As if sensing my dilemma, Akwasi cups my shoulders. “Come with me. It will only take a few minutes to get there in my drone and talk to him, then we’ll come right back here for cake…and other things. Please, Ola, I don’t want to be without you. Even for an hour.”
I hesitate. I like that Akwasi doesn’t want to be without me, though, even for an hour. That’s how real couples work, right?
I wait for a “hell yeah, that’s right!” from my wolf, but it doesn’t come. We’re not on the same page about Akwasi. She’s not being a bitch about it, not wilding out like the wolves of my cousins Rafes and Nago, who have both been diagnosed with an emotional shifting disorder. But she’s not standing up at the prospect of other things either. Not like she did when I grabbed Damianos Drákon’s junk. My human wants this more than she does.
Maybe that’s why weird feelings tremble through me now. Ones so unfamiliar, I have to examine them carefully in order to attach labels: uncertainty… anxiety… dread… the opposite of my usual zero fucks, YOLO 100 setting. My wolf doesn’t want to go with him to his club. Even for just a few minutes.
C’mon, this is Akwasi, I remind her. The sweet b-ball player who actually had trouble looking me in the eye when he asked me out. His shyness reminded me of my mother and my sister, Fensa.
With a pang, I think of the twin who can’t be here tonight, because she and her family are in hiding on an island that I’m only allowed to visit once every six months.
Before Fensa got yanked into and came back from the really long ago past, I was the co-dependent twin. It used to be that I’d whine if my sister didn’t make time to see me twice a month, even though we were living in separate states. Those two weeks she’d gone missing had been the worst of my entire life. But now I can only see her twice a year.
Plus, as long as I’d been dreaming about my coronation, the one thing I never imagined was her not being here for it. But she isn’t. And I miss her. So much, my chest feels like it’s cracking if I let myself think on it too long.
So I don’t.
I concentrate on what I do have. Like this crown on my head. And this thing with Akwasi.
With that thought in mind, I flick my eyes back up to meet his. I like him, and he likes me. My wolf is just being silly. Resisting all the changes that come with deciding to take on a crown and a possible mate. A really cool, drama-free mate.
“Okay,” I say softly. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Five
By the time we make it to Akwasi’s club, I decide this detour is a good thing.
Coronations are more for the people than the royals anyway. They’re something we do to give them good memories forever of the time we took the throne. Neither my old Michigan nor my new North Dakota pack needs me there to have a good time.
Plus, I have to drone down to Mississippi early tomorrow morning. I promised my time-traveling Viking era Aunt Myrna (such a long story), that I’d attend her vow renewal to my cousin Rafes (another long story). And I never, ever break my promises.
Even if, as I mentioned before, Rafes hardcore hates my guts. For silly reasons, really. All I did was everything in my power to keep his anti-dragon North Dakota black box project from going through, before helping his awesome Viking mate, Myrna, almost wolf divorce his undeserving ass.
It made their marriage stronger if you ask me. But did he thank me?
No! He decided to hate me forever—which means, I’ve definitely got to show up at his wedding wearing my new North Dakota crown, right?
I might be turning over a new leaf when it comes to my romantic relationships, but c’mon, I’m still Ola. And I have no plans to stop being a pain in my president cousin’s ass any time soon.
A petty giggle escapes me at the thought of the look on Rafes’ face when he sees me, sitting front and center at his wedding as we approach the club’s VIP section.
Which is why I’m smiling when I look up to meet Akwasi’s silent investor for the first time. But that smile disappears when I see him.
Damianos Drákon.
He’s sitting by himself in the choicest VIP booth, large and imposing, even though he’s not standing up. He doesn’t have a bunch of human girls in the booth with him, like most of the other men, both human and werewolf, who reserve tables in The Wolf Lounge’s VIP section would.
It’s just him here. But just him feels even more ominous.