Silver Skin

12

Pity party
~
Accalia
~

"Why are we here?" Cadence muttered blandly, crossing her arms as her gaze scoured the club in disregard.

The place was bombarded with drunkenness and blaring lights that Accalia wasn't used to. She had grown accustomed to the naturalness of the sun back at the Fenris pack that woke her every morning through Lycus's bedroom window.

"Partying it up!" Tristan shouted over the music, throwing his hands in the air and pumping his hands up and down in tune with the song.

Cadence grunted.

This wasn't what Accalia had in mind for celebrating Cadence's nineteenth birthday.

Tristan had other plans. Picking Accalia, Cadence, Erisa and Rexton up in his jeep and hailing over to a nightclub that was buzzing with electric desires to get drunk.

Accalia couldn't have the hybrid in the pack on his own, in his own company and brought him along, that sprout of guilt slowly blossoming as he appeared more glum than usual. 

There was a reason to come to the nightclub when being down in your gritty emotions, it offered a night of blissful oblivion and momentary relief. It was a night to forget.

Accalia wasn't about to drink away her sorrows, she had a pack to get back to and even in a place like this, where it was a place to forget — home was still at the forefront of her mind.

She didn't know if Lycus was the partying type, she hardly saw him touch a drop of liquor or even saw him ... let loose. He was always impulsive, but also controlled, preferring matters to sway his way than in the direction of another.

"Here, take a shot. My gift to you!" Tristan shouted over Accalia's head and to Cadence.

Before the shot glass could be outstretched to Cadence, she locked her hand around her cousin's wrist with savagery donning her black eyes that reflected the strobe lights from the ceiling.

"I'm not drinking, I'll most likely have to carry your dumbass out. Get out of my face." Cadence hissed.

Tristan whistled lowly, but shrugged her off, finding another target. "Oi, Rexton, you have one!"

Rexton whirled around, taking his attention off the many people he was observing.

He appeared out of place, much like the rest of them with wide-leg trousers and a loose-fitted sweater. His light brown hair was a disarray and his familiar eyes were uncertain.

Accalia didn't have a skirt in her closet, let alone a decent attire to party in. Most of her attire was filled with coverings that protected her weapons, hid her scars and were easy to fight in.

Everyone around her was the same. Except Tristan who decided to wear a bumbag with funky glasses.

"Have a what?" Rexton asked, puzzled.

"A shot!"

"A shot?"

"Of alcohol."

"Er—" Rexton's sentence drifted into the hazy smoke of the club and Tristan thrust the glass into his hand.

"Knock it back." Tristan hollered, a wolffish grin on his lips.

Without hesitation, Rexton did just that and swallowed, hastily grimacing. "I don't like it."

Tristan grinned and clapped Rexton on the shoulder.

"I'm going to the bathroom!" Cadence shouted over the music, blocking her ears.