Page 7 of Pistols & Peonies

She makes a choked sound– half sob, half relief– like she’s been holding her breath for hours. “Oh my god, are you… did you…?”

“Can you just buzz me up?” I grumble, not wanting to do this here or now.

“Yes, of course! I didn’t–”

The lock buzzes, and I’m through the door before she can finish that thought, diving into the elevator and punching the button for the seventh floor. The ride up feels like it lasts for an eternity. When the doors finally slide open, Charlotte’s waiting for me in the hall outside our apartment, looking wrecked. Her golden hair’s in a snarl, mascara smeared in jagged tracks down her cheeks. The second she sees me, her expression twists and she chokes on a sob.

“Oh, Vi!” she wails, launching herself at me.

The impact sends a ripple of pain through my injured shoulder, the wolfsbane still stifling my supernatural healing. I grit my teeth through the throb and wrap my good arm around Char, halfheartedly returning the embrace.

“I’m so sorry,” she cries, voice breaking with emotion. “I’m so, so sorry, Vi…”

“It’s fine,” I say, even though it really isn’t.

She releases me with another choked sob, quickly herding me inside our apartment. “What happened?” she asks after flipping the deadbolt to seal us in. “You’ve been gone for hours, I thought–”

I can’t bring myself to say it, so I just reach into my pocket and pull out the folded slip of paper the guards shoved at me on my way out, handing it over to her.

She smooths it open. I watch her eyes track the text, clocking the moment she hits the line that matters: an appointment date for my serum extraction.

Her whole body goes rigid, because every member of the Chicago pack knows exactly what that means.

When shifters mate, it's supposed to be sacred; a soul-deep bond sealed through the exchange of our wolves’ mating serum. Traditionally, that would mean a bite, but if both parties aren’t willing, things can get messy. Alpha Gage hates messy.

So, he championed a workaround– a ‘scientific breakthrough’ to streamline mate bonds through serum extraction. No unruly wolves, no messy emotions, no risk of refusal. You undergo a procedure to get your mating serum extracted in advance, and during the quarterly Pairing ceremony, it’s injected into your assigned mate. Two needles, two injections, one bond sealed by science instead of instinct. Clean, efficient, and oh so romantic.

Char’s breath catches sharply, eyes flying up to mine. “The Pairing?” she gasps.

I nod once.

Her cry is soft but gutted, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks as she covers her mouth with trembling fingers, like she’s the one who’s been sentenced.

“My mom’s gonna be thrilled,” I mutter, snatching the paper back and shoving it into my pocket.

Mom always said my rebellious streak would catch up with me someday. I might be her only child, but I’ve never been the daughter she wanted– always too mouthy, too opinionated, too unwilling to be molded into the perfect little doll she envisioned. The woman nearly had an aneurysm when I came home with my first tattoo, so naturally, I proceeded to get dozens more. She’s spent years trying to talk me into the Pairing, insisting a mate might ‘settle me down’ and ‘give my life direction’. I always refused, but I guess now she’s finally getting her wish.

“I’m so sorry,” Char whispers, sniffling. “I didn’t think–”

“Yeah,” I grit out. “That’s kind of the problem.”

Fuck, now I even sound like my mother.

Charlotte’s eyes widen, chin wobbling. “I never would’ve brought you to that meeting if I knew…”

Anger simmers in my veins, and I turn away before it erupts into something I can’t take back, heading into the kitchen. I need something to take the edge off, something to dull the pain in my shoulder and drown out the noise in my head. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey out of the cabinet, I twist off the cap and tip it back. It burns like a punch to the throat, but that’s sort of the point.

I can feel Char watching me from the doorway, hovering like a skittish animal afraid to get too close. Probably smart, considering how this night turned out. If she hadn’t dragged me to that stupid meeting, I never would’ve crossed paths with the rebels or their half-baked plans to defy our Alpha. Now, my entire future is fucked.

I yank open the kitchen drawer, fishing out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter. I quit a while back, but this seems like the perfect night to relapse. Grabbing the whiskey, I head for the balcony, desperately needing air and distance from the guilt radiating off Char.

It’d be easy to blame her for all of this– the warehouse, the raid, the Pairing– but it’s not entirely on her, is it? I could’ve refused to go, could’ve turned back at any time. I didn’t.

The Chicago wind slices through the fabric of my hoodie as I light my cigarette with shaking fingers. I inhale deeply, the smoke scratching a path into my lungs, then chase it with another swig of whiskey. Slowly, the pain in my shoulder dulls. The world softens at the edges, blurring slightly as the alcohol kicks hard without my wolf to burn it off.

After a few minutes, the balcony door slides open again. Charlotte steps out, rubbing her sleeves between her hands. “Violet… there has to be a way out of this.”

“There isn’t,” I reply flatly, eyes pinned to the horizon.