.
She looked like she didn't need me at all.
"Lucas, you're not even looking at my phone." Samantha's irritation finally penetrated the roaring in my ears. "This bag would be perfect for—"
"Yeah," I said automatically. "Looks great."
My second drink arrived. I downed half of it immediately, welcoming the burn. But it couldn't touch the fire building in my chest, couldn't drown out the wrongness of seeing Ellie with someone else.
You have no right, a small, rational voice whispered. You chose Samantha. You destroyed that friendship. You stomped on her family heirloom and told her you didn't care.
But the wolf didn't care about rights or choices or consequences. It only knew that she was here, with him, looking like that, and every instinct I had was screaming wrong wrong wrong.
I watched as Jackson leaned down to murmur something in her ear. Watched Ellie's expression shift to something softer, more vulnerable. Watched them find a table in the back corner, settling in like they belonged together.
My fingers tightened on the glass hard enough that I worried it might shatter.
"I need to use the restroom," I said abruptly, not waiting for Samantha's response before I was moving.
But I wasn't heading to the bathroom. My feet carried me across the bar, through clusters of costumed students, straight toward that corner table where Ellie sat with her back to me, her veil cascading down her shoulders like a waterfall of lace and shadows.