Page 37 of Wicked Beasts (Lament Princess #1)

Thirty-Six

T he night air is thick with the hum of the city, suffused with the delicious scent of street foods and the occasional choking whiff of exhaust from nearby cars.

The parking lot of Pearlridge Mall has transformed into something else entirely—something strange and enchanting.

Strings of soft, golden lights dangle overhead like fragile stars, casting a warm glow over the sea of tents and food trucks that stretch out before me.

The air is alive with music—low, haunting melodies winding through the crowd with the crackle from the stereo, mingling with the laughter and chatter of those who’ve gathered here to lose themselves in the night.

It isn’t as dull as I pictured it to be when I first considered a beer garden. I’m happily surprised.

Gisella, bouncing beside me like a breath of sunshine, is practically vibrating with excitement. Her bleach blonde hair catches the glow of the lights as she tugs at my sleeve, her voice high and effervescent, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Come on, Amara. Let’s find something to drink. You seem so tense since we left the house.”

I watch her for a moment, her bright, perky energy contrasting sharply with my own quiet darkness.

Gisella, with her short frame and uncontainable enthusiasm, is the kind of person who lights up every room she walks into while I fade into the background like a shadow.

She’s wearing a sky blue crop top and denim shorts with fishnet stockings, looking every bit the part of someone who belongs here—someone who enjoys being among people.

She’s right. I’ve been on edge since we left the manor, the car ride far too short, like time itself had bent under the weight of my thoughts.

Mrs. Wong dropped us off, and my mind hasn’t been able to settle since the brief, strange moment with Tristan in the hallway.

It wasn’t much—just a glance, a few words exchanged—but it clings to me like a phantom, its icy fingers still wrapped around my throat.

He asked about my work. He took an interest in me .

I want nothing more now than to go back to my room and type.

Type…something. Anything. I feel distant, disjointed, like I’m drifting somewhere between the warmth of the crowd and the coldness of the manor.

Even the car ride, usually an hour of tedious noise and motion, felt like mere minutes, the seconds slipping by without ever quite reaching me.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” The voice cuts through the haze of my thoughts, and I snap back to reality, searching the crowd.

There, emerging from the sea of unfamiliar faces, is Kehau.

She's a force, like the tide, pulling attention to her effortlessly with her energy and bright smile. She’s the kind of person who belongs here, vibrant and magnetic.

“ Amara Rose ? Out and about?” She raises an eyebrow, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

“I’m surprised you aren’t hunched over your laptop in a dark corner of that terrifying house.

” She glances at Gisella, her expression shifting into a playful curiosity.

“How did you get her to come out? She never goes anywhere.”

Gisella sweeps her eyes over to me, biting back a smirk, though I can see the mischievous gleam in her eyes.

She’s working hard to suppress the giggle, the one she’d barely been able to contain at dinner.

I’m learning that beneath Gisella’s innocent, bubbly exterior lies something a bit more calculating, a touch sneaky—but I know she means well.

I think she just enjoys pushing my buttons, like a little sister.

“A guy flirted with us—” I start, and Gisella immediately cuts me off, her voice a little too bright.

“With you ,” she says, quick to correct me.

“Oh?” Kehau asks as her arms cross over her chest. “Is that all it takes?”

I roll my eyes, the edge of my lips tugging upward despite myself.

Kehau has always had that effect on me—her energy, her charm, too much to resist. Sometimes, I think that’s what makes our friendship work so well.

Her bubbling energy always forges ahead while mine tends to be more contemplative, observant, patient.

Though my feelings towards Tristan and his brother certainly feel more impulsive than my norm , my mind involuntarily protests.

“What are you doing all the way out here?” I ask, desperate to change the subject as I fidget with the faux leather straps of my bag. I can feel the sharpness of the conversation digging at my nerves, and for a moment, Tristan is a fleeting memory. “You live on the other side of the island.”

“My mom drags me here for the crafts,” she says with a playful shrug. “And I didn’t have anything else to do tonight. But seriously—who’s the guy?” Her elbow jabs into my side, sharp and playful, and I wince, though it’s impossible not to laugh.

I huff, realizing it’s futile to try and divert her attention. Kehau is relentless when she wants to know something, and it’s better to just give in.

I shrug again, trying to downplay it. “I guess his band’s playing tonight.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, her lips curling into a knowing grin. “A band, huh? Sounds promising.” She winks, the mischievous spark in her eyes unmistakable. “Don’t tell me you’re already getting all swoony over him. At least there’s another prospect. Better than Tucker.”

Ugh, Tucker .

“Don’t remind me,” I mutter, scrunching my nose in distaste.

“Kehau! Come here!” a woman’s voice calls from a distance, and Kehau wrinkles her nose in exaggerated resignation.

“Well, Mother calls.” She shoots a teasing glance at Gisella before stepping forward to wrap her in a hug. “I’m Kehau, and it was nice to meet you,” she says warmly.

“Gisella!” Gisella squeals in response, arms wrapping tightly around Kehau in a brief, delighted embrace.

Kehau turns to me, pulling me into a quick hug as well, her loose, golden-brown hair brushing my cheek. We exchange our goodbyes, and she slips away, her laughter fading as she melts back into the crowd.

Gisella gives me a wide grin as she clasps her hands together. “Now, let’s grab some drinks and find that man before the live music starts." Her voice is light, but there’s a glint of excitement in her eyes—one I can’t help but share, despite myself.

The music drifting from the radio fills the space around me, its rhythm stirring something deep inside, as if the notes are pulling at a part of me that’s been lying dormant.

But it’s when my eyes finally settle on him—that handsome stranger standing across the way—that the sensation sharpens.

A flutter in my chest, like the first breath of air after being submerged too long.

Something shifts, unsettling yet captivating, as if the night itself has just tilted, and I’m falling into it.