"I have something important to say as well," Genevieve countered before he could speak, brushing the dust from her skirt as she rose from the stone. She took a few steps away from Gareth, just enough to create space but not enough to make it seem like she was retreating.
"I need you to talk to your father on my behalf. Get him to approve my departure from the pack." She folded her arms, her gaze steady. "We talked about this before you left for your training, and you promised you'd help me."
Eve kept her tone matter-of-fact, not pleading, not demanding— just stating a logical request considering he already gave her his word. Yet, Gareth's brows furrowed, his jaw tightening as his fist clenched at his side.
She just had to bring up her departure request right before his confession.
To be honest,he did remember. She had mentioned it before, but he had only said yes to it in the hopes that it would buy him more time to win her heart. At the same time, he could not understand why she wanted to leave.
The way she spoke was light, almost conversational, as if she were asking him to pass the salt rather than help her sever ties with the only home she had ever known. She was watching him the exact way one might observe an animal– gauging his reaction, and he had to admit that there was just something about the way she looked at him that flustered him. However, despite his willingness to help, he assumed she would never follow through, and so, he never gave it much thought.
Even if she was serious about leaving, where exactly did she think she would go?
"You became part of the Evernight pack the moment you were brought in by those courtesans," he reminded her. "Leaving the pack can be considered desertion, and the punishment for that isn't exactly pleasant, Eve. Do you get what I'm saying?"
Crouching down, Eve ran her fingers through the water's surface, watching the ripples spread, as if she had all the time in the world to indulge in it.
"It's only desertion if your father disapproves," she pointed out smoothly. "And I'm not an idiot— I know the rules. That's why I need you to fulfill the promise you made to me and convince him. Otherwise, I'll be stuck here, and we both know I don't exactly belong here."
She flicked water from her fingers, casting him a sideway glance. "Unless you'd rather I go the less official route? Perhaps you enjoy seeing me as a servant."
Gareth's body stiffened at her words. "What?!" His pupils constricted, and a flash of gold resurfaced in his irises. In an instant, he was upon her, gripping her arms and yanking her upright, as if she weighed nothing. "How far do you expect me to go to prove to you that I care?" His voice was strained, raw. Then, as if something inside him snapped, he let go of her shoulders, exhaling sharply. He ran a hand through his brownish-colored hair, his stance tense with conflict.
It was quite obvious he was trying to reign in his wolf, who was busy fighting with him for dominance.
"Fine," he muttered, sounding unusually cold. "If leaving this pack is what you truly want, then so be it."
His hands fell to his hips, his gaze distant as he made his decision. "Tonight," he said at last. "After the Moonbond hunt is over, pack your things and meet me in the main lobby at the pack house. Don't regret your choice of leaving the pack afterwards."
He didn't look at her again. He simply turned and walked away from there, his frustration evident in the rigid set of his shoulders.
Eve merely watched him go, barely bothering to stop him. Then, with an exasperated sigh, she sat back down on the rock as if nothing had happened. She plucked a leaf from a nearby bush and twirled it between her fingers, her lips curling in amusement.
That had gone exactly as she planned. Prodding Gareth's pride was the only way to get what she wanted.
He was predictable that way.
Infatuation, obsession, unfortunate weakness, whatever one might call it, Eve didn't particularly care. It wasn't as if she could reciprocate his affection anyway, even if she wanted to– which she didn't. She had no interest in entertaining it, and besides, his feelings would likely evaporate once he discovered the truth about her nature. And Eve had no intention of sticking around for that particular revelation.
Eighteen good years have passed since she was brought to the Evernight pack, and she had grown tired of her mundane existence. She felt an instinctive urge to leave it all behind, to explore the world beyond the pack's borders, and uncover her own purpose in life.
When evening finally arrived, Eve casually made her way to the brothel house.
As she stepped inside, the thick, cloying scents of expensive perfume, wine, and something cloyingly sweet, like rotten fruit buried under a layer of flowers, hit her like a slap to the face. But Eve was no stranger to this den of deceit.
Taking purposeful strides through the hallway, her eyes scanned the opulent room, taking in the silk-draped walls, the candlelight, and the plush cushions where patrons lounged, with their half-empty goblet of wine swaying precariously in their hands.
Laughter curled through the air, flirtatious and knowing, as courtesan's weaved through the space with feline grace, their sheer robes whispering against the floor. Eve's presence was a jarring note among the usual clientele, but she strolled through, ignoring the curious glances thrown her way.
She disliked this place.
Not out of some lofty moral principle. Eve had no illusion about purity. She disliked this place because everything here was a carefully crafted illusion. Every touch, every smile, every honeyed promise dripped with artifice, spun like gossamer around fools eager to believe it was real. The whole thing reeked of effort, and if there was one thing Eve had little patience for, it was pointless theatrics. The life here was far better than that of a servant, but she'd rather scrub floors than spread her legs for whatever filthy men who thought their coins made them worthy.
Moving through the thick haze of incense and wine, Eve ascended to the third floor, stepping lightly to avoid creaky spots in the floorboards. Upon reaching a certain door, she knocked once before pushing it open, barely waiting for an answer.
Inside, a courtesan with golden curls lounged on a chaise, her head resting against one arm as if the world had long ceased to amuse her. Her half-lidded eyes barely stirred, until she heard the door creaking.
At the sight of Eve, a flicker of surprise crossed her face before she schooled her features. "Eve?" she drawled, her voice similar to the kind that demanded attention rather than sought it. She sat up with a suddenness that belied her languid demeanor, her posture naturally elegant.
Eve inclined her head in a perfunctory bow, being neither humble nor particularly eager. "How have you been?"
Blinking once, then twice, with her golden lashes fluttering dramatically, the golden-haired lady, who was Cecilia, needed a moment to confirm that Eve was in fact, standing in front of her. The reality settled like a jolt, and in a rush of rustling silk, she was on her feet. "It's really you!" She breathed before sweeping forward and wrapping Eve in a tight embrace, barely minding her disheveled appearance.
Eve simply endured it rather than returned it, her arms hanging limply for a moment before she gave Cecilia a single, perfunctory pat on the back. "Mm."
Either oblivious or simply ignoring her lack of enthusiasm, Cecilia immediately called out. "Helga! Come quickly– our Eve is here!"
From the dressing room that was connected to the chamber, another elegant figure stirred, pausing briefly in the middle of her makeover. Stepping out, her sharp gray eyes scanned the scene, as if verifying the authenticity of her twin's word. When she saw her sister latched onto their unbothered Eve, her gaze softened ever so slightly. She then approached.
"You should have sent word," she murmured, and Eve only tilted her head.
"And spoil the surprise?" she asked, making Helga sigh, but she did not argue. Instead, she reached out, and unlike her sister's fervent embrace, Helga gently grasped Eve's wrist, welcoming her.
Though Eve hadn't come here for sentimentality, she allowed Cecilia and Helga to embrace her anyway, considering it had been months since they last saw each other. She supposed she missed them just as much as they missed her, but she'd rather not admit it loudly. They, of course, had the privilege of staying in the estate, unlike her. Servants weren't permitted to visit the brothel, not when they had their own attendants to manage.
But since Helga and Cecilia were the ones who found her as a baby, she was granted the occasional visits, as they viewed each other as sisters. Not that she often had that time to begin with.
"How have you been faring, you look dreadful," Helga remarked, taking note of her appearance. "I told you working as a servant in this pack is basically you asking for a death wish. But what else can I do when you insist on staying there?"
"Less talk, more fixing," Cecilia cut in. "This is what I call perfect timing, cause I just ordered dinner. You can wash up here, while Helga and I find you something comfortable and fresh to wear. You must be tired, have a seat."
Before they could start fussing over her, Eve held out her hand. "There's another important reason behind why I came all the way here," she said, making them pause. "I was hoping you guys had the perfume? The one that masks my human scent? My last bottle's empty."