Page 4 of Bullied Pretend Mate (Silverville Firefighter Wolves #3)

When Xeran said it was mandatory for us to come to the pack hall tonight, I wanted to groan and roll my eyes.

Today was a long one, working at the firehouse for hours, finishing up the outside, then meeting and talking to all the new recruits. Showing them the ropes, cleaning up the engine bay, and talking to Soren about repairs on the only fire truck we have.

So when Xeran called us in for our daily huddle, all of us standing around—the new guys with a little pep in their step, the rest of us just a little worn down from the constant stream of new faces—and told us we’d all be expected to make an appearance, I’d only barely managed to hold in my groan.

Not only was today tedious, but every other day has been boring .

It got to the point that I was almost hoping for a regular fire—just someone leaving on a burner, or a fuse going back—to spice things up.

Which makes me an asshole, but it was just a thought I kept to myself.

Would it really be so bad to brush up on our firefighting skills, as long as nobody got hurt in the process?

Xeran leveled a look at me, specifying that I needed to come well-dressed to the banquet, which made everyone else laugh.

I’m already not looking forward to all the dressing up and mingling I’m going to have to do this summer when my parents cart me to a thousand weddings. So, no, I did not want to shove myself into a suit and come to the charity gala.

The pack hall is in the center of town, just off Town Hall, and has a large meeting room that’s kind of shaped like where someone might give a press conference. Every week, Xeran sits at the front of it, fielding questions and providing the pack members with information about his projects.

It used to be the pack hall was something of a throne room for our old supreme, Declan, Xeran’s uncle and the alpha before him. But now it’s a lot more of a communal space, somewhere people can go when they need assistance, support.

Over the past few months, our group at the firehouse has split our time, sometimes working on the firehouse, sometimes the pack hall, and sometimes other buildings in town, many of which only barely seemed to hold on.

It’s surprising that any of them withstood the daemon fire—normally, they leave nothing but ash behind.

Now, someone offers me a glass of champagne, and I take it, downing it in one quick gulp. Live music plays from the corner of the space. I wonder how much damn money is flowing through here. I only donated fifty bucks.

After months of repairing the pack hall and getting it ready for meetings and guests again, the last thing I want to do is spend my free time here. Free time that could be spent catching up on my shows or gaming. Or doing both of those things at the same time.

Even though the fires have died down, I find my days continually occupied. When the whole of Silverville is repaired, I’m afraid Xeran is just going to make us go through again and remodel. He doesn’t understand the art of lounging, relaxing.

Now, the pack hall buzzes with people in suits and gowns, and if I’m being honest, Phina has actually done a pretty good job with the large room at the center of the place.

When they rebuilt, they decided to vault the ceiling and put in skylights, which makes the entire place seem a lot brighter and a lot fancier than it really is.

The whole suit-and-tie thing is for the rich people here, the out-of-towners who come for ski season and might donate to this cause if Phina feeds them enough caviar.

For me, having to stuff myself into a suit and come out here is a nightmare.

For a lot of the others here, it’s a chance to play dress-up, to dig out their nice clothes and enjoy the food.

“I can just tell you’re thinking negative thoughts,” a voice purrs in my ear, and I jump like it’s a tarantula climbing up my arm.

Annette leans against the wall, her arms folded in front of her meager chest, her hair pin-straight and hanging over her shoulders. She’s wearing a blood-red lipstick that makes me feel hunted, and the gleam in her eyes is doubly predatory.

I just don’t understand what her interest is in me . I get why my parents want us to pair up—at this point, they’d be happy for me to pair up with anyone.

Well, anyone besides a beta.

“Very perceptive,” I try to joke back with her, but she doesn’t laugh, just leans in closer to me, her eyes dropping from my eyes to my lips.

“I already made my donation,” she says, “so we could get out of here if you want—”

But then, like a bucket of cold water tossed at my face, the smell that’s been lingering in the back of my nose, in the back of my mind, comes suddenly and completely to the forefront.

I cough, suck in a breath of air, and turn away from Annette, who I can tell is asking me what’s wrong, but I can’t hear her.

Because when I straighten up, I’m facing the front doors.

And Maeve Villareal is walking in.

My mouth goes completely dry at the sight of her.

Those curves, her ass plush and honestly fucking biteable, hugged by an emerald-green dress that puts the other ones in this room to shame.

A sort of mesh fabric runs over her arms and down between her breasts, along the two panels that keep her covered.

The details shimmer in the light, and her strawberry-blond hair is pinned up, showing off her shoulders and cleavage, the latter of which is presented very nicely by the dress.

It feels like every person in this room is turning to look at her. Maybe it’s just me.

“Hello? Felix, are you okay?”

I blink hard, turning to look at Annette, but it’s like I can’t see her—like I’ve just come inside from staring at the sun, and now I’m stumbling around a dark room.

“Fine,” I say, already thrumming with the urge to go and find Maeve, to talk to her, to make sure she’s real and not simply a figment of my imagination.

But when I look toward the door again, she’s gone. Vanished.

Annette trails me through the place, somehow making it look like we’ve intentionally come here together, which pleases my parents to no end when we stop to talk to them.

“Annette, that dress looks so good on you,” my mother says. “It’s great with your complexion.”

I bite my tongue as I skim the rest of the room to keep myself from blurting out that anyone can wear black, but there are only certain people who can pull off emerald green.

For the next hour, I circle the room, swearing I catch glimpses of Maeve when there’s nothing, her smell against my nose as if I had my face pressed into the nape of her neck.

Other guests stop to chat with me—even Phina and Xeran, who had made it seem like they would be far too busy to hang out with our group.

“Lachlan has to be around here somewhere,” Phina says, her eyes skimming the room. “He'd better not think he can just make a donation and leave.”

“Valerie and the baby are at home,” Xeran says, but Phina waves her hand.

“Valerie knows how to take care of that baby,” she mutters. “We need Lachlan here . He makes the other rich people feel bad when they don’t donate as much as him. It’s like some sort of sick competition.”

When I start to move on without Annette, Xeran gives me a strange look, but I don’t have time to explain to him that I didn’t come with her, and, in fact, I would give anything to lose her right now.

I have the feeling her constant chatter is only making it more difficult to find the person I am really looking for.

Then it occurs to me—Phina and Maeve were friends in high school. Maybe Phina invited her, and maybe she would know if she’s really here, or if I’m just slowly driving myself insane for no reason.

But there’s no way for me to ask her without it seeming weird.

Sure, Maeve and I were friends growing up. But we fell apart when we got to high school. Got into different groups.

I got a lot more concerned about what people thought, and my parents made it clear that I needed to worry about our standing in the pack.

Normally, I try not to think about the mistakes I’ve made. I’m not the kind of guy who likes to reflect or journal about shit. But when I think about high school, I can’t stop myself from wishing I’d spent more time with her. Kept that friendship.

But everything was so hard.

Stuffing those memories down and out of the way, I circle the room once more, finally having lost Annette, when I see a flash of green on one of the upper balconies.

Of course—that’s why I haven’t seen her.

Turning, I hurry up a staircase to my right, taking the steps two at a time and doing my best not to knock over one of the servers, who is doing his best to keep the champagne on his platter from spilling everywhere.

“Sorry,” I breathe, hitting the top of the staircase and turning right, following my intuition and my nose. My heart thumps like I’m hunting, my wolf delighted by this sudden, exhilarating chase.

When I turn the corner, it’s just in time to see her stepping into an elevator, her dress swooshing from side to side as she moves. She hasn’t seen me. What would she do if she did? Throw champagne in my face?

There’s no time for me to think about it, to even consider it, because I’m already basically running toward the elevator, watching the doors slide shut.

I am not about to let her out of my sight again.