Sofia had been one of the lucky ones that day. Her car was parked far enough down the street that it hadn’t taken even a scratch from the battle. The others, those who’d parked closer to the park, weren’t as fortunate. Some cars had minor dents and scratches; others had shattered windshields and missing doors.
Letting out a deep sigh of relief, Sofia spotted her car, untouched and unharmed.
“Thank the Goddess,” she groaned, patting the hood like it was a faithful friend. “Mom and Dad would’ve killed me if anything had happened to this car.”
Her parents, like her brother Enrico, were trainers, though they spent most of their time traveling to other packs, helping train troops. They were rarely home, and even though I’d lived here for a while, I’d only seen them once.
The three of us hopped into Sofia’s car and sped down the road, the scent of burning bodies fading as we left the chaos behind, distancing ourselves from the town center.
Sofia and Enrico lived in a newly built neighborhood. Their house, only a year old, almost rivaled Carlo’s in size and style. Beside it sat the shell of an unfinished house, still under construction. Sofia’s house was a combination of white brick and white tiling, with tall columns leading up to an impressive set of oak doors.
As Sofia unlocked and opened the front door, a cold draft rushed past me, sending a chill through the air. Despite the fact that Sofia, Enrico, and their parents lived here, the house felt strangely empty. A cookie container sat on the table in the large living room, empty, and a crumpled chip bag lay abandoned on the corner of a leather sectional. Still, the house was cleaner than I expected, especially considering Enrico lived here.
“Can’t ever clean up after himself, I swear,” Sofia grumbled, picking up the trash and heading toward the kitchen, dimly lit from the faint light streaming in through the window.
Chiara followed her, familiar with the place from her many visits. While I’d been here with Chiara a few times to pick up Sofia, I had never stepped inside. I glanced up at the curved staircase leading to the second floor, its small balcony overlooking the foyer. The kitchen itself was massive, far larger than necessary for a family of four. Two stovetops sat side by side, and a sprawling marble countertop stretched out across the space. Sofia tossed the trash, motioning for us to follow her.
“Dad keeps all his good stuff in the den,” she called out.
“Your dad won’t mind you drinking his stash?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Sofia snorted from down the hall. “Nah, he’s too busy to notice. Besides, he wouldn’t care.”
The den, much like the living room, was more of a second lounge. A large fireplace dominated one wall, the mantle above it lined with trophies and little figurines. Sofia got the fire going while Chiara wandered over to a large liquor cabinet by the window. Bottles with fancy labels stood in neat rows inside the cabinet, alongside a stack of crystal glasses.
“Isn’t it impossible for werewolves to get drunk?” I asked as Chiara poured herself some amber liquid. She sniffed it, wrinkling her nose at the strong scent.
“It’s not impossible,” Sofia answered, finishing with the fire and joining Chiara at the cabinet. “You just have to know what to drink-and how much.”
“Have you never drunk alcohol before?” Chiara asked, clearly intrigued.
“Of course I have,” I laughed, though a bittersweet memory came to mind. “My mom used to let me and Bianca have some of her wine. It never really affected us, but it tasted good.”
I saw the quick flicker of pity in Sofia and Chiara’s eyes before they masked it, just as I shoved down the familiar pain. Grieving wouldn’t help; it would only push me further away from them. I followed Sofia to the liquor cabinet, taking the glass she poured for me. I did as Chiara had done, inhaling deeply. The sharp scent of cedar and maple filled my nose, cutting through the strong bite of alcohol.
Sofia carried a few bottles to the coffee table and sank onto the velvet couch in front of the fire. I joined her, lifting my glass to take a sip, but Sofia stopped me with a grin.
“Don’t breathe when you drink,” she laughed.
Taking her advice, I tipped the glass back and let the woodsy liquid slide down my throat. The alcohol’s harsh burn made me cough, and I grimaced as Sofia and Chiara chuckled.
“You’re a soon-to-be badass warrior, and you’ve never had a proper drink before?” Sofia teased, refilling her glass. “You’ve got a lot to learn.”
I snorted, holding my glass out for a refill. As the liquid swirled in the glass, my thoughts drifted back to the battle, to Carlo and his mate. The pain in my chest was dull now, more manageable than the heartache Leonardo had left behind when he rejected me. Despite everything, I was happy for Carlo. I only wished he’d found his mate under different circumstances, not because of a fight that had claimed so many lives.
“How does this help?” I asked, eyeing the amber liquid with a faint smile. “I thought you weren’t supposed to drink your problems away.”
“You’re not,” Sofia said, her eyes reflecting the crackling flames. “But sometimes, after a day like this, you need a break. I’m not saying you should always turn to alcohol when life gets tough, but once in a while doesn’t hurt.”
“It’s about balance,” Chiara nodded. “We’ve seen a lot of terrible things, but we can’t forget how to live, how to have fun.”
They were right. Even if I didn’t particularly enjoy the taste of liquor, I could appreciate the warmth spreading through my body. Sofia poured me another glass, and I tried a few different bottles, broadening my palate. One had a light coconut flavor, a strange infusion with coconut water that quickly became my favorite.
As the hours passed and the bottles emptied, my mind felt lighter, blissfully numb. I knew this wouldn’t become a habit-I’d faced my pain head-on before and would do so again-but for tonight, it was a reprieve. The sun had long set, the brilliant moon hanging in its place, and music now played softly in the background as we laughed and talked.
We all jumped when the door to the den opened, revealing Enrico and Vito. They eyed the empty bottles and our flushed faces with amused expressions.
Sofia tossed a half-full bottle at her brother, who caught it with an exaggerated eye roll.
“Really, Sofia?” Enrico scoffed, heading for the liquor cabinet. He poured himself a glass and downed it with ease. Vito followed, soon joining us on the couch.
“Ella’s never had real alcohol before,” Sofia said, her words slightly slurred. “I’m broadening her horizons.”
“I told you, I’ve had wine before,” I protested, but the room tilted slightly as I shook my head.
“Never had liquor?” Enrico raised a brow.
It wasn’t uncommon for young werewolves to drink; it took an enormous amount to get us drunk, thanks to our high metabolism. But my empty stomach and low tolerance had me feeling more than a little tipsy after five or six bottles between us.
“No, and it tastes horrible,” I grimaced, finishing off my glass and handing it to Sofia.
“Then why are you still drinking?” Enrico laughed, watching me with interest.
“Because I can’t taste it anymore,” I shrugged, accepting the refilled cup.