Page 9 of Knot Just A Fan

They never did. Billy, her first love and the pack leader, died in a motorcycle accident in California. The pack disbanded, and she never saw them again.

After two weeks, she met the pack who sold her suppressants for cheap, because she couldn’t afford Guild application fees, nor even proper housing anywhere near a Guild as most tended to be—ironically—in wealthier areas. Sometimes I wondered if this was by design.

The suppressants didn’t work. She went into heat. She got pregnant with me, and the pack responsible abandoned her. She got sick, and then she was more alone than ever.

I looked into Grayson’s unwavering stare, and bit my cheek. “All right, then,” I said softly. Without another word, he walked by my side all the way to Cami. I texted her on the way.

That night, I cooked for him, and Cami mixed the drinks. We had the best evening, playing board games, listening to his playlists and singing along. It ended with calling him a taxi which he cancelled and insisted he’d walk the forty-five minutes back to his flat.

I followed him to the door, three cocktails deep, and when he turned around to face me on the steps, I leaned in slightly. Selfishly, I wanted one more good whiff of that delectable cedar and cinnamon.

“Whatever cologne you wear, keep wearing it,” I said, lips buzzing. My filters were off by this point. Because this had felt like life should. He had felt like family.

Grayson stopped all movement at my words. He cocked his head slightly, eyes unblinking. “I’m—I’m not wearing any.” Then I saw him swallow, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down. He stepped closer.

“I had the loveliest evening, Phillips. Thank Camilla for the drinks, and make sure you call her that for me.”

I mirrored his grin. “Safe journey home. Come on back, any time you like.”

He bowed his head again, like a nod, but he kept it down for a moment. He ran his hand over his stubble, which had actually reached goatee status over the past couple weeks where he’d clearly paused shaving.

“I’d like that.”

He nodded, he smiled, I smelled him deep in my being, his cinnamon, his cedar. His otherworldly eyes of sapphire. Thelongest lashes. The most gentlemanly flirt. The first man to take even a minute to look inside my outside, and not shake answers out, nor ignore the ones I gave. He was beautiful. He was everything I wanted, to touch, to hold, to own, for just a minute.

I never learned if Grayson had caught the flu, too. Because I never saw him again.

Not for eight long years, anyway.

CHAPTER 4

Briella

In knee-high bootsand the sequined top and skirt I splurged on, I step onto the stage from the wings before any guests have poured into high-ceilinged venue. I’m supposed to wear black, and in fact, I always do. Fade into the background. Don’t be seen, don’t stand out. I’ve been told off by some bands’ managers for my hair, particularly when it’s been tonight’s neon pink, which happens to my be favorite.

Even if my scent is considered unspecial to basically everyone I’ve ever been attracted to, at least my hair can stand out. Childish, but, eh—we all persist with our own little childish things, whether we admit it or not.

Tonight though, for one night of the year, I choose sequins, color, and light. Tonight, everyone wants to stand out—which really means we’re all fitting in. But don’t we all want to feel a togetherness, on the last night of a year? It’s like time becomes a form of mass-transit, taking us all into a new set of numbers, a plastic-wrapped calendar, and we’re all a little scared. Because who knows what horrors await? Or what beauty might be ours if we can gather the balls to reach for it.

And thankfully, my Guild mentor Nic isn’t here to tell me off for my outfit choice. Though Ash approaches, and I swallow tightly.

Medium height, chestnut hair, and high cheekbones, Ash isn’t unattractive by any means. An Alpha but not in the pack with Grayson, Enzo, and Ronan, or any pack. He’s a bit closer in age to me but being the band manager as well, I feel just as eager to please and rule-follow with him as I do any Alpha.

“All right, Briella? Gonna be a big one,” he says, kneeling nearby, taping a setlist to the floor in front of Ronan’s monitors. “The fans are riled up. You should see the queue outside. Rabid dogs.”

He hammers the tape with a fist then looks up when I don’t answer. My eyes are running down the setlist. Three-quarters of the way down are the words “AT 12—XXX.”

A new song? These two months they’ve been back, they’ve been tinkering with new song ideas, but haven’t any finished shapes of songs that I’m aware of. I’d heard Grayson say they were planning to polish them while on this tour, then record afterwards.

Playing a new song at midnight—that’s a tactic. Everyone will be expecting an old favorite.

“What’s the surprise song?” I ask.

Ash chirps a laugh as he takes another folded setlist from his pocket to tape near Enzo’s drums. “Surprise, Briella. Means you don’t know until you know.”

Smart-arse.“Is it a new tune, or a cover?” I ask, loosening my camera strap around my shoulder.

He shakes his head. “Can’t say, all hush-hush, you know?” I’ve always figured his slightly snarky, mostly standoffish approach comes from a bit of an inferiority complex—being an Alpha managing a band that’s a pack that he’s not part of it. Though I don’t know if that’s by choice.

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