Blessed By The Moon

Chapter 33

The drive was silent. Well, mostly silent, if you ignored the war raging between me and Uriah over the car's aux cord. I gripped the steering wheel, eyes locked on the road ahead as the soft, familiar notes of Hotel California played through the speakers. Finally, something good. Something classic. Something-

Boom boom clap- a beat dropped so hard I nearly swerved off the road.

"What the hell is this?" I snapped, side-eyeing Uriah, who was sitting smugly in the passenger seat, arms crossed like he had just made the best decision of his life.

"Italian rap," he said simply.

I blinked. "Italian what?"

"Rap." He smirked. "You know, like regular rap, but in Italian."

I stared at him for a second before turning back to the road. "I didn't even know Italian rap existed."

"Oh, it exists," he said, nodding along to whatever aggressive, fast-paced nonsense was blasting through my speakers. "And it's a cultural masterpiece."

"I was alive in Florence when Opera was just created so excuse me if I'm not into whatever this is."

"I was alive in Flo- shut up, we get it, you're ancient and deadly and existed when things were created, yet we are in the same position right now, so that was all useless, your taste in music is useless."

I rolled my eyes and yanked the cord back, switching it to Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. The familiar intro filled the car, soothing my ears like a balm after the auditory assault they had just suffered.

Uriah groaned dramatically. "Come on"

"Yes, actual music" I said, gripping the wheel a little tighter. "Because they're actual artists, not-"

Before I could finish, he snatched the cord back and hit play. The Italian rapper returned with a vengeance, aggressively spitting lyrics I didn't understand but felt personally attacked by.

I inhaled deeply through my nose. "Uriah, I swear to the moon-"

"You can't drive and control the music," he cut in. "That's not fair. It's called delegation. Ever heard of it?"

"It's called I don't want my ears to bleed before I get murdered by an alpha whose father I killed " I shot back, reaching for the cord again.

He scoffed. "Well some of us don't want to listen to a six-minute rock opera about- what is this even about? Murder? Existential dread? Mama, ooo-ooooh?"

I ignored him, happily humming along to Freddie Mercury's voice.

Unfortunately, he took that as a challenge.

He lunged for the aux cord, yanking it back before I could react. The moment he pressed play, I was assaulted with yet another barrage of aggressive Italian lyrics and a beat so heavy I felt it in my bones.

"URIAH!" I reached for the cord, but he turned, shielding it with his body like a child hoarding candy.

He blocked me with his arm, grinning. "You've gotta expand your horizons. Live a little."

"I'd rather live without my ears bleeding."

"You have no taste."

"And you have no shame, give me the cord, this is an order from your Luna. Do you even fucking speak Italian?"

We kept this ridiculous back-and-forth going for another five minutes, Thunderstruck vs. some other Italian rap song that sounded like an aggressive argument over spaghetti, Sweet Child O' Mine vs. what I could only describe as mafia battle music, until, finally, we reached the edge of enemy territory.