The feast had barely settled on the table when the younger pack members began drinking, their energy electric, like wolves at a full moon. Their laughter echoed across the restaurant den, and I could feel the pack's pulse vibrating beneath the surface. "Cheers, Anastasia!" one of the male designers, a sleek young wolf in human form, called out, lifting his glass.
"Sure. Thank you," I replied, raising mine. Already, I could sense the pack's instincts nudging me, urging me to join their ritual, to claim my place within their social hierarchy. They weren't malicious—they were playful, hungry for the alpha's approval in their own way—but suddenly I found myself the center of their focus. "More beer for Anastasia!" someone shouted, and the energy in the room intensified, like a pack circling around a newcomer.
"You have to drink with us, Anastasia! At least one sip!" another cried, teeth bared in a grin that was more challenge than invitation.
