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But backstage is packed with parents, family members, and guards, so nobody can come at me unless their family is in on the conspiracy.
Omegas laugh and unwind, fixing their hair and makeup for the afterparty.
I try not to shoot envious looks at the omega in the next chair, whose mom and sister congratulate her performance, gushing over pack so-and-so until they’re all giggling.
Evgenia is the closest I’ve ever had to a mother figure, and post-show, she’s already occupied with a vodka soda and a beta guard twenty years younger.
Good for her.
I just have myself.
Probably should’ve asked Orion to be here with me, but I wanted the Wyverns watching from the crowd.
I’m scraping off stage makeup when I catch the familiar strain of laughter that makes me flash back to being locked in a closet.
Noelle.
She looks so much like Rachel. The perfect dark wavy hair and big beautiful eyes that flash venom as soon as she spots me.
With a fanged smile, she whispers to her sister. Then they’re both gliding over, swans on the attack.
I’m not playing this game.
I grab the dress I hung on the back of my chair and bolt.
They can choke on their own poison.
TWENTY-ONE
LILAH
My cocktail dress is red and black, sparkles with crystals, and gives me the confidence of an evil queen. Whichever Wyvern picked it out paired it with these red-bottomed platform pumps that would’ve matched soooo good.
Instead, I go with my gut and a pair of black running sneakers.
Safety over style.
Hair combed, makeup done, knives and smiles sharpened to points, I strut into the afterparty.
The last time I went to a post-recital reception, I signed myself away to Wyvern Pack.
I’m hoping tonight ends with a better offer.
There’s no fanfare at my entrance, but heads turn. Awareness prickles my skin where alpha stares linger. And one spot between my shoulder blades prickles harder than the rest.
“Star.” Finn looms, electric orange and vibrating with a sinful purr. “Only dance like that for me.”
“Did you like the show?” I slip from his reach. If Finn catches me now, he won’t let go.
I have packs to fake charm.
He prowls after me, stance dropping dangerously low. “I want a private dance. Book me for seventy—no, eighty years.”
“Can’t. There’s a line.” I wave to the table with my name card. For the first time in my life, alphas are waiting and none of them have gang tattoos.
Well, visible ones.
Finn’s glimmer fades to dark. “Not if I remove the line.”
