Capítulo 9: Chapter Nine
"Well, I think last night went well" Jasper chirps cheerfully.
"You drank every bottle of alcohol in the parlor, cheated at every game of Poker and managed to earn two thousand dollars in "winnings" by doing it." "Exactly."
It is very early morning in Lucas's and Jasper's hotel room, almost seven o'clock in the morning. Pale sunlight flits through the tall windows, casting shadows across the floor as Lucas tries to keep his eyes from drooping, watching Jasper prepare coffee in the little kitchen. He is exhausted after the events of last night, both because of the company and because he repeatedly had to keep Jasper from either trying to sleep with an unsuspecting caterer or falling off the roof. To his father, however, the night will be deemed as a success, as Lucas had managed to make connections with several future Alphas and Beta of important and powerful packs, who will be contacting him in the future to better build relations and goodwill between their packs.
The weight of wearing such a fake smile, though, had been agonizing, pretending to be interested as entitled and pompous men came up and both tried to win his favor or intimidate him into an alliance of sorts. Lucas is used to the prying eyes of so many watching his every move at home, expecting him to live up to unrealistic expectations and act more as the god the rumors about him seem to believe him to be, but it is even more exhausting here, where he has to prove and protect that reputation but also that of his father's and his packs. When will it ever end? All his life he has done everything, everything, he could possibly do to impress others and live up to the reputation his father had set.
He had been the star quarterback in high school football team, a straight A student and Valedictorian of his graduating class with a perfect 4.0 GPA. He had worked at soup kitchens and volunteered at charities and dropped by the hospital wing at the Pack House every time a member was newly injured or had just given birth to a new member. He had sat in on almost every meeting with his father's advisors he could, shadowed his father for years on how to speak to crowds, file financial reports and taxes for the Pack House and those who both worked for it and mortal jobs, how to present a persona of strength and wisdom and confidence even when he was terrified he was making the wrong choice.
He had been doing and has done everything he could possibly do to earn respect and live up to his father. Still, as the years passed, there only seem to be more and more to do, a longer and longer fight to win people over. When will he ever get to rest? When will he ever get to enjoy his life? He only has a few more years, five or six maybe, until his father steps down and then he will be Alpha. Surely he will never get to rest then. And what about his mate?
Sickness rolls hot and nauseating in his stomach when he thinks of the night to come. Only eleven hours until he will be arriving in the ballroom, awaiting his mate. What will she be like? Will they connect? Will she even like him? And if she does, would it only be for the respect and power he holds and not for who he truly is? What if she becomes another person he has to hide his true self from? Could he even do it? They will surely be living together and having children. He can't imagine hiding who he truly is, a nervous and scared teenager anxiously awaiting the day it will be his turn to take over, for the rest of his adolescence. And what if she doesn't even want him? What if she takes one look at him and rejects him? His family's standing is very impressive but that does not guarantee she will want him.
Not only that, but Lucas isn't sure how to be a mate to someone. He has never had any romantic relationships before, had never let the thought cross his mind; he would have a mate waiting for him so what would have been the point? He has no idea how to be affectionate physically, what is considered too sudden or not enough, or how to be romantic as girls often seem to want. Goddess forbid, he doesn't even know how to help them stop crying when they are upset. What if his mate excitedly falls for him, only to find out he is terrible at being a mate to her? There is pride in power, Lucas has always supposed. Perhaps a feeling of accomplishment or confidence. But to him it has only ever felt like a heavy boulder chained to his back that he has been forced to drag with him everywhere he goes. Somedays the boulder is lighter than others, like days when he gets a rare respite from his duties and escapes to the woods with Jasper for a run. Others days, like today, the boulder is overwhelming, soul crushing, and the weight of it and all the expectations that rest on his him feel as if it might grind him six feet underground, burying him before he even makes it to the grave.
Jasper, ever vigilant, seems to sense Lucas's mood as he comes into the room, holding two cups of steaming coffee. It is odd to see him awake this early in the morning, as he refuses to wake up before noon most days. "The bags beneath my eyes will look black and then a very pissed off racoon will come after me thinking I've stolen his mask" He had said one time. "Not that I would wear it unless it was Chanel." The only exception to that rule has only ever been when there is an event to prepare for and, as the ball is that night, he had roused Lucas bright and early, already dragging out hundreds of hair products, pieces of clothing, shoes, colognes, watches and shaving products.
He is dressed in silk pajama pants and a Chanel black satin robe, the ends of it brushing at his furred slippered feet. His hair, almost always styled to perfection, is currently in disarray. Lucas knows Jasper will disagree but Lucas privately thinks it looks better tussled: more open, more like the Jasper that Jasper tries to hide from everyone else. "Must you begin primping so early in the morning?" Lucas had complained at the sight of so much man-scaping products. "Natural-born beauty like mine is not created in five minutes, dear Luke. It is created with six hours of rigors hair and facial routines" Jasper had grinned. Now, however, his jovial mood has seemed to fade and he is watching Lucas with weary and worried eyes. Jasper only ever wears that look around Lucas, refusing to ever let anyone else see him bothered or stressed. Then again, Lucas is certain he is the only person Jasper has ever worried or stressed about and even if he does manage to find someone else to care for, it could never amount to the undying loyalty that bonds the two of them together. It has always been an unspoken agreement between the two of them: no matter if they both end up complete and total disappointments to their fathers and their packs, they will still have the friendship and protection of each other. Neither one will ever go without the other's support. "Luke," His best friend says gently now. He pressed a warm cup of coffee into Lucas's hands, chafing the two of them together in his own. His touch is gentle and reassuring. "Stop, mate. You're going to make yourself sick all over the rug and I don't think Mr. Bridgeton would appreciate that, especially after I wooed his chauffeur." "Tried to woo him." "Oh no, I succeeded. Who do you think I was in that coat closet with last night?"
Lucas gives a snort.
Jasper grins at him, though the handsome smile does not touch his steely grey eyes. After a moment, his expression becomes uncharacteristically solemn and he looks Lucas look in the eye. "I am your brother in all things and have no reason to ever lie to you: I know you are fearful, my old friend. But you have no reason to be, Luke."
Lucas opens his mouth, perhaps to let out a bad joke, uncomfortable by Jasper's intent seriousness, but before he can, his best friend continues. "You-you are GOOD, Luke" Jasper's voice is heavy with emotion and he suddenly gripes Lucas's hand in a vise. "You are smart and kind and have more compassion for people than I have ever dared bothered to. You are supportive and brave. You are-" Jasper pauses, his eyes boring into Lucas's with such an intensity that Lucas feels the need to move away.
Jasper seems to realize how tightly he is gripping Lucas's shoulder and he reluctantly leans back, though his tone stays firm. "You will be an incredible mate" He says finally. He looks away. "There is a beautiful girl somewhere here waiting for you and she is probably scared to death herself. Think of her" His voice is somber and Luca studies him, worried, watching a forlorn expression cross Jasper's face. Lucas frowns, something painfully twisting in his chest for his future Beta. Jasper will never have anyone waiting for him. Jasper, loyal, trusting, witty Jasper, who has stuck by Lucas's side since they were children. Jasper, who bears invisible scars but never leaves them on others. Jasper, who can be cruel and vicious but never with Lucas. And while he often appears snarky and obnoxious and joyful about the situation, bragging about his escapades and always getting himself into trouble, Lucas suspects that it bothers Jasper more than he is letting on that there will never be a true love for him. At least not a nonmortal one. How painful must it be, to watch everyone else find a true love, a soul mate, except for you? Knowing there is no one out there for you and never will be?
"I'm sorry," Lucas says. He touches Jasper's forearm. "I'm here belly-aching about the whole thing and that's not fair to you when you don't get to have the same experience." His words are chosen carefully. Jasper's mother once described him like a cat: finicky and quick to draw claws. Better to let him approach you. Jasper rolls his eyes but gives him a half-hearted smile. In an instant the vulnerability is gone, hidden once again behind a charming smile, though the ever-present lingering sadness does not leave his eyes. "Yes, and it's quite annoying. But you can make it up to me by allowing me to help you get ready. If the process was left to you, you would arrive in gym shorts and a Khols sweatshirt." It isn't lost on Lucas that Jasper brushed the sentiment away. It also isn't lost on him that Jasper's coffee, while black and filled with cream, also has the distinct smell of alcohol. Lucas frowns. It is often easy to brush away his worries for Jasper, if only because Jasper himself makes it so easy, but in moments like this, where Lucas is reminded of Jasper's solitude and growing habit of drinking earlier and earlier in the day.
Lucas swallows back the anxiety welling deep within his chest. He is both terrified all that will come tonight and worried for Jasper but now is not the time to be picking at either thread. Taking a sip of his coffee, he sighs and stands with a stretch. "Fine, deal."
"Excellent" Jasper grins his Cheshire grin and it is easy to pretend he is as fine as he pretends to be. "Quick question before we begin: how do you feel about hot wax near your groin?" ~*
Though Carter had initially detested the idea of Thalia helping her get ready for the ball, the idea grows on her more as she wakes the next morning to what sounds like a parade made of of pageant queens, all trying to get ready at one time in one hall.
"Who has a curling iron?!" "Does anyone have a spare corset?!"
"Do these panties make me look fat?!"
It is the same as the day before, only a million times worse as the noise becomes even louder as girls frantically rush to get ready, acting as if they only have ten minutes to get ready instead of five hours. Back and forth, back and forth, girls trade heels, bras, hair accessories, perfumes, purses, bracelets, rings, necklaces, earrings, helping each other whiten teeth, dye hair and even wax hair off (Carter hears a brief scream from the girl next door, followed by a frantic voice yelling "We'll just draw them back on, we'll just draw them back on! Eyebrows are overrated anyway!").
Though she initially could not have cared less what she looked like at this ball, she now appreciates Thalia offering to help, as Carter arriving in sweats and a tank top would probably only attract more attention when she is rejected. With any luck, perhaps Thalia will make her appear pretty enough to at least blend in so no one will notice her when she is rejected, that way she can slip out quietly and have the whole thing end without anyone but she and her mate the wiser.
But even though she has began to welcome the idea, she still hadn't expected to Thalia to show up five hours before the event, rolling in four large racks of gowns, two dozen containers of shoes, and enough hair products and makeup to overwhelm Miss Universe.
Carter watches with wide, terrified eyes as Thalia forces all of it through the door, followed by four silent servants. Oh sweet Goddess, I am in Hell.
But Thalia doesn't seem to notice as she directs servants about their tasks. "Hair products and makeup in the bathroom, dresses and shoes and accessories there, there and there- you two, start taking her measurements and you two, start pulling out the gowns." Carter watches all of this as two of the four girls begin measuring her all over with fabric measuring tape, from her head to her chest to her hips to her butt. Once that is done, they scurry off to help the other two girls fish out what looks to be over two dozen gowns from the trunks. Thalia then turns to Carter and, without a word, drags Carter into the bathroom, shoving her into a chair before the mirror. "Sorry to rush you, dearie, but we only have so much time and I want this to be the crown jewel of all of my masterpieces" She says, appearing to revel in her words.
Carter eyes all of the hair and make up products questioningly. Thalia does not seem the type to use either, except maybe some kind of gel to slick back her hair. "My mother keeps hoping she can entice me with beautiful gowns and shiny makeup to keep me from "acting out" as she so delicately puts it" Thalia explains with a smile, catching her look. She begins arranging various creams and lotions all along the counter. "Sadly, her efforts have gone in vain but at least someone gets to benefit from my misbehaviors."
She chuckles to herself, then is abruptly serious as she leans in extremely close to Carter's face, eyes sharp as she analyzes every detail of Carter's features. Carter shoves away the urge to shrink back; she has never cared for anyone's close scrutiny, especially in perfect view of the hideous scar that snakes from her neck to her left wrist. Not only that but there is something deeply unsettling about Thalia's gaze when deeply focused. Her eyes cut like razors and her gaze seems to penetrate even the toughest of exterior armor, working into the dark secrets and hidden scars people keep dangerously close to their hearts. When Thalia gazes at her this way, what does she see?
Carter feels a pang of unease as she realizes that she herself is unsure what she herself would see. She does not have much time to ponder the dark thought, however, before she is immediately thrown into a five hour long beauty routine.
First, Thalia has her strip down and shower, shaving every inch of hair below her head, settling her back into the chair, where strip after strip of wax is done from her neck down to her toes, before she is put into the tub filled with sticky red liquid and steaming water while Thalia shampoos and conditions her hair, rinsing it and then plucking Carter's eyebrows to add shape. Once the sticky red liquid is washed off, she is left with her skin stinging and red, though Thalia is quick to fill the tub with a white-intoxicating smelling lotion which Carter soaks into to soften her skin, take away the stinging sensation and leave her smelling like a field of flowers. While she soaks again, Thalia massages various creams in her wet hair to increase volume and shine before tying it all up into a fancy knot away from Carter's face.
Once out of the tub for the final time, Thalia respectfully turns away, handing Carter a thin robe to put on. "Don't worry, dearie, I won't peek. Unless you want me to" She winks, then shoves Carter back into the chair before the mirror.
Carter eyes the various brushes, eyeshadows, blushes and lipsticks (and a number of other things she has no idea what their purpose is) with a sense of dread. Never once in her life has she worn makeup. Her mother hadn't been around to teach her how to apply it and even if she had made the effort to learn, it wouldn't have helped when all those she knows are determined to shame or avoid her. She had expected Thalia to arrive with only a few eyeshadow palettes and a flat iron, not enough supplies to ready a super model about to take the runway. Would all of this really be necessary for someone who will reject her anyway, no matter whatever beauty Thalia can conjure?
The thought abruptly makes her sad. With all that has been going on, she has managed to forget her up-coming rejection for just a moment. Will all of Thalia's efforts wind up going to waste?
Thalia picks up a makeup brush, turning to kneel at Carter's eye level before she notices the scowl pulling over Carter's mouth. "Something wrong, dearie?" She asks, lightly though her eyebrows pull down, making her look far more serious than what Carter has seen of her thus far.
Carter gives a half-hearted smile and shakes her head. She doesn't want Thalia to see the worry and sadness in her eyes.
After that, time seems to blur together as Thalia goes to work on her hair, servants randomly coming in to test swatches of fabrics against Carter's skin tone before rushing back out. She goes to work first trimming the ends of Carter's hair before blowing it all dry, then flat ironing and curling it before pulling all of it up into an extravagant bun laced with silver beads, gems and about three thousand bobby bins. She gibes Carter strict orders not to touch any of it, then spins the chair away from the mirror as she reaches for the makeup.
Carter makes a noise of protest but Thalia shakes her head with a mischievous grin. "Not until it's all done! No spoilers!"
Carter grumbles silently to herself but complies. Though she can not see her reflection, she watches as Thalia begins coating her face in multiple different creams, powders, sprays, foundations, contours, blushes and eyeshadows, exchanging brushes and palettes every few minutes. After about an hour or so, Carter can't help but raise a questioning eyebrow.
Thalia laughs. It is an warm, deep sound and it is immediately comforting. She does not seem to have much trouble reading Carter's expressions. "I don't wear it myself but living with six sisters will give you plenty of practice."
Carter's eyebrows shoot up even higher. Six? Though she has sometimes wished for a sibling, maybe someone else to help bare the burden of her family's shame, even Joey can be too much at times. How has Thalia possibly survived?
"I'm the third oldest" Thalia says continuing her thought. "There's Zoey, Hollis, me, Adelaide, Lucy, and Sophie. While my parents hope to reign me in, they don't worry about me carrying in the next generation, not with all of my sisters. Two are already married to two incredibly wealthy Alphas in New York and two are engaged. My youngest sister is still too young but even she will marry well" She trails off, though it is impossible to miss the warmth in her words, along with the longing tone of missing them that edge her memories.
Carter is pleasantly surprised. In the few times she had heard of Thalia and given much thought to all of the drama and rumors, she had always somehow thought of the famous Thalia Rose as something like a ghost- someone with no past or family to hold her down, someone completely alone save for her romantic conquests. It is easy to see the rare adoration she carries for her siblings, softening the sharpness of her gaze and warming her smile.
"No one cares what I do- aside from my romances, of course" Thalia adds with a meaningful smirk. That, too, Carter understands that well enough. In a family where there is more than one child, one would go off (usually the daughter) and lead the pack of their mate while the other (usually the son) stayed and led the pack of the family. If there is only one son, that son would stay and his mate would come to his pack. If there is only one daughter (like Carter), it could be more of a tricky situation. If Carter's mate has siblings, they could lead their own pack while her mate would lead Carter's- if she lived in a world where her mate would actually want her. Because she is not the oldest and has multiple siblings, Thalia has no such pressure. Her sisters will always be available to lead her own pack and she is free to go off and do as she pleases, though what she pleased is often incredulous romances with beautiful women, each more scandalous than the last. Ryan and Jessica having an actual relationship before finding a mate is already nearly unheard of but what Thalia does- bouncing from woman to woman, going off on wild adventures that often ended up with her slipping out bedroom windows before angry husbands come home- it simply isn't done. Children of the Moon Goddess live a life of laws surrounding ranking, family, marriage and mates. What Thalia does flies in the face of all of that.
But that is what makes Thalia legend. She dares to break boundaries. What do her siblings, who she clearly adores, think of her behavior? Do they aspire to be like her? Wouldn't everyone? What would happen, if Carter is rejected, if she became as bold as Thalia? If she finally let her bite become more vicious than her bark, living her life as dangerous and dating as she chose, possibly even as a human?
A sudden daydream of she and Thalia exploring the mortal world, drunk and high of life and Ill gotten lovers, fills her mind. White sand beaches, wild forests, towering mountains or skyscrapers. In her fantasy, she is bold and confident like Thalia. In her fantasy, she need not fear anyone. It is a dangerous dream and Carter finds it difficult to pull her mind away from it for the next few hours.
Finally, after what feels like days, Thalia leans back, examining her work with a satisfied grin. It is an impish, trouble-maker grin, the kind that promises scandal. Carter is starting to think it is the only smile Thalia has. She seems immensely pleased with herself, Carter notes with relief. Thalia seems the type that not only shoots for perfection but demands it- she will not allow Carter to leave looking the fool.
"Now," She declares, dragging Carter into the sitting room. The four servant girls patiently wait, nearly lost in the sea of tulle, satin and pumps. "The most important part- the dress." She smirks at Carter's nauseated expression. "Now, now, don't look like that. I promise it will be spectacular- most things associated with me are."
She then has Carter stand on a small raised stood, barefoot and dressed in only her underclothes. Thalia acts as if nudity is not something to even take notice of and Carter tries desperately not to blush or cover the hideous scar winding from her chest down her arm; no one has ever seen her in such a state of undress except for when she was a child too young to dress herself. If there is one thing Carter hates, it is feeling exposed.
Still, for some inexplicable reason, she finds herself trusting Thalia despite their short association. It is clear Thalia is attracted to those who do not fit into trends or popular crowds, instead shooting for what is shocking, unwanted- someone like Carter- and she knows without a doubt that most of her friendless lies in her curiosity of Carter, the mute outcast. She does not look Carter, however, like a freakish science experiment. Instead, she looks fascinated, genuinely pleased by Carter's company. It is an alien feeling, to spend so much time with someone who is not Joey (especially someone kind).
Carter takes a breath and relaxes her shoulders, allowing the raven-haired beauty to circle her, eyes scrunched in observation but not scrutiny or judgement. Her eyes do not one hesitant on Carter's scar. She circles about four times very slowly before finally stopping before Carter's front, arms crossed and face serious. Then, gesturing to the servants behind her, she begins comparing different swatches of color against Carter's skin tone, everything from rose pink to shimmering gold to midnight blue. She mutters to herself quietly as she works and Carter is struck by the notion of how easily girls could fall for Thalia- she is quite beautiful, but in an unusual sense, especially when she is concentrating on something. The shape of her cheeks, the slope of her nose- her mate will be quite lucky.
But does Thalia even have a mate? She had said there would be no one waiting for her at the ball. And even if she does find one, Carter is sure her mate will not be pleased with all that Thalia is known for.
Thalia smiles, still working on fabrics. "Don't you dare think of it, Carter Dawson. You are far too good for the likes of my romantic conquests." Carter gives an amused snort and watches as Thalia begins riffling through dresses, some satin, some lace, some velvet. Each is devastatingly beautiful and Carter is momentarily scared to touch any of them, worried she will ruin them. Each is at least a few thousand dollars a piece.
"Ugh, it's hard not to be annoyed when your skin sets off every color beautifully" Thalia shakes her head with a dramatic sigh. "But I do love a challenge." She turns to one of the servants and hands her four gowns. "Hem these and adjust them to her measurements please."
Carter raises her eyebrows in questioning. She points to the dresses. The dresses are done, aren't they?
Thalia waves a hand dismissively. "I had a few made in different colors and styles at the last minute- all of which will look darling on you. We will find the best one and make some adjustments- a little hemming, some stitches perhaps- and then you will be complete!" It is not lost on Carter that she speaks of her as if she is a priceless painting about to be finished with the sweep of a paintbrush. ~*
It is nearly eight o'clock by the time Mrs. Fuller arrives to escort all of the girls to the ballroom. Quick as a flash, she knocks rapidly on every door, calling for everyone to come out and line up in the hall. Carter is one of the first to arrive, her hands shaking violently in her skirts as she takes her place, careful to avoid the eye of those who have already lined up. It is at least another ten minutes before another many of the girls actually obey, either still placing the finishing touches on their looks or simply nervous enough to not want to come out.
By the time every girl, including Carter, has been assembled (aside from Thalia, who disappeared the moment Mrs. Fuller appeared) Mrs. Fuller leads the way back down the hall, moving towards the North Wing. Carter had expected there to be excited titters and joyful chatter but instead there is only a very heavy silence except for the clicking of heels and the sounds of dress skirts brushing the floor. Carter notices every girl's face, while gorgeously swathed in makeup and dressed in dazzling gowns of pinks, lavenders, whites, reds, looks drawn and fearful. No matter how boastful and confident they have appeared to be thus far, it is quickly washed away in the face of what is to come, despite their air of royal beauty.
Carter is certain of her rejection but there is still a chance for everyone of these girls to face such humiliation as well.
However despite their clear nerves, she can't help but notice almost every girl, even Mrs. Fuller, keeps glancing at her with surprised, mystified expressions. She frowns. Her dress is not so different from the other girl's, in fact, it is quite beautiful. She actually thinks Thalia has done an excellent job in making her blend in, though it seems no matter what she does, she will always be stared at. Perhaps it is her scar, which the dress not only refuses to hide but seems to highlight.
Carter touches it nervously. Though she has attempted to hide it most of her life, even when she wears long sleeves, it still peeks up over the collar of her shirts, a constant reminder and omen of all that she is and has been through. She is sure it looks like a beacon, sending out a flare to anyone who look at her: DO NOT TOUCH- DAMAGED. She is not sure why Thalia refused to cover it. She tries to focus on simply walking without falling, teetering in the small kitten heels Thalia had placed her in as she and the other girls try to all squeeze down the hall in their voluminous skirts. Is she sweating? She feels as if she is drenched in sweat. Is it unusual for her heart to be pounding as hard as it is? Perhaps the dress is too tight and it is not allowing her enough air.
Trying to remain calm, she silently coaches herself on all that is to come: She will enter the ballroom, her mate will find and reject her, and she will leave. She will hold her head high and breath deeply. She will not cry. She will act as if such a horrifying slight is nothing and that she does not care what this man who is meant to be her heart's other half thinks of her. She tries to think of her mother, though her presence is all but a faint memory of soft hands and a warm, lilting voice in the back of Carter's mind. But if stories she has heard of her mother are believed to be true, she had been a courageous and outstandingly brave woman, a Luna who led with people with her head held high and a graceful, compassionate smile while doing it. For that, she had been loved and nearly worshipped by all in the pack, even those from other packs. Despite her pack and her father wishing it isn't so, Carter is her daughter. The same blood that runs through her mother's veins runs through her's and perhaps, just perhaps, maybe some of her courage. She takes a breath and raises her chin, straightening her spine. For tonight, she will not cower. She will not cry. She will not be weak. For her mother, she will be brave. And maybe, just maybe, for herself as well.
Mrs. Fuller leads the way all the way to the North Wing, herding every girl into a small antechamber that will lead down a spiral staircase into the ballroom. It is a small room and barren of any decorations except for that of an antique rug to fend off the drafts. Every girl remains silent as Mrs. Fuller explains the proceedings: the boys will be let in first and wait and watch as each girl descended the grand staircase one at a time, making a grand entrance.
Carter tries not to growl at that. Is it not enough that this whole ridiculous thing feels like a dog and pony show? The girls shown off like prized horses or cows to be auctioned off? Most girls don't seem to be offended, however, and clasp each other's hands tightly, some praying together quietly to the Goddess for good fortune, others looking as if they are on the verge of crying or fainting. Oddly though, some wear strange expressions: something hungry and curious, something that makes Carter a little uncomfortable to notice.
Unless one is a child of the Goddess, one would never normally know the difference between a human and a werewolf. Aside from when they shift, pack members appear very much human and often fool the mortals they walk amongst. Here, however, it is in their stares that Carter can see their true instincts, the inner beast that lurks within- something she has never had. In the veins of these girls rush the blood of wolves, predators, hunters- they have caught blood in the water and they are hungry for their mate. To get in their way now would surely mean death. What does it mean that Carter feels no such instinct, that she is so terrified of this moment finally arriving, that she can feel herself shaking in her skirts?
The music of lilting violins and delicate harps sound from outside the door to the antechamber leading into the ballroom. It is a heartbreakingly soft and almost sad-sounding song, something romantic and new. To Carter, however, it sounds like a the beat of a death march.
Mrs. Fuller reaches to open the door. "Good luck, ladies" She smiles, though there is a touch of sadness to her warm tone and Carter can't help but notice her eyes move over the other girls in almost a protective, motherly sense. How many times has she done this and witnessed so many girls left alone and loveless? "And congratulations." ~*
Lucas can feel his hands trembling. He can feel the blood rushing through his veins. He can feel every beat of his heart, slamming into his rib cage like a battering ram determined to break free. His lungs feel as if they are being strangled by a corset whose strings have been pulled too tight.
A warm hand settles on his shoulder but he does not turn. He would know Jasper's touch anywhere.
Jasper does not speak, however. He does not need to. In his touch, Lucas can hear what his best friend does not say aloud: he is not alone. He is strong. He will prevail. Will it be strange to share such a connection with his mate as he shares with Jasper? It is hard to imagine knowing someone else as well as he knows his future Beta, knows the callouses of Jasper's hands when he has bandaged Lucas up after training, knows exactly what Jasper is thinking without use of either a voice or the mind link.
Lucas takes a shaky breath and turns, clapping Jasper on the back. "Thank you."
You will be phenomenal, Jasper replies mentally. His words are achingly comforting before his expression curves into an amused smirk. However you do not look nearly as phenomenal as I do.
Lucas is forced to agree. Though he thinks he looks handsome enough in his black tuxedo, Jasper, as always, appears a masterpiece of Caravaggio, a dark-haired fallen angel dressed in a black tuxedo with red undershirt and a blood red rose bloom in his buttonhole. He smells as he always does- of cigars and brandy, and his high cheekbones are flushed a pale pink, his startling grey eyes shining with excitement, though Lucas is sure it is for his sake alone.
Lucas does not blame him. All around him, the males attending the ball stand in small groups and exchange a few words here and there but every face is drawn and anxious, restless and uncomfortable. If it was not for the ballroom surrounding them, one would think they were all attending a funeral, though with no idea which one of them would be the corpse of honor.
The ballroom's decor seems ironic given such a tense atmosphere. It is a wide and spacious chamber carved from silver-veined white marble from another century long passed, stretching to touch cream and ivory walls broken apart by stunning delicate murals in the place of windows, painted with scenes of the Moon Goddess's history, including the birth of her son, Zachariah, who once saved his sister Aurora from a vivacious rogue attack. From thick mahogany beams above hang garlands of silver and white wisteria, hundreds of candles winking from bronze scones and reflecting off of crystal vases overflowing with white roses and gold poppies.
Ribbons of gold and silver entwine around small tables to the left of the room for couples to eventually dine at, piled high with gilded apples, pears, grapes and more upon ancient China inscribed with wolves howling at the moon above. Strewn across the dance floor are petals in rich shades of blush, cream and onyx.
Moonlight slips in through the crystal domed ceiling above, giving way to a gorgeous sight of the night sky outside.
It is gorgeous, a truly romantic theme, and Lucas is terrified. Any minute now the doors will open and his life will forever be changed. He is not used to such overwhelming fear or anxiety, though he has not resorted to the alcoholic punch, which several males have already begun to overindulge in out of nerves.
I know you are nervous, mate, but remember this is meant to be a happy occasion. You are about to meet the love of your life. Enjoy it.
Lucas nods, though he can't help but glance out of the corner of his eye at Jasper, searching for any sign of pain or remorse. He finds none, though Jasper has always been so skilled at hiding his emotions it can be scary at times.
From the front of the room, delicate violins and harps begin to play. Lucas feels his heart drop into his stomach as the large oak-wood doors begin to creak open.
Be brave, be brave, He silently wills himself.
But he has never felt less brave in his entire life.
~*
Carter had long ago become accustomed to the unsettling feeling of being watched, of the nagging, itchy sensation of eyes following her. After her mother died, both eyes and scorn began to follow her everywhere, piercing her with their judgement and condemnation. It is something she has long accepted, even challenged with her own returning glares and scowls.
Walking into the ballroom, however, Carter feels both her spite and her courage immediately scatter, leaving her trembling beneath her skirts as she takes in hundreds upon hundreds of staring at her, open-mouthed, when she enters.
She is one of the last to enter, out of hundreds of other girls, so by the time she makes her way through the intimating oak-wood doors arching twelve feet tall the ball is already in an elegant roar of chaos. Already mated couples have begun to find each other, rushing to each other in an embarrassingly affectionate display before waltzing onto the dance floor or, in more startling cases, kissing against the back wall of the ballroom.
Each and every couple seems completely enthralled with each other, staring into each other's eyes as if there will never be anything so dazzling and addicting as their partner's gaze. They cling to each other, looking almost afraid to let go of each other. Those who have just come in wade through the crowds on the prowl, expressions ranging from determined to terrified as they continue to search for their mate.
Everyone seems completely focused on their task, a mission of the highest order, but the moment Carter steps through the door, all eyes seem to find her, both male and female, and expressions turn to slack-jawed awe.
Whether it is in awe or her dress or in awe that the disgraced Dawson daughter came, she is unsure, but Carter is certain the weight of all of their gazes will crush her like they bug they surely think she is.
Show them you are a force to be reckoned with.
Joey's words whisper through the back of her mind, kind but determined, and Carter feels the strength of his words, his confidence, flow through her. Though she has dreaded this moment her entire life, she knows now will forever determine her future and how she will be treated.
Taking a deep breath, Carter raises her chin and draws the fuzzy image of her mother to the front of her mind. The memory is hazy and not easily remembered but she tries to dawn the calm, regal, confident expression her mother used to wear when conducting business in the Pack and surges forward, careful to not trip in her small heels.
The moment breaks as she moves and the crowds once again swing back into motion, though several eyes still trail her as she determinedly moves forward in search of Joey. It is selfish, perhaps, to seek him out when he will surely be looking for his own mate ( if he has not already found her) but it has been too many days since Carter has seen him. She tells herself that it is to show him she is okay, that she is strong and smiling, but secretly even now, she craves his company, his protection. He will be some source of normalcy in her otherwise chaotic life as of late.
No one approaches her as she moves and Carter is unsure whether or not to be thankful. Anxiety squeezes as tight as the corset top of her dress and she finds herself, while searching for Joey, also searching for a familiar face, perhaps for a set of very disappointed eyes or a back rushing quickly away from. No one appears.
Finally, she spots Joey. He is, as always, extremely handsome, dressed in an elegant black tux with his hair brushed in an upward swoop, making his emerald green eyes unmistakable in the crowd. He is leaning against the wall, appearing as calm and casual as if it is any other day, though Carter knows him better than any other and she can see the unmistakeable signs of stress in him: the worried crinkles at his eyes, the violet hollows beneath them. He has not slept. Is that because of worry over his own mate or worry over her?
It takes a moment for him to spot her as well, his eyes almost gliding over her as if he does not recognize her. When he finally focuses on her face, his eyes open wide as if in shock. Perhaps he is; he has never seen Carter in a dress of any kind before.
He raises a hand in a wave and moves as if to come to her but Carter gives a slight shake of her head and a false smile. Despite how much she craves Joey's presence and security, this is his moment as well, if their only one, the only moment either of them would ever have, and she does not want him to waste it on her.
He frowns. She knows he does not believe the smile (he is the only person who has ever been able to see beyond the cold mask she wears for others) but after a moment of thought, he settles back against the wall and smiles back, giving her a comforting nod.
His thoughts are easy to interpret: You look beautiful, Sunshine. Go give him hell.
It is also easy to see the tension holding his shoulders stiff, the protective instinct in him to rush to her side, to defend her honor and safety, especially in such a crowded place filled with potentially hostile strangers. Still, he restrains himself and for that, Carter is thankful.
Turning away with a last wave, she faces the crowd and briefly debates on her strategy. Though she is sure none of the other girls are thinking of it the same way, she envisions a battle field. Is it best to retreat and wait for her mate to find her? Should she seek him out so she could find him and end her torture quickly? The swell of bodies all around her is becoming suffocatingly familiar, far too similar to the nightmares that have plagued her for the last few days. Is it her imagination or are every pair of eyes following her, judging her?
Suddenly, the music feels too loud, the room too hot. There are too many happy couples, too many people staring. She can feel their hate radiating towards her, suffocating her, strangling her. They will laugh when her mate wanders upon her and runs away. They will all call their families and friends the instant they are able to spread the gossip no doubt every nearby Pack is waiting for.
Carter feels the regal, unaffected expression she has tried to create crumble, tears gathering in the corner of her eyes. Quickly, she swivels around, silently begging herself not to do this. Not here, not now. She had promised herself she would be strong. She had promised herself no one would see her fall apart. She wanted no one's judgement or pity- Something warm grazes her hand.
"Hello."
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