“Of course,” Emma replied, “but it’s so chaotic here right now.”
Everyone around was drunk, stumbling around, some already passed out on the ground, while others transformed into wolves and leapt into the trees. Rory sighed and started picking up the plastic bottles from the ground. “I’ve told them so many times not to drink to the point of losing control. Every time, I have to clean up after them.”
Emma crouched down to help pick up the bottles. “I’ll help you.”
“Would you consider staying in the Silver Moon Pack after you come of age?” Rory asked.
Handing the collected bottles to Rory, Emma fell unexpectedly silent at the question. If it had been when she first arrived here, or even a month ago, she would have been very certain in her response; she would have definitely wanted to leave. However, it was not long ago, when Jennifer asked her if she wanted to back out, that her convictions began to waver.
For a moment, she felt that maybe Patrick wanted her to stay.
But it was just a moment.
“I don’t know,” she decided not to reveal her inner thoughts, and instead offered an excuse, “I need to see how my studies go. But I still hope to return to my homeland. In my heart, there’s no place like it.”
Rory stood up straight, gazing at her tenderly. “Would you want someone to leave with you?”
Emma was taken aback.
It was the first time someone had been so straightforward with her. Before, no one had approached her, especially when Florence was around. She was known for being fierce, and any boy who dared to approach Emma would be scared off by her gaze.
Things were different now. Without Florence by her side, Emma stared blankly at Rory. He was handsome, though not as much as Patrick. Who could compare to Patrick anyway? But he and she seemed to get along well.
Unlike Patrick, there were no insurmountable class differences between them, his family was well-off, without complicated ethical entanglements. From a rational perspective, Rory would be better than Patrick, Florence would say so, and she wanted herself to be happy.
But could she really let go of Patrick so easily? She hadn’t even made an effort yet. Could she truly convince herself to choose what seemed like the better option?
Emma sighed, avoiding Rory’s gaze, “Let’s talk about it when I come of age.”
After finally cleaning up the rubbish in the woods, they found a higher hill and lay side by side, gazing at the stars.
“There’s no moon tonight,” Emma said. “I wanted to see the moon. The breeze tonight is so comforting.”
Rory didn’t look at her.
“You’ll have the chance,” he said after a while.
They fell into an awkward silence once again. Emma didn’t know what to say; she seemed to realize something, like maybe Rory liked her. But she pretended not to notice.
What was more important now was getting away from Nelson, followed by her relationship with Patrick. She didn’t know what kind of ending she and Patrick would have; perhaps, as Rory said, he wasn’t someone of her status. But she still wanted to strive for herself.
“I don’t know what my future will be like,” she said. “I want to respond to you, but right now, I can’t give you an answer. I can’t tell you that I want you to leave with me, a few hours after crying over another boy.”
She turned her face, her eyes adorned by starlight. “I just can’t do it, Rory. I’m sorry.”
Rory didn’t speak, and after a while, he stood up and patted her head. “Perhaps you’d like a bottle of beer?”
Surprised, Emma sat up. “I’m not of legal age yet!”
“Just a little bit.”
Emma couldn’t resist the temptation. When Rory handed her the unopened can of beer, she couldn’t help but open it and the scent of barley wafted over.
Rory suddenly remembered something else; some werewolves couldn’t drink beer due to allergies to wheat and alcohol. He was about to ask Emma if she had any allergies when she tilted her head back and gulped it down. Rory’s words stuck in his throat as he watched Emma, seemingly without any adverse reaction.
He tentatively asked, “Are you okay?”
Emma looked unfazed, “I’m fine.”
Then she let out a barley-scented burp. Rory hesitated, with a bad feeling. He guessed Emma might already be drunk. It just wasn’t evident.
Sure enough, Emma lifted the can again and finished the rest in big gulps.
When the can was empty, Rory asked cautiously, “Emmie, are you okay?”
The only response was the girl’s snoring.
Rory sighed; her alcohol tolerance was so low. He wishedhe hadn’t let her have any at all. But now he had to deal with the consequences. He picked up the sleeping Emma and laid her against a large tree stump.
“Sweet dreams, Emmie,” he whispered softly.
Emma was awakened by loud arguing.
When she woke up, she felt a bit thirsty, a little dizzy, and her mind seemed not fully awake. That’s because she heard Patrick’s voice. But how could Patrick be back here?
“Emma!” she heard clearly. It was indeed Patrick’s voice.
She shuddered, jumped up suddenly, and hit her head.
Patrick hurried over to see her, “Are you hurt?”
Emma held her head, “No, but how did you come here?”
She hesitated, looking at Patrick, thinking her eyes and mind were playing tricks on her; she saw a complete Patrick. This Patrick was asking her if she was hurt.
But how was it possible?
She distinctly remembered that Shirley was standing next to Jennifer last night. She remembered Jennifer’s triumphant expression when she said it was Patrick’s mating season. It felt like a death sentence for her heart.
But now Patrick was appearing at the bonfire party? Why?
Her mind was like a tangled ball of yarn, unable to make sense of anything, she could only murmur Patrick’s name, repeatedly asking herself in disbelief, as if she had just experienced an unprecedented hangover, “Patrick, how did you get here?”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Patrick’s face looked very unpleasant, “and you, Emma, shouldn’t be drinking. You should always remember, you are still underage and shouldn’t engage in inappropriate behavior.”
“Sorry, Patrick,” Rory stepped forward to defend Emma, “she said she was thirsty yesterday, and I happened to grab a drink for her. It was dark, and I didn’t see clearly whether it was alcohol. It’s my mistake.”
Emma carefully observed Patrick’s expression, feeling that it wasn’t as severe as before, and for the third time, she asked the question.
“How did you come here?”