Unhappily Ever After

Chapter 8 - Sad Place

What's this, you ask? An update in the middle of exam season? What witchcraft is this?

But in my defence most of it was already written and ... well... I need breaks from revision sometimes. (And if I fail then at least I have an excuse, right?). So enjoy, guys. You may be reading at the expense of my grades :)

Eira had parked on a grassy verge. Now she joined me beside the car, arms folded firmly over her chest. "This is where you got the booze?"

It hadn't occurred to me that this might be the same place, but yes, it looked right, now I thought about it. In the pitch-black haze, all I had seen was the light-up signs of the convenience store. The daylight revealed a homely café on one side.

"Now that," I observed wryly, "looks like a wolf den to me."

Eira followed my gaze and nodded. "I have to agree."

"So. Fancy a panini? Baguette? Or — ooh, look, soup of the day."

That really got her attention. I could feel her stare like a physical force. "You want to go in?"

Misgiving in that tone, and maybe a touch of caution. It wasn't often I out-reckless-ed my sister: I grinned at her. "Yes. Yes, I do. We have to meet the locals sometime — may as well be while their bellies are full."

She noticed my basking and snarled. "Fine. You go in, Ric. But when they're done chewing you out and I'm done laughing, don't expect me to save your worthless ass."

"Your scorn is always appreciated, Eira," I said pleasantly, handing her my wallet and — after a moment's thought — my penknife, too.

"Oh, you're really asking for it," she called at my retreating back. In conclusion, I have to admit that she was right. But so was I. Because if you asked for something, you were half as likely to get it. Reverse psychology. I was betting my life on reverse psychology.

A bell tinkled when I opened the café door. The sound alerted the waitress, who gave me a half-hearted smile and nodded at a free table in a corner. It was, in fact, the only free table, because the rest of the room was packed with youths. All of them were werewolves. Most of them were male. And some had the rough look which meant Trouble with a capital 'T.'

That poor, poor waitress, I thought.

I considered the free table, my head tipped to one side. Then I sat down right in the middle of a crowded bench, making the safe bet that it would be more irritating. My shiny new neighbours stopped eating and stared, alarmed but unwilling to be the instigators of violence with humans watching. Any half-decent leader would thrash an underling for that.

The café fell silent. Not all at once, but a gradual quietening as the shifters realised there was an intruder in their midst. I filched a chip from a sharing plate and chewed it contemplatively. I had barely swallowed the thing before a low laugh cut the tension like a knife.

"Well, you're gutsy, I'll say that for you."

The speaker was a dark-haired young man sat across from me. It wasn't difficult to tell — from the way the others looked to him — that this was the boss. But he was barely my age, if that, and there was a note of arrogance in his voice. It wasn't easy to tell while he was sat down, but he could easily be as tall as I was.

Little clues, these were — but they began to add up. Something about the shape of his eyes also told me that we were related, however distantly. And all of my cousins in the north were—

Oh dear. Alphas. Had I just walked into the middle of a pack's brunch?

The bastard was oblivious to my scrutiny. He himself hadn't bothered thinking about who I might be, of course, and that suited me just fine. I was just a lone with a death wish to him.