Page 37 of Alpha Power

Nah, I was gonna keep them closed,Zamorra retorted.

A choke of laughter came through, followed by the sound of a slap.

Music instantly flooded her ears, so loud and piercing her werewolf winced in discomfort. The room darkened, bright coloured neon lights flashing to the beat of the techno music. She could feel the vibrations up through her feet as she walked further into the club, and it made her body tingle.

Her eyes scanned her surroundings, taking in all the details she could. The long bar that ran the length of the entire back wall, the gyrating bodies moving to the music on the dance floor, the VIP section off to the right, where women were dancing on tabletops while men threw money at them.

Zamorra had a plan. She would talk to the bartender first. Bartenders always kept an eye and ear to the ground, watching and listening. She knew because she had done her fair share of bartending back in the day. If Night Flare was being dealt out of Volume, the bartender would know.

Squaring her shoulders, Zamorra began making her way over to the bar, making sure to take the long way around the dance floor. She wasn't about to get caught in the middle of that orgy pit.

She saw sparks of white light, a light mage weaving a spell right there before her eyes. Power pulsed in the air and then the music changed from techno to house music. The crowd went wild, cheers erupting from all directions as the bass got louder and louder.

"Zamorra?" A deep voice called from behind.

She stopped dead in her tracks.

I know that voice, her werewolf said excitedly.

Care to share with the class?Zamorra hissed.

She was afraid to turn around. She had no idea who would be standing behind her.

When she did eventually turn, accidentally bumping into another shifter who was far too drunk to even notice, she saw someone she hadn't seen in a very long time.

"Uncle Void," she whispered, surprised.

He looked exactly how she remembered. Tall, broad-shouldered, tanned skin. His dark brown hair was shorter and kept in a buzz-cut like they do in the military. A flicker of gold flashed through his brown eyes as he looked at her, his sharp jawline dropping open in surprise. His white, long-sleeved shirt stretched across his massive chest, and he was wearing a pair of tight-fitting black slacks.

"Zamorra," he breathed in shock. His brawny arms immediately encircled her in a tight embrace, lifting her feet of the sticky floor.

She shrieked, her hands moving to grip his shoulders for stability.

Zamorra?Luther asked through her earpiece, a hint of concern in his voice.

"I'm good, I'm good," she replied.

"What?" Void asked, setting her back down on her feet.

Zamorra shook her head. "Nothing."

Void ushered her over to a dark corner, a serious look on his face. His strong jaw tensed and his eyes darting wildly around the club, like he was looking for danger. "You need to get out of here. Now."

Zamorra frowned. This was the first time she had seen her uncle in years. Why was he pushing her away?

Before her parents’ death, they had been close. He had helped her parents escape The Shadow Pack when they needed to run. He had always sent a card on her birthday and would try and visit at least once a year. But after her parents were murdered, she had to go into hiding. They'd kept in very minimal contact, only corresponding via a blog website to minimise the risk of getting caught and meeting up once every few years.

"What? Why?"

Void looked over his shoulder, a concerned expression on his face. "Barnabas is here."

Zamorra stilled, fear and panic hitting her like icy cold water, paralyzing her right where she stood. Fragmented memories of the worst night of her life bombarded her all at once.

Her mother crying. Her father's deep, baritone voice, telling her not to be afraid. Her body being shoved into the hidden crawl space in the floor. Screaming. Loud banging. Fighting. The metallic scent of blood.

She shook her head, trying to banish the memories back to where she kept them locked away, but they kept coming.

The sound of a man's voice, cold and menacing. Claws scraping against the wooden boards she was hiding under. Smoke. The struggle to breath. Fire. Heat, crawling all over her skin.

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