Page 70 of A Pack for the Wedding

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"What was that?" Luna asks.

"Maybe the pipes settling?" I say, though hesitantly, trying to wave it off.

But then comes a second noise.Scraaaatch. Clack.

Luna’s eyes go wide. Maren slowly lowers her hand from the wine bottle. We all stare down the hallway.

The Division Between Pagan and Christian Rome: Unity or Fragmentation Before the Fall of the Western Roman Empire

Religious Conflicts and the Rise of Christianity in Late Rome: Faith, Power, and the Fall of the Western Roman Empire

The Loss of North Africa: Rome’s Economic Lifeline Destroyed and the Road to the Fall of the Western Roman Empire

The Collapse of Roman Britain: How Rome's Withdrawal Reshaped Western Europe

"Beth," Luna whispers, her voice suddenly an octave higher. "Is one of your alphas still home?"

"No." I shake my head, my heart doing a weird little stutter-step. "They all left hours ago."

We sit in absolute, breathless silence for ten agonizing seconds. I'm just about to convince myself it was a weird draft or a tree branch when it happens again.

Thump-thump. It’s a bizarre, muffled noise.

Luna and Maren look at each other, then they both look at me. Maren gestures vaguely toward the hallway.

I stare at her, utterly betrayed. "Are you kidding me? This is exactly how the girl in the horror movie dies. She leaves the safety of the group to investigate the creepy noise."

"Don't worry, we're your backup," Luna says, taking exactly zero steps forward.

I slowly, reluctantly stand up. I tiptoe out of the living room, wincing at every creak of the floorboards. I track the faint sounds, pausing every few feet to strain my ears until I finally pinpoint the source.

It’s coming from Arthur’s bedroom.

I press my hand flat against the cool wood of his door and exhale a shaky breath.

If I am going to be a horror movie cliché, I decide, I might as well be the fiercely courageous final girl who rushes into danger.

I take a deep, bracing breath, turn the knob, and push the door wide open.

"...Huh?"

Mason

Three hours ago

The Moai Statues of Easter Island: Quarrying, Transport, and Erection Methods

The Longmen Grottoes: Engineering Hundreds of Buddhist Cliff Carvings

Roman Roads: Engineering the Highways That Built an Empire

Baalbek’s Trilithon Stones: Megalithic Engineering Without Machinery

The thing about driving your shoulder into the sternum of a two-hundred-and-eighty-pound alpha named Big Terry is that for about half a second, your brain goes completely blank.

I love that half second.

Big Terry goes down. I go down with him. The mud is freezing, someone's cleats catch my calf on the way over, and honestly? It’s the best I've felt all day.

"DEEP-SEA FISHING!" Arthur shouts from somewhere behind me through the driving rain.

The slick ball squirts loose. Knox scoops it, jukes left, and fires a wet pass to Arthur, who catches it in stride.

"CHARTER A BOAT!" Arthur continues, already sprinting. "HIT THE OPEN WATER! BEN REELS IN A MARLIN! BEST BACHELOR PARTY OF ALL TIME!"

Knox is tearing up the right wing, hand raised for a pass Arthur has zero intention of throwing him. "BEN GETS SEASICK FROM WAVES ON ALAKE, ARTHUR!"

The whistle blows. Breakdown. I peel myself off Big Terry, who nods at me like we've just completed a business transaction, and jog back into position.

For the record: this is the annual Lake's Edge Cup. Named after, organized by, and held for the exclusive benefit of the Lake's Edge Bar, where Arthur bartends three nights a week. The prize is that the winning team drinks free tonight.

We are all, every single one of us, playing like it's a semifinal.