Chapter 2

The back office was, self-understood, at the very back. The front of the club might entertain clowns of all sorts. At the back, evenly designed corridors reprimanded business with every strike of shoe bottom on the black and white chessboard tiles. Had the hallway always been this long or time had slowed down, thought Vanessa? She had been only twice summoned to the back office since she started a year ago. Never in the middle of her shift.

Her lungs reached for air, if she was called like this, it must be not good. Her fatigue traveled the other way when she was headed for the office. Adrenaline thickened the silence in her ears and sweat built underneath her collar. She twisted her hands to keep the pace even. The lights above illuminated two men sitting on either side of the door. Both wolves. Her wolf hissed in return. For the human eye, they didn’t pose a threat. For an animal, intentions seemed fused with blood that flowed in the being. So it warned her way ahead.

When she came close, they didn’t spare her a glance. Both man-wolves were focused on their phone, frowning every now and then. But before she could ask them anything, the oak-colored office door swung open. The man who now stood on the other side lent her a small smile.

Vanessa’s feet were rooted to the floor of the hallway still. She needed a moment to regain her motor functions. She openly stared at him. Mikhail Ryder. A tall, as tall as the two men still on their phones, with hair so blonde they seemed unnaturally white, square jaw completed with a blunt nose man who was none other than Beta of the Half Moon clan, who offered her and her family refuge long time ago.

“Come in Vanessa.” She supposed his voice had to match his demeanor. It was husky, laced with the confidence of someone who stayed ahead of whatever life threw at him. She barely nodded. Her heels dug in the plush carmine carpet. She knew he and the Alpha owned this club. It was a perfect business spot for wolves to have in the city. Even though it was located on the suburbs. What she couldn’t understand was, why on a Saturday night, club owners paid attention to measly matters? Like hers.

She was still standing near the closed door while Mikhail made himself comfortable on the couch opposite. Her back tingled with curiosity. Tail bone fizzing underneath her muscles. She discerned another presence inside the room. Her eyes cut swiftly to the oval desk refusing to harmonize with rest of the furniture. On the other side of it, a black leather chair, subtle yet commanding rocked back and forth. She tried hard to discern the occupant of it, but couldn’t make out anything except the back of their head. That too, only silhouette.

“Do you know what happened downstairs a few minutes ago?” All traces of politeness gone from Mikhail’s expression broke her out of her reverie.

He didn’t even ask her to sit. Okay then, she thought, better cut this quick.

“I… I don’t know. I served him the drink and went to the loo.” Her voice whispered. She believed she looked positively pale, especially under the soft yellow light. 

“Were you aware of who he was?” His questions astonished her. What was he trying to get at?

“No… No. I promise I have never seen the man before in my life!” Her tone sharpened with dread and confusion.

“He is someone important to the pack Vanessa. This mishap at our club has caused us a great deal.” Mikhail leaned forward, thick forearms sustaining upturned hands, eyebrows raised, imploring her to understand. What was there to understand? She was sorry someone roofied the drink. It rarely happened here but she was sure if it had been someone else on the receiving end, she wouldn’t be here. And how was any of this her fault? She voiced her thoughts.

“I am really sorry of what the poor man had to go through. And it was awful. I am more sorry it happened here.” Oh crap. Her toes twitched. Her anxiety was fast climbing.

“Vanessa. We saw on the camera, you rummaged in the drawers below before preparing his drink. You had been standing there for forty minutes and this was the only drink you made. We have to protect the clients here. I am sorry to inform you, but you are fired.”

Oh, God. Please anything but this. She opened her mouth, once, twice, the third time a squeak escaped her throat. That terrified squeak rose and stood suspended in the space between her and Mikhail. His lips pursed, hands clasped together, he was watching her carefully.

His scrutiny declared some amount of care as if he had thought twice before firing her. As if he was left with no other options than to rob an honest worker of a job they committed one year to.

She was no lily of the holy pond, but this, this cruel dismissal gave way to hysteria.

Mikhail tried to find his footing when this girl, who barely reached his pectorals, started laughing. Either she was neurotic, or silly defiant. Loud, shrill, nails on a chalkboard. A very uncanny reaction to being fired. Maybe she was happy to be free. She had come here to do what she wanted, pull some nasty prank. But her guilt didn’t sit well with him. For what bigger purpose was she serving trying so badly to poison someone and failing at it? It was far from a pre-planned assassination attempt. If she was just some neurotic wolf who loved mischief and attention then firing her would put an end to the matter then and there, requiring no further investigation. But he had fired her regardless of what could be. Her laughter seized.

Her neck felt extra stiff, as if her cords were stretching, tightening, reigning the anger in. Shock had passed, leaving in its wake anger, cashing in all previous reticent of things that happened to her. Things always happened to her, and she let them. Her cognitive functioning resembled a broken record, so she didn’t regret whatever happened next.