Chapter 59

Selene

"Are you okay?" Makayla asks for what feels like the 50th time tonight. I know everyone is worried about me, maybe I'm even a little worried about myself, but I'm not enjoying all the attention from it. I just want everyone to forget about me and enjoy themselves.

Especially, Makayla. I almost feel responsible for why she's had to be forced to be holed up in Luke's house with me. But, I think after tonight, she can go back home if she wants to.

Zack is after me, not her.

As Makayla and I step out of the bathroom, the dim lights of the club assault my senses. I find myself still feel sick from finding out that my ex-boyfriend was really the one responsible for breaking into the house and stealing my things.

Phoenix keeps reassuring me that I'm safe, and I believe him. At least, i really try to...but there's also a tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me that nothing is okay and I should be very afraid.

Zack is obviously unhinged or something to do something like this. Even when the possibility of him being a suspect popped into my head, I immediately dismissed it. Now, I know I was just being naive.

I thought he was a better person. I thought he was a cop, an honorable man of the law.

Zack sat in front of my house for 18 minutes after our confrontation at the restaurant, and somehow, his scent was nowhere at the scene. We're werewolves, for fuck's sakes, so it's not like we could've missed it.

So, how is it possible? How could he cover up his scent like that? And how do I know he's not just waiting in the shadows somewhere, waiting for his opportunity to hurt me? To kill me? I'm scared he's not satisfied with what he did, and he'll come back to finish the job.

I almost want to text him and confront him about what he did, but I also don't want to provoke him. He has connections in the police department. He could use them to make my murder look like an accident if he wanted to.

As I round the corner of the bathroom hallway, ready to suck up my feelings and spend time with Phoenix and my friends, I freeze when I catch sight of a woman draped over Phoenix like a damn leech. My heart skips a beat, jealousy punching me in the gut, and I have to remind myself to breathe. My eyes sting, but I promise myself I won't cry. Not here. Not now.

But then, I watch as she does the unthinkable. Her hand snakes down, boldly grabbing his crotch in full of everyone like it belongs to her. My stomach churns, and a surge of hot, boiling anger floods my veins. What the fuck?

A mix of rage, embarrassment, and something else—something darker—rises inside me. My wolf growls viciously in the back of my mind, urging me to rip her away from him, to tear her apart for even thinking she could touch what is mine. But that's not me. I'm not the confrontational kind. I don't like to cause scenes and draw unwanted attention to myself.

Yet seeing Phoenix shove her away doesn't ease the burning in my chest. If anything, it makes it worse. He knows her. Of course, he does. And they probably slept together—just one of his many flings before me. She looks like a fucking supermodel, all legs and perfect curves. Is this his type? Is this what he wants? Because if it is, what the hell is he doing with someone like me?

I don't look anything like that.

The two of them start shouting at each other, their voices rising above the thumping base of the club. I can't make out their words, too focused on the heat crawling up my neck, my ears burning with a mix of shame and humiliation. I feel exposed, like everyone in the club is looking at me, judging me. Especially, when she asks, "You'd rather fuck your sister instead of a real woman?"

It's the only thing I actually hear from their conversation, and it makes me want to get swallowed up by the floor or someone to shoot me with a wolfsbane bullet to make this terrible fucking day end.

My chest tightens, and I blink rapidly, trying to hold back the fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over.

The security guard arrives, rough and authoritative, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her out of the building. She's still screaming, her shrill voice cutting through the music, and everyone staring at her. I can't focus on anything she's saying, not when my world is closing in, the walls of the club pressing against me.

Oh, goddess. I'm going to be sick.

Then, I feel his eyes on me—Phoenix, staring, trying to decipher my reaction. But I can't meet his gaze. I can't. Not right now. If I do, I'll break, and I can't afford to do that in front of all these people.

The room is spinning, the air too thick to breathe. I have to get out of here before I completely lose it, but my legs won't move. I'm rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the overwhelming sense of shame slamming into me in waves. I look down, willing the floor to just hurry up and swallow me whole, to take me away from this nightmare. But, of course, it doesn't.

I'm fucking stuck here, and I don't know what to do.

Thank goddess for Makayla and Sam. They must sense how close I am to falling apart because they're both my side in an instant, their hands on my arms, guiding me out of the club.

"It will be okay," Sam murmurs.

"If you want me to kick her ass, just tell me know," Makayla threatens, her tone completely serious.

I can still feel Phoenix's gaze burning into the back of my head, but I can't find the will to look back.