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Zane coughs and sputters, his face going red. Logan immediately claps him on the back, a look of concern crossing his features. “You all right there, buddy?”
I watch the two of them closely, my senses on high alert. Zane isn’t one to lose composure like that, especially after a simple shot. Through our bond, I feel a surge of surprise and discomfort from him, quickly masked but unmistakable.
Logan’s hand lingers on Zane’s back, the gesture seemingly friendly, but something about it sets my teeth on edge. Why is he so quick to offer physical comfort to someone he barely knows, and why does Zane allow it?
“I’m fine,” Zane rasps out, his voice rough. He shrugs off Logan’s hand, but not before I catch a flicker of…something in Logan’s eyes. Satisfaction? Curiosity? It’s gone too quickly for me to be sure.
“That must have been stronger than we thought,” Logan says, his tone light but his gaze sharp. “Maybe we should slow down?”
I force a casual chuckle, even as my mind races. “Good idea. We aren’t all seasoned drinkers like you, Logan.”
He just laughs my comment off.
As I take another sip of my drink, I notice a subtle change. There’s an odd aftertaste, barely perceptible but definitely there. I furrow my brow, trying to place it. Is it just cheap liquor or something else?
“Everything all right, Malachi?” Logan asks.
I force a smile. “Yeah,” I lie. “Which bar did you go to?”
“The VIP,” he replies, pointing to the bar not ten feet away.
Time seems to stretch and warp, each minute feeling longer than the last. The music, once a steady beat, now pulses erratically, sending jolts through my body. Lights flare and dim in nauseating patterns, and voices around me blend into an indistinguishable hum. A creeping sense of wrongness settles over me, my instincts screaming a warning I can’t quite comprehend. My vision swims, the edges of my sight blurring and pulsing. Sounds become distorted, as if I’m underwater, and my skin prickles with an unnatural sensitivity. I blink rapidly, trying to dispel the creeping fog that’s invading my mind, but it only seems to thicken with each passing second.
Our pack bond, usually a comforting presence in the back of my mind, now feels like a tangled mess of confusion and fear. I reach for it instinctively, seeking the clarity and strength it usually provides, but it’s like grasping at smoke. The disorientation seeps through our connection, amplifying our collective unease and clouding our judgment.
I try to rally my thoughts and piece together what’s happening, but it’s like trying to catch smoke. Something’s wrong, but I can’t quite grasp what it is. My limbs feel heavy, and my reactions are delayed. I should be alarmed, but even that emotion feels muted.
“I think…” I start, my tongue feeling thick in my mouth. “I think we should call it a night.”
Logan nods, swaying slightly. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’m feeling pretty buzzed myself.”
We stumble out into the night, the sudden shift from the club’s stuffy interior to the crisp outdoor air feeling like a physical blow. The world tilts and spins, streetlights blurring into streaks of color. I lurch forward, my hand grasping desperately at the rough brick wall, seeking any form of stability in this suddenly chaotic world.
Through the haze, I notice Logan swaying, his movements slightly off but not as uncoordinated as ours. He reaches out to steady Dash with surprising precision. “Whoa,” he says, his words only slightly slurred. “Think we all might’ve overdone it a bit.” His eyes dart between us, a mix of concern and something else I can’t quite place in my foggy state.
Zane catches my eye, his gaze clouded but suspicious. He noticed it too. Logan’s drunkenness seems…off somehow. It’s too controlled, too convenient.
“Whoa, steady there,” Logan says, slurring his words, but his grip is firm as he helps Quinn stay upright. “Maybe we should call a cab?”
I shake my head, trying to clear it. “No, we’ll be fine. Just need a minute.”
Logan’s demeanor shifts subtly. The drunken sway lessens, his eyes sharpening. “Come on, Malachi. You’re in no state to get home on your own. Let me help.”
Logan’s movements catch my eye. There’s something off about them, but in my hazy state, I can’t quite put my finger on what. His words slur, but there’s a strange clarity in his eyes that doesn’t match his apparent intoxication. A sense of unease settles in my gut, like pieces of a puzzle I can’t quite see are trying to fall into place. Something feels wrong, but the fog in my mind makes it impossible to grasp what. I try to voice my concerns, but my tongue feels heavy and uncooperative.
“I can drive,” Logan offers, pulling out his keys. “I didn’t drink as much as you guys.”
Every instinct I have screams in protest, but my body won’t cooperate. I see my packmates nodding, relief evident on their faces at Logan’s offer. I want to shout, to tell them it’s a trap, but I can’t form the words.
“No,” I croak out, my voice weak even to my own ears. “We’ll call…call someone else.”
Logan’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t be stubborn, Malachi. I’m just trying to help.”
“You’re drunk.” I slur.
For a moment, I don’t think he is going to listen, until he says, “You’re right, let me call a ride. We can wait in my car. It’s just over there.” He points to a corner of the parking lot.
As he guides us toward his car, his grip on my arm tightens. The fog in my mind thickens, but one thought cuts through clear as day—we’re in danger, and I can’t do anything to stop it.
