Art

Apple juice, dummy. It's symbolic.

Laurel visiting Gareth in the hospital during EP12

The amount of bravado and macho performance in these pubs was usually the result of insecurities. These men wanted to act though, to be seen as difficult, sometimes even monstruous, but in all reality they were scared and more important, they were ready to demonstrate that they weren't, which made Rich not like this place.

Because he knew what Rage truly was.

Rich sat down on the bar. He has been following another possible wolf. That was his role as a tracker within the Caern. And the signs were there: the uncontrollable frustration, the chip on the shoulder, the eyes seeing red at the shortest oversight. He's seen them, and he's been keeping a close eye.

What followed was the exact confirmation that Rich did not want. A fisticuff that turned mortal in a second, with the blonde man lounging in fury to another. There were no brakes, he turned into a war machine and it took all of his force to push him out of the bar. It looked like the place had been wrecked in a second and after a few claw marks and kicks, Rich managed to exert the man and finally subdue him, with his wolf sated, the blonde man just turned into his human self.

The air was thick with the stench of wolves he didn’t recognise. Shadows danced in his periphery as the familiar headache crept through his skull. 

He placed a hand on his hot forehead and tried to remember what he’d done. There had been raised voices and beer. But what night didn’t start with lively banter? But the rich copper taste of blood stained his tongue told him it didn’t end there.

‘Fuck me…’ Art wiped the sleep from his eyes, sat up, swayed and then lay back down to stop the room spinning. He then glanced toward the shadows in his periphery to see a large man hovering there. ‘Fuck me!’ he repeated. He tried to sit back up but the room continued to sway, so he had no choice but to sit and stay like a good mutt. 

He lay there, staring at the stranger for longer than was comfortable. All he knew was that this man had to be a werewolf, too. That didn’t ease Art’s mind, though. Other werewolves usually meant rules and demands. 

“I’m glad you’re being honest,” she murmured in his ear, her fingernails finding their way to his neck, caressing him. “Let’s get this damn breakfast over with. Maybe they’ll serve us caviar. That would be the least they could do, right?”

With a soft laugh, Aya kissed him on the ear before letting go of him and wriggling out from under the covers. “Let’s explore New York in the early morning, shall we?”

Groaning,  he rolled off the bed and his running shoes on. ‘I was waiting for you!’ He stuck his tongue out before fishing around for his earphones. He stuck one in his ear and offered Aya the other, in case she wanted to share songs.

It wasn’t long before he was all set to go, having already dressed for their run earlier. Their stuffy hotel was already bustling with noisy holiday makers and miserable low-level businessmen all trying to get to breakfast before the rush. 

She gave him a look that was meant to convey that she was feeling much better and that it was okay to stop worrying about her health for now. After all, she wasn't the only one who had ended up in this hell. They had Briggs to thank for the fact that they were now sitting here. A detailed conversation about it would surely follow.

“That sounds so wrong, Johnny,” she laughed, almost burying her nose in the meat when it was served to her. “But your meat smells fantastic, how can I resist?” With a wink in his direction, she picked up a fork to try it.

The group fell quiet at the suggestion that Charlie should get extra for her work looking after Aya these past few days. ‘Oh no, it’s fine.’ Charlie gave her shoulder a little squeeze as she passed her to grab her own plate. ‘You’d do the same for any of us.’ 

Mike remained silent as he dug into his food, cradling his ribs with his free arm. There was clearly something the house was holding secret and it was unclear whether Mike was in on it, or if both him and Aya were being kept in the dark. 

@balladofcorruption

The estate was packed with friends of Odette's brother, their father, and those who desire a future partnership with the Adlers. If Danny had it his way, he would of gotten married on a small villa on off the coast. But no, their father always had to tilt the parties toward him. At least Danny and his wife will still be able to get married under the stars like they always wanted. Just with a bit more unrecognizable faces than they planned for.

Odette had been lingering in her room, changing from one formal dress to the next with the help of her younger sister Cara. Tonight would also be the night her father would be looking for potential suitors for Odette. And she couldn't be any less excited about the idea. She didn't want to be a bargaining chip for one of his future business deals.

After trying on a dress that she was sure wasn't going to make her stand out that much, she sent Clara on her way. Once she was alone, Odette locked the door to her room and dragged her feet over to her open window. It overlooked the front of the estate, and she could see the first couple of guests beginning to arrive. She rested her head on the wood, closing her eyes as a cool breeze danced along her skin, making it pebble. Oh what she would give to not have to go downstairs and greet the guests.

‘You say that now, but how much do you wager you’ve fucked half the guys in there?’ Art continued pushing his hair back, regardless of Neris’ reassurance. 

‘And what silly fucker would tell on themselves by pointing it out?’ Neris pulled Art aside on the steps. ‘What’s really the issue here?’ 

‘There is no issue.’ But Art could tell Neris wasn’t buying it and neither of them was going in until he aired it. ‘I don't trust this invitation. The Adlers were my father’s friends. If I’m invited here, they’re up to something.’ 

‘Then why the fuck did we come here?’ Neris punched his arm but he didn’t react. ‘I’d like to know when I’m walking into a trap.’ 

Art glanced at the large entrance bustling with people. It was a mass of bright, imported silks and velvets, embroidered by artisans from different continents. One gown here would feed the gang lavishly for a month. 

His eyes then wandered to the familiar window he used to know well. His furrowed brow softened at the sight of a silhouette against the pale yellow light inside. It couldn’t be here, surely.