Destined Fur More

Wiener Dogs: Effective Way to Dispose of a Body

As we entered the rather classy auditorium, a man handed out numbers. Apparently, it was the 'small group' we were assigned to. He didn't even have to ask to know Teague and I were strangers here. Without question, he handed us the card that read:

Group 34: Shape-Shifting for Dummies/ N00bs.

In smaller print below, it said:

Yes. You're a n00b. Get over it and try to come up with an original question—we dare you.

I grinned, glancing up at Teague to see his hand holding the number 34, too. We shot each other excited grins and watched as Graham tore up his letter.

There crowd was all swarming for great seats—all going to the front, but not quite the front. Teague took notice of this, leaning in close to me and whispering, "Who are these beastly corepeople?"

Sighing, I rolled my eyes. "Bestia cor," I corrected, "And you would know, had you not been flirting with one."

His nose wrinkled, "Well," He replied tartly, "Can you tell me what they are so I don't flirt with one again?"

I rolled my eyes—Teague was so innocent sometimes. Those chocolate eyes so big and childlike, but then he went off and stared at people's butts. Men were so strange. "Teague, you'd flirt with Aurata no matter what she was. Be it alien, shape shifter, or form of mucus." Teague, though completely clueless to my already-biased opinion on people being born animals, still flinched from the acid in my voice. I almost flinched, too.

What was the point of being so bitter about Teague flirting with Aurata? As if I had a chance with him. It was the phrase "out of my league" personified, exaggerated, maximized—so much so that it was ridiculous the amount of league there was between us. I hardly even hard the right to think about Teague and I being Teague and I together. Like, that kind of together. If there had even been a change in Hell before now, Aurata had walked in, clawed that chance's face off, stomped on it with her stiletto heels, then wiped the idea clean off the face of the hear with her tight, jump-suited ass as Teague watched, mesmerized by her every move—or boobs. Either one.

I reveled in the dimming lights, glad no one could dissect the excessively bitter expression. Like I even had a reason to be bitter. So I focused my anger on the seats, which really did lighten my mood. They were comfy—and not the movie theatre comfy. Like, microfiber recliner comfy. The chair, instantly dissolving my sour mood, squished nicely against my rolls of fat. This theatre definitely wasn't as shitty as I thought it was going to be. So I settled in, excitement about all of my questions finally being answered.

A spotlight appeared on the stage before us, as a woman in a silver suit emerged from behind the stage. From where we sat, her features were indeterminable, but she was stick-thin and had a haircut rivaling Martha Steward.

"Hello, everyone," She greeted kindly, gesturing widely with her arms. "Welcome to the three hundred and second annual Gathering!"

This was obviously a que for people to clap wildly, and they did. Whooping, screaming, fist-pumping—everyone was doing it. I think I might've even seen Graham crack smile, but it was hard to tell in the darkness.

"First, I would like to introduce myself to the newcomers." Her eyes scanned the crowd, and for a second, I think I felt her distinct gaze on me.

Teague must've felt it too. "I think she's a hawk," He whispered into my ear, to which I grinned.

She cleared her throat, and for a second, both of us locked up in fear she'd heard us, but she simply took a sip of her water and continued. "I am Loretta King, one of the members of theConcilium." Just as I was about to question what this meant, a word popped up on a rather large screen behind her.