╭─────── ♱ · 𓆩🤍𓆪 · ♱ ─╮
.·:*¨༺𝐅𝗼𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧༻¨*:·.
☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩ ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇs & ᴡᴇʀᴇᴡᴏʟᴠᴇs: ʜᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴇᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴ
( 𝘕𝘦𝘸 𝘔𝘰𝘰𝘯 )
@LILLYOFTHEVAIIEY
╰─ ♱ · 𓆩🤍𓆪 · ♱ ──────────╯

( note: vampires and werewolves can get drunk in this fanfic, just like in tvd. )

              𝓣he bathroom was a whirlwind of curling irons, makeup brushes, and glitter hairspray. The mirror was fogged at the edges from the heat of the shower they'd taken earlier, and Nova was leaning in close, applying a razor-thin wing of black eyeliner with the precision of a sniper. Luna, meanwhile, was wrestling with a bottle of liquid latex and a fake blood capsule.

Nova tilted her head, admiring her handiwork. Her costume was a modern twist on the classic vampire: tight black leather pants slung low on her hips, a red satin corset laced tight at the back, and a cropped black velvet shrug with bell sleeves. Her fangs—just realistic enough to pass—gleamed faintly under the fluorescent light, and her freshly straightened chestnut hair spilled over her shoulders in glossy waves. "Ironic," she muttered, admiring her reflection. "Cosplaying our own curse."

Luna laughed, carefully adjusting the crimson silk ribbon tied around her neck. Her costume was more vintage: a blood-red velvet slip dress with a sheer black mesh top underneath, fishnet tights, and classic black Mary Janes. Her hair was curled into loose, ethereal waves with tiny red crystal clips scattered through it like drops of blood. Her eyes were smoky and winged, lips painted a deep wine shade. "You say curse, I say commitment to the bit."

Nova smirked. "So dark, so twisted. We should win Best Costume just for being able to keep a straight face."

Luna turned away from the mirror to face her. "Okay, hear me out," she said, fiddling with one of her rings. "What if we invited Embry and Paul?"

Nova, still bent over the counter putting in an earring, paused. "Why?" she asked without looking up.

"Why not?" Luna said quickly, a little too quickly. She grabbed a brush and started needlessly combing through her already-perfect curls. "I mean, it's a party. Everyone's going."

Nova straightened and raised a brow at her in the mirror, the corner of her lips twitching like she was fighting a smirk. "You sure that's the only reason?"

Luna busied herself with her mascara, avoiding her friend's eyes. "Shut up."

Nova chuckled under her breath and leaned against the counter, arms crossed over her corset. "I don't hate the idea," she said casually. "Could be fun to watch Paul in a costume. Or shirtless. Probably both."

Luna tossed a makeup sponge at her, laughing. "You're the worst."

"I try," Nova grinned.

The sound of heels clicking down the stairs echoed through the quiet house as Luna and Nova made their way toward the front door. The place was unusually still—no TV on in the living room, no half-heard conversation from the kitchen. Just the soft rustling of their costumes and the occasional creak of the wood floor under their boots.

"Thank God," Luna muttered as she stepped into the kitchen, grabbing the pen stuck to the fridge with a rubber band. "Both of them are working late."

Nova leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed as she admired the fake blood stain she'd smeared down her clavicle earlier. "Bless capitalism," she quipped. "May it forever keep authority figures distracted."

Luna scrawled a note on a lined Post-It and slapped it to the fridge door with finality:

We're at a study group at a friend's house! Don't wait up. —Lu & Nova

"Study group," Nova repeated with a snort. "So cute."

"Shut up," Luna laughed, grabbing the car keys from the bowl by the door. "It's believable for the old me."

They slipped out into the night, the late October air cool against their skin, the scent of wet leaves and distant bonfires riding the breeze. Parked crookedly in the driveway was Luna's newest pride and joy: a silver 1998 Toyota Camry, slightly dented on the driver's side, but hers.

Nova settled into the passenger seat, hiking up her leather pants just enough to sit without slicing her thighs in half.

"I can't believe the whole 'trauma' card actually worked," Luna said, adjusting her mirrors and flipping on the headlights. "He practically threw the keys at me."

Nova buckled in, checking her lipstick in the visor mirror. "Told you. Play the broken bird, they'll build you a nest."

Luna snorted as she backed out of the driveway. "A weirdly poetic way to say you manipulated my family, but sure."

Nova smirked, rolling down the window and letting the wind whip her hair. "It's not manipulation if it benefits everyone. Now let's go scare the hell out of some teenagers in the woods."

Luna hit the gas, the Camry humming to life like an enthusiastic toaster oven, and they sped down the road.

Luna cranked the volume on the stereo as they pulled onto the main road, early 2000s pop-punk blaring through the Camry's old speakers. She glanced at Nova, who was adjusting her corset in the passenger seat with the casual elegance of someone completely unbothered by restrictive clothing, and bit her lip.

Then, with a sigh, she reached into her small patent leather purse and flipped open her pink Motorola Razr.

"I'm gonna call him," she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Nova arched a brow, not even looking away from the mirror she was using to apply another layer of black eyeliner. "Mm. Who?"

"You know who."

"Oh," Nova smirked. "Calling your mutt."

Luna rolled her eyes but didn't argue. She scrolled through her limited contacts until she hit Embry Call, then hit send, bringing the phone to her ear and tapping her painted nails anxiously against the wheel.

Meanwhile, over at Embry Call's house, Embry was in the middle of watching Top Gun for the fourth time that month. He was sprawled across his bed in pajama pants and a hoodie, munching from a family-sized bag of Cheetos and licking the orange powder off his fingers between scenes. The glow of the CRT television bathed his small room in flickering blue light.

Then, all at once, his ancient flip phone buzzed across the nightstand.

He sat up too fast, nearly knocking the half-full can of Sprite off the edge. He scrambled forward, Cheeto dust flying, and grabbed the phone mid-buzz. His heart stopped.

Luna Mae.

His fingers hovered for a split second—then he smacked the green button like his life depended on it. "Hello?" he said, breathless, his voice cracking embarrassingly mid-word. He cleared his throat. "I mean—hey. Luna?"

Embry held the phone so tightly to his ear it was a miracle he didn't snap the hinge clean off. Luna's voice, soft and a little unsure, filtered through the line like something from a dream.

"Hey," she said, casual but with that familiar nervous lilt. "So, there's this Halloween party tonight... out in the woods off Tall Pine Road, past the old hunting shack by the lake. You know what I'm talking about?"

He blinked, nodding instinctively even though she couldn't see him. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I know it."

"It's mostly Forks kids," she said. "Bonfire, music, costumes... Probably some bad dancing and cheap booze. Figured I'd see if you wanted to come."

"Yeah," Embry said quickly, way too quickly. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, that sounds cool."

"Cool," she echoed. "Oh, and uh..." She hesitated just long enough for Embry's heart to lurch. "Could you bring Paul?"

"Paul?" he asked, genuinely caught off guard.

"Yeah," Luna said, tone light and trying not to sound obvious. "Nova's with me, and—well, I just think it might be good. Less awkward. Maybe."

Embry's lips curled into a smirk. "Ohhh. Nova's going, huh?"

Luna groaned through a laugh. "Don't start, Call."

He chuckled, the warmth of her voice still lingering in his chest. "Okay, okay. I'll bring him."

"Great. See you soon," she said, then paused. "Bye, Em."

He smiled like a fool. "Bye, Lu."

The line went dead, and he stared at the phone for a second, heart still pounding like a drum in his ears. Then, without hesitation, he flipped to Paul's contact and hit call.

Meanwhile, across the rez, Paul Lahote was deep into his own world. Shirtless and sweat-slicked, he moved through a punishing set of pushups on the floor of his room, grunting with each rep. Music thumped from the tiny speaker on his dresser—something aggressive, angry, and early 90s. The air smelled faintly of a cheap cedarwood scented cologne, weed, and whatever pre workout he had downed.

He didn't hear the phone buzz at first, but when it did, he huffed and rolled to his side, grabbing it mid-ring. "What?" he answered, panting.

"It's Embry," came the reply. "You busy?"

"Yeah," Paul grunted. "What the hell do you want?"

Embry's grin could practically be heard through the phone. "We've got a party to go to."

Paul snorted, blinking at the phone like he wasn't sure if Embry had just pulled a prank or if this was actually happening. "A party?" he repeated, voice rough from the workout.

"Mhm," Embry confirmed. "Be there in ten. Oh, and wear a Halloween costume."

Before Paul could even start grumbling about how lame that sounded, Embry clicked off the call.

Paul stared at the dead screen for a beat. "What the fuck?" he muttered.

He leapt up and started rifling through his closet like a tornado hit, tossing aside old hoodies, band tees, and a suspiciously stained pair of jeans. Nothing screamed "Halloween" except for a battered old Scream mask he found shoved behind some boxes. He pulled it out, grabbed a plain white tank top, and ripped it a bit for some effect.

About ten minutes later, Embry's beat-up car rolled into Paul's driveway, blasting some 80s music. He hopped out, flannel shirt unbuttoned over a black tee and a classic plastic Halloween mask hanging from his neck.

Paul was waiting on the porch, arms crossed, the Scream mask dangling from his fingers. "Where the hell are we going?" he asked, arching a brow.

Embry grinned, stepping closer. "Halloween party. Luna and Nova invited us."

Paul groaned, shaking his head with a smirk. "Oh great. Fucking great."

He hopped into Embry's car, closing the door a bit too rough—causing Embry to flip him off as he pulled out his driveway.

The engine hummed beneath them as Embry's car rumbled along the backroad toward the party in the woods, headlights cutting across shadowed trees and scattered jack-o'-lanterns that lined the makeshift parking area. The car's cab smelled like pine-scented air freshener and cheap cologne. Embry had one hand on the wheel and the other resting casually on the open window, a half-grin playing at his lips.

Paul, on the other hand, couldn't sit still. He shifted in his seat, drumming his fingers against his thigh, then scratching the back of his neck, then adjusting the Scream mask hanging loosely around his neck like a noose.

Embry cut him a sideways glance. "You nervous?"

Paul scoffed, but didn't meet his eyes. "Why the hell would I be nervous?"

Embry raised a brow. "I mean, it's been about a week since you know..."

Paul squinted at him. "Since what, Call?"

Embry smirked. "Since you imprinted on her. And you haven't even called her. Doesn't it physically hurt? I've talked to Luna four times this week. We even talked about meeting up soon. She wants to rewatch Sixteen Candles. Her favorite."

Paul made a face like that somehow annoyed him more than it should've.

"Nova would stay upstairs, maybe you could come to keep her company?" Embry added quickly. "But honestly bro, I can't imagine staying away from Luna for a week. How do you do it? I just know your stomach hurts man."

Paul leaned his elbow against the window and muttered, "doesn't hurt one bit." he lied. The feeling bitter on his tongue. "And... I've been spending plenty of time with other ladies."

Embry wrinkled his nose. "Really, dude? Like... sleeping with them?" She words spilled out in a disgusted tone.

"Mhm." Paul didn't sound nearly as smug as he usually would. In fact... he looked vaguely constipated.

Embry narrowed his eyes. "Wait... that face. That's your something's-wrong face."

Paul bristled. "Nothin's wrong."

"Dude. Just tell me."

"No."

"Come on, man."

"Drop it, Call."

"Bro—if you don't tell me in the next three seconds I'm gonna assume you got a rash or something and start telling everyone that Paul Lahote has a rash on his ass."

"Jesus, Embry. What the fuck-"

"Two..."

"Call—"

"One—"

"FINE!" Paul exploded. "I COULDN'T—" He snapped his mouth shut, jaw locked.

Embry slammed on the brakes, putting the car in park right at the edge of the woods near the makeshift trailhead. His jaw dropped, eyes wide.

"...Couldn't what?" he asked, even though he already knew. His eyes wide with barely restrained excitement.

Paul stared out the windshield, refusing to look at him.

And then it clicked. Embry's face lit up like Christmas morning.

"Holy shit." He pointed at Paul like he'd just solved a murder mystery. "Paul Lahote couldn't get it up."

Paul turned his head slowly, murder in his eyes. "I'm about to kill you, Call."

"I'm sorry it's not funny-no like truly it's not funny it actually sucks. Like I'm here for you buddy I promise—" Embry wheezed, full-on laughing now, his head hitting the back of the seat. "Don't blame yourself dude. This must be how the imprint works. You can't be intimate with anyone but your imprint. That's wild. I've never tried, so I didn't know—" he rambled, oblivious to Paul's boiling frustration.

"Shut the fuck up, Call!" Paul bellowed.

Embry wiped a tear from his eye. "No wonder you're fidgeting like a twelve-year-old with a crush."

Paul grabbed the door handle like he was genuinely considering throwing himself out of the car.

"Bro. I'm just saying—Nova's gonna be here. Maybe tonight's your night."

Paul grunted and muttered under his breath, "Or maybe tonight's the night I bury you in the woods."

"Love you too, bro," Embry said with a snicker as they got out of the car and headed toward the lights and music flickering through the trees.

The air in the woods was alive with the buzz of early 2000s pop-punk and the faint tang of cheap beer. Colorful lights strung between trees cast hazy glows over laughing teenagers, fake cobwebs, carved pumpkins, and crushed leaves. Somewhere deeper into the trees, someone had rigged a fog machine, sending low wisps of smoke curling across the forest floor, swirling around boots and heels and plastic vampire fangs.

Embry and Paul stepped through the brush, dodging a couple making out against a tree and a kid dressed like Jack Sparrow vomiting close to a stump.

"Charming," Paul muttered, adjusting his Scream mask to rest properly around his neck.

"Come on, this is great!" Embry beamed, brushing leaves from his flannel. "It's like a teen movie from the 80s."

"You're way too into the 80s dude. It's gross." Paul deadpanned, his eyes scanning the party looking for her.

Then he saw her—by the drinks table under a tree wrapped in orange string lights, stood Luna and Nova.

Embry waved enthusiastically the second he saw his Luna. His face igniting into a wide smile, and Luna's whole face also lit up the very second she laid eyes on him. She excused herself from a kid dressed as a zombie and headed toward them, her heels crunching leaves with every step.

Nova followed, much more slowly. She looked deeply unimpressed.

"Wow," Embry said as Luna reached them, his grin wide and genuine. "You look fantastic."

Luna gave a playful twirl and smiled up at him. "Thanks. The vampire getup was Nova's idea. Something about it being ironic."

Nova, arms crossed, gave a small shrug. "I'm a genius. I know."

Paul scoffed, unable to help himself. Loud, exasperated, and entirely deliberate.

Nova's head snapped toward him.

She looked him up and down slowly—eyes pausing at his wrinkled white tank, the Scream mask hanging limp from his neck, and his perpetually annoyed expression. She glanced at his biceps, not able to help herself.

"Nice costume," she deadpanned. "Let me guess—lazy jackass?"

Paul didn't blink. "Let me guess—vampire. How... unique. You truly are a genius." He quipped back sarcastically, as smug smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

Nova gave him a tight-lipped smile, eyes sparkling with irritation. It was the way he quipped back without even thinking about it that made her want to straight up slap him.

Luna's eyes flicked rapidly between the two of them—their squared shoulders, narrowed eyes, sharp comments—and she immediately felt the secondhand tension press into her chest.

She clapped her hands together, voice too bright and far too fake. "Drinks!" she blurted, grabbing Embry's arm with sudden urgency. "Let's get drinks! Everyone loves drinks."

Paul didn't move, didn't even glance toward the table of Solo cups and fogging cider bowls. Instead, his gaze remained locked on Nova's. "Can vampires even drink?" he asked, voice full of faux innocence and venom laced in every syllable.

Nova tilted her head slowly, an amused scoff falling from her lips. "Yeah," she said sweetly, stepping just a little closer, her boots crunching on dead leaves. "Wanna do the honors?" She tapped two fingers right against his neck—just beneath his jaw, right over his pulse point.

It was meant to rattle him. It didn't. But Luna did audibly gasp.

Luna grabbed Embry's arm for comfort—and her eyes widened in horror as she slapped Nova's hand from Paul's neck. "She's joking!" Luna squeaked, her voice jumping a full octave. "She's joking—God, Nova, you're joking, right?"

Nova didn't look away from Paul. "Deadpan humor, Lu. Learn to read it."

Embry, now nervously sipping from a paper cup filled with suspiciously strong punch, leaned into Luna and whispered, "Do you think if they kiss, the world implodes?" His grin widening like a little kid pushing buttons.

Luna pinched the bridge of her nose. "No, but I might implode if they keep this up." Then louder, to the group, "Okay! Drinks are happening. Paul, Embry—drinks. Nova, come with me. Please. Before you accidentally bite Paul."

"It wouldn't be an accident." Nova smirked and followed, but not before sending one last lingering, half-daring look over her shoulder at Paul.

Paul ran a hand through his hair and muttered under his breath, "This party blows."

Embry just grinned, half-thrilled. "No, dude. This party is getting interesting. You blow. Honestly—you gonna kiss her or what?"

"Shut the fuck up." Paul snapped.

Luna and Nova stood side by side at the long folding table that had been draped in a cheap spiderweb-printed plastic tablecloth and stacked with bottles in varying degrees of legality. The giant tub of spiked apple cider sat in the middle, fog rolling over the rim from the dry ice someone thought was a cute addition. Luna dipped the ladle in and poured a generous helping into her red Solo cup, while Nova grabbed hers with a casual flick of her fingers and sipped it like it was a glass of champagne.

Paul stepped up behind them, scanning the options with a narrowed gaze like he was about to arm himself for battle. "What's the strongest shit here?" he muttered to himself, squinting at a bottle of off-brand rum (ew) before his eyes landed on a mostly full bottle of whiskey. "Bingo." He grinned.

Nova gave him a side glance, her lip curling just a little. "Figures you'd go straight for the whiskey."

Paul unscrewed the cap with a smirk. "Figures you'd go straight for making an annoying comment."

Nova's brows shot up. "Did you rehearse that one or is the tequila already doing the talking?"

"It's whiskey, dumbass," he said flatly. "And you're definitely the reason I'm drinking it."

Luna glanced between them, her hand tightening on her cup, then caught Embry's eye across the table. His look mirrored hers—wide-eyed and silently screaming.

Without a word, he grabbed one of the tequila bottles, filled a red cup halfway and handed it to her, then poured a matching one for himself.

She raised a brow. "A whole cup?"

He shrugged with a crooked grin. "Mini shots are for cowards. Plus I burn it off fast—werewolf thing."

Luna laughed, clinked her cup against his, and they both knocked it back in one go—eyes squeezing shut against the burn as it seared down their throats.

Embry wheezed a little. "Why did we do that?"

"Because they're driving us crazy," Luna coughed out, gesturing toward Nova and Paul, who were still bickering over whether or not vampires could get drunk.

"Do vampires even have a liver?"

"You ask a lot of dumb questions for someone with claws."

"Do you want me to prove I have them right now—?"

"Okay," Embry said quickly, pouring another shot. "Round two?"

Luna grinned, eyes still watering from the first shot, and lifted her empty cup. "Most definitely."

Embry laughed, already tipping the bottle again. "That's the spirit."

They clinked their cups once more and threw it back—this time with less coughing and more of that bold, giddy warmth creeping into their chests. Luna wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the autumn chill.

Meanwhile, Nova and Paul were still at it.

"I'm just saying," Paul muttered, gripping his whiskey like it was a stress ball, "it's a little on the nose."

Nova crossed her arms, tilting her head. "I'm sorry, is there a dress code at these things I missed? Because I didn't see 'cranky man-child' on the invite."

Paul took a long sip of his drink, meeting her stare over the rim. "And yet here you are, playing dress-up like you're not already terrifying."

"Thanks," Nova said sweetly. "That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

Luna reached for Embry's arm and leaned in, whispering with a conspiratorial smirk, "I swear, if they don't make out or kill each other by the end of the night, I'll be shocked."

Embry snorted into his drink. "My money's on both."

Luna and Embry lingered at the edge of the drinks table, each holding another shot of tequila, both already well past tipsy. Luna was glowing—cheeks flushed, lips glossy from cider, her eyes just a little glassy. Embry looked more relaxed than he had in weeks, his smile easy, even a little bashful.

Luna's gaze drifted toward the crowd of dancing teens—girls in glittery cat ears and corsets, boys in oversized superhero costumes, laughter spilling from their mouths like smoke—and then back to Embry. A slow grin tugged at her lips. "Hey," she nudged him with her shoulder, "remember junior prom?"

Embry laughed, the sound pure and nostalgic. "Oh God, yeah."

She giggled, raising her cup. "Your mom took like a bajillion pictures. I swear she made us pose in front of every tree in the yard."

"She made me change shirts twice," he added with a roll of his eyes. "Said the first one made me look like a preacher."

Luna grinned. "Then we picked up Jake and Quil... and they were already drunk before we even got to the gym."

"Oh my god, yes," Embry chuckled, shaking his head. "Quil brought that flask of Captain Morgan, and you couldn't even tell if it was him dancing or seizing on the floor."

Luna laughed, the memory blooming fresh and golden in her chest. "And then you and Quil started that weird mosh pit. In the middle of a prom ballad."

He smirked, eyes softening with the memory. "Yeah... but that wasn't even the best part of the night."

"Oh? What was it?" She asked curiously.

"How it ended." Embry said simply, his voice soft and his eyes holding a look as if he was reminiscing fondly on it.

Her laughter cut off instantly. The smile froze on her lips as her eyes snapped up to meet his. She didn't need to ask what he meant—her mind had already filled in the blanks.

His room. The smell of old pinewood and clean sheets. The way her heart had thundered so loud she was afraid it would wake his mom. Her fingers trembling as they undid the buttons of his shirt, and the way his hand shook slightly as he undid her dress zipper.

The whispers, the laughter, the way they'd laid there for hours after—limbs tangled, hearts racing, both changed in a way neither had words for yet.

Her breath hitched. The air seemed to stretch thin for a moment. It was like she had momentarily forgotten that Embry was still her ex. That he had broken her heart.

Even now, that night flickered through her mind like an old home movie—warm and aching. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table, her mind swimming from the memory and the tequila.

She blinked hard, shook her head, and with a forced smile tipped her shot glass back again. The burn grounded her.

"I'm sorry," Embry murmured, his voice softer now, seeing the shift in her expression. "I shouldn't have—"

"Shot!" she cut him off quickly, too brightly. She was already pouring them another, refusing to let her walls down. Her smile was a little too wide.

He let out a breath, brows drawing together slightly, but he clinked glasses with her anyway. "Okay. Shot."

They downed them together, the liquor biting their throats, but neither flinched this time.

Luna slammed her cup down and spun around toward the arguing pair behind them. Nova and Paul were still at it—Nova, arms crossed and eyebrows arched, and Paul, animated and smirking like he couldn't help himself. They were so caught up in their own storm that they didn't even notice Luna approaching with two more shot cups in her hands.

She threw one arm out dramatically. "SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS!" she sang at full volume, "EVERYBODY!"

Nova turned mid-sentence, blinking at her, then smirked. "You are drunk."

"I am absolutely vibing," Luna corrected. "Now drink this and pretend you like each other for five seconds."

Paul opened his mouth to argue but was met with two very intense glares—one from Nova and one from Luna. With a begrudging sigh, he accepted the cup. Nova clinked hers against his, shooting him a challenging smirk, and they downed the shots together.

Luna twirled back to Embry, her eyes sparkling again, though there was a flicker of pain still hiding under her mascara. She laughed, letting the music move her shoulders a little, the edges of her costume fluttering as she leaned into him just slightly.

Luna's eyes sparkled mischievously as she leaned back, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Alright, everyone," she announced, raising her voice just enough to cut through the music. "We're all dancing now." She grabbed Embry's hands and pulled him from his spot leaning against the table.

Paul let out a loud, dry laugh, shaking his head. "Nope. Not happening."

Nova crossed her arms, smirking but shaking her head firmly. "No."

Luna's grin widened as she stepped closer to them, lowering her voice to a faux-serious tone. "If you two don't come out on that dance floor with me right now, I will start hysterically crying. Like, full-on, ugly cry. Don't test me."

Paul raised an eyebrow, clearly trying not to laugh, while Nova bit back a smirk, her eyes flicking to Luna with amused disbelief.

Embry, still grinning, threw his hands up in surrender. "Looks like we're dancing."

Luna and Embry disappeared into the crowd, their fingers loosely linked, their laughter rising above the music. They moved together like they'd done a thousand times (because they had)—easy, familiar, playful.

Embry spun her under his arm and Luna laughed so hard she nearly tripped, her curls bouncing with every step. She looped her arms around his neck, and they kept swaying, slow and sweet despite the faster rhythm of the song.

Nova stood off to the side, drink in hand, watching them for a beat before shaking her head and muttering under her breath, "Sickening."

Paul was beside her, drink in his own hand—his third or maybe fourth cup of whiskey—and he glanced over, catching the look on her face.

"What?" he said, lifting a brow. "Jealous?"

She scoffed. "Of what? Sappy teenage puppy love?"

He smirked at the word 'puppy,' knowing damn well she meant it as a jab.

Nova took a sip, her red lipstick smudging just slightly against the rim. She was flushed from the heat and the cider, her cheeks a soft pink, her dark eyeliner smudged just enough to make her look more like a witchy temptress than a partygoer.

The corset she wore hugged her figure like a second skin, and Paul hated—loathed—how amazing she looked. How his eyes kept dragging back to her. How his damn skin tingled every time she so much as looked in his direction.

She nudged him with her elbow. "Come on, Lahote. You gonna lurk all night like a moody tree stump, or are you gonna dance?"

"Tree stump? What the fuck." He blinked at her. "And no, I don't dance."

"You mean you can't," she teased, already setting her drink down.

"I mean I don't."

But it was too late—she grabbed his wrist, cold fingers curling around his burning skin, and pulled him into the crowd.

For a moment he resisted, grumbling, but then he was caught in it: the throb of bass, the crush of bodies, and Nova spinning to face him, her hips moving with a lazy, sultry rhythm that had no business being legal.

Paul stood there, stiff as hell, arms crossed like a bouncer.

Nova smirked, stepping closer. "What? Scared of a little rhythm?"

"You're ridiculous," he muttered, but someone bumped into her, sending her crashing into him and in seconds his hands were already falling to her hips.

And when he touched her—God, it was like being hit with a bolt of lightning.

Nova's breath hitched, and her eyes darted up to his. She felt it too. That unmistakable shift in the air. Her teasing expression faltered for the briefest second as something far more dangerous slipped in beneath it.

He gripped her tighter. "What're you doing?" He asked her, or maybe himself.

"Just shut up." She hissed, her hands trailing his chest lightly.

They moved together, not gracefully, but with heat—tension. A push and pull of two forces that should've been repelled but were orbiting each other like magnets. Her chest brushed his. His nose grazed her temple. He could smell her shampoo—something sultry and intoxicating—and it made his mouth go dry.

Her hands drifted to his shoulders, then lower. He let his fingers splay wider across her waist. The music blurred around them. Her breath ghosted his throat.

If they were closer, they'd be kissing.

He leaned in—just barely.

And then some random guy shoved between them with a drunken sway and a loud, "Yo, sexy, lemme show you how it's done."

He reeked of vodka and Axe body spray. Nova immediately recoiled, her expression twisting in disgust. "Back. Off."

The guy grinned. "Aw, come on, baby. Don't play hard—"

He never got to finish.

Paul's fist connected with his jaw so fast, so hard, it was a blur of motion and bone.

The guy dropped like a sack of bricks, blood already streaming from his nose.

Gasps erupted. The music stuttered as people stepped back, creating a wide circle around the chaos.

"Fight!" One drunk teenager bellowed, everyone pulling out their flip phones to record.

Paul stood over him, chest heaving, eyes wild. His body hummed with adrenaline, fists still clenched at his sides.

Nova's lips parted. Her fangs hadn't dropped, but her eyes glinted—not with fear. With something... deeper. The scent of blood filling the clearing.

Embry surged in, blocking Paul from going further. "Dude—Paul. Chill."

The guy groaned, rolling on the ground, nose crooked and bleeding.

But Nova and Luna? Their eyes snapped to the blood. The scent—rich, iron-sweet—hit them like a wall.

Nova's mouth filled with venom. Luna's throat burned. Their hunger snarled to the surface like a sleeping beast roused too fast.

Nova grabbed Luna's arm. "We need to go."

"No argument here," Luna breathed, and together they turned and disappeared into the trees, their shoes crunching over fallen leaves, the warm scent of blood curling behind them like a hook.

Paul watched them go.

His heart was pounding.

And all he could think—besides "Shit"—was how badly he wanted to follow her.

The guy's friends started to shuffle forward, faces twisting with anger and shock, ready to jump in and defend their fallen comrade.

Embry squared his shoulders instantly, a quiet but fierce warning that he was ready to back Paul up with everything he had. His eyes locked onto theirs, unwavering and sharp.

But then, the others took a good look at Paul and Embry—their posture, the way their muscles tensed beneath their shirts, Paul's sheer size and the bruising beginning to bloom on the guy's already broken nose. Something in those silent warnings told them this wasn't a fight they wanted.

One by one, they hesitated. The bravado drained out of their eyes. Slowly, grudgingly, they took a few steps back, mumbling curses under their breath but clearly deciding it wasn't worth it.

Paul exhaled deeply, muscles loosening just enough so he didn't phase into his wolf form right there in the middle of the crowd. Embry's jaw relaxed, and without a word, they turned, moving quickly through the crowd and into the dark woods beyond.

The night air was sharp and cold against their skin as they pushed through branches and leaves, following the scent trail they knew so well. Their footsteps were light, but their minds were heavy — desperate to find Nova and Luna before anything else could go wrong.

They found the girls gathered by the drinks table, the faint glow of string lights overhead casting a soft halo around them. Luna looked up as Paul and Embry approached, concern flickering across her face. "Hey, you okay?" she asked, voice gentle but edged with worry.

Embry gave a small, reassuring smile, the tension of the earlier confrontation easing from his features. "Yeah," he said quietly. "We're good."

Paul, meanwhile, only grunted in response, nodding curtly. His jaw was tight, and his eyes flickered briefly to the ground before meeting Luna's gaze. He looked worn but steady. Nova's sharp eyes immediately scanned him from head to toe, brows knitting together in a silent question. She said nothing—no sarcastic remark or teasing jab as Paul half-expected—but her look alone carried the weight of unspoken scrutiny.

Paul shifted, breaking the silence. "Hey, Embry—can I get your car keys?" he asked without preamble.

Embry raised a brow. "What for?"

Paul's eyes darkened just a bit. "I need my pen," he said, the words heavy with meaning.

Without hesitation, Embry reached into his pocket and handed over the keys. Paul grasped them, a brief flicker of gratitude passing through his eyes.

He started to turn away, but a quiet presence followed at his heels. He glanced over his shoulder, spotting Nova walking behind him, her expression unreadable but her intent clear.

"Why are you following me?" Paul asked, voice low but laced with a mix of irritation and curiosity.

Nova stopped just a step behind him, the night air cooling the slight flush on her cheeks. "I want to talk," she said simply, her tone steady but carrying an undercurrent of something deeper—something that made Paul's pulse quicken despite himself.

Paul kept his gaze fixed ahead, doing his best to look disinterested as they walked side by side through the soft crunch of fallen leaves. His jaw was set, his stride steady, but inside, a war raged — the familiar thud of his heartbeat quickening each time they brushed against each other.

Their arms grazed, light and accidental, but enough to send a spark through Paul's veins. He could feel it pounding loud and clear, the primal rhythm rising in his chest. Nova, ever perceptive, caught the shift immediately. She shot him a knowing side-eye, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Heart racing again, wolf boy?" she teased softly.

Paul cleared his throat, lips twitching as if to deny it, but said nothing. They reached his car, the aged paint gleaming dully under the streetlamp. He pressed the key fob, the lock clicking open, and slid into the driver's seat with a sigh.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his weed pen and flicked the button, taking a long, slow hit. The tension in his shoulders eased as the smoke filled his lungs.

Nova leaned in slightly, fingers brushing against his as she reached out for the pen. He handed it over without hesitation. After a smooth drag, she exhaled softly and said, "Thank you."

"For what?" Paul asked, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint grin.

"For punching that guy," Nova replied, her eyes glinting with something unreadable.

Paul shrugged, voice low and steady. "He deserved it."

Paul sat half-slouched in the seat, the driver's side door wide open where Nova leaned, one hand gripping the roof and the other resting on the edge of the seat. Her hip nearly brushed his thigh. Half an inch—if that. It was too close. He could feel the coolness of her skin even without touching her, like she radiated ice that called to the fire burning beneath his.

His leg bounced restlessly, not out of nerves—he'd never admit to nerves—but out of sheer survival. A desperate attempt to keep his body from reacting to her presence. Again. The weed and alcohol made it harder to resist. Blurred the edges of logic and sharpened every sensation until she felt like a drug laced into his bloodstream.

Nova tilted her head, her long dark hair spilling forward like a curtain between them and the rest of the world. "You're doing it again," she murmured.

He didn't look at her. "Doing what?"

She smirked, slow and wicked. "Your heartbeat. I can hear it. Racing. Every time I get close." Her voice was low, teasing. "It's kind of flattering."

Paul's jaw flexed. "It's not because I like you. It's because you infuriate me."

She hummed like she didn't believe a word. "Mhm. Sure."

His eyes flicked to hers, sharp and wild. "You're impossible."

"And you're an addict," she said smoothly. "To conflict. To chaos. To me."

Paul laughed—short and bitter. "Don't flatter yourself."

But she was already moving.

Nova's fingers curled on the seat as she eased herself down—slowly, deliberately—onto his leg. She sat on his thigh like it was hers, pressing back into the seat, her shoulder brushing his chest, her scent now drowning him. She took the weed pen from his hand like she owned it and brought it to her lips.

Paul couldn't breathe.

His body went rigid under her. Every nerve snapped to attention. His thigh burned beneath her cool weight, and his hand twitched, wanting—aching—to grab her waist and pull her closer. His breathing turned shallow. Erratic.

She exhaled a soft cloud of smoke, head tipped back. Then she looked at him, those green eyes dark and knowing.

"Still infuriated?" she whispered.

Paul's lips parted, but no sound came out. The bond inside him was clawing at his chest. She was right there. His. And she didn't even know it.

"Get off," he said, but it came out weak. Half-hearted. And his hands said a different story than what his mouth did.

She leaned closer, her lips ghosting the air by his jaw. "Make me."

His hands clenched into fists on either side of her waist, like anchors. If he moved, if he truly started touching her—he wouldn't stop. He couldn't. And she was a cold one.

But God, she felt perfect.

The silence between them pulsed.

Her body was soft against his, her hair brushing his shoulder, and he could feel the heat building behind his eyes, the desperate need in his fingertips, the wolf in him howling against restraint.

And then, as if sensing the exact moment he would snap, she leaned back with a smug little smirk and took another drag from the pen, as casual as anything.

Paul sat frozen beneath her, fighting for air. Fighting everything.

Paul's breath hitched as Nova's face hovered impossibly close—half an inch between their lips. His pulse thundered in his ears, every instinct screaming to close that tiny space, to taste her, to feel her skin against his. His hands twitched at her sides, aching to pull her closer.

Their eyes locked, and for a suspended moment, the world fell away. It was just him and her—two magnetic forces on the verge of colliding.

Then, footsteps rustled in the underbrush, breaking the fragile spell.

Luna and Embry emerged from the shadows of the trees, voices low but unmistakable as they approached.

Paul's brain scrambled in panic. He shoved Nova lightly but firmly off his leg, breaking the charged contact just before they could be caught. His heart hammered as he tried to act casual, sitting back and fumbling with the weed pen in his hand.

Embry's easy voice cut through the tension. "Hey, man, find your pen?"

Paul nodded, trying to sound steady. "Mhm."

Luna, spotting Nova, called out brightly, "Hey, Nova! Frankie's sober and ready to head out. She's gonna drop us back off in the morning to pick up the car."

Nova gave a quick nod. "Okay."

Luna turned to Embry, concern flickering across her face. "You two aren't driving, right?"

Embry shook his head. "Nah. Jake's picking us up in ten. Already called him."

Luna smiled, her expression softening. She stepped forward and awkwardly pulled Embry into a brief hug—hesitant, tense, like two people wanting to be more but unsure how to cross the line after their breakup.

Nova's sharp gaze flicked to Paul, eyes appraising, unreadable. "See ya," she said coolly.

Paul waved a hand with deadpan nonchalance, trying to mask the storm inside. "Yeah. See ya."

As Luna and Nova turned to find Frankie, the charged silence lingered between Paul and Nova, like electricity waiting to be reignited. And a softer, but equally magnetic force pulled Embry and Luna together.

For a split second longer, all of their eyes met one another's—full of unspoken words, raw desire, and the fierce battle of wills between enemies and something dangerously close to love. Then the moment shattered, swallowed by the night, as the two girls disappeared down the path, leaving Paul and Embry alone with thudding aches in their chests.

"I'm so in love." Embry muttered.