Howling at the Same Moon

"If I don't hear from you by 9 PM, I'm calling the cops," Jessie declared, her tone half-serious, half-joking. She had always been like this--protective to a fault. When we were younger and dating random guys from the internet, it was a ritual for her to call me before a date. "I'm serious! Just because we're not 22 anymore doesn't mean they don't wanna kidnap us still!" she added with a laugh that didn't entirely mask her concern.

"I'm pulling in now," I said, cutting her off before she could spiral further. "I'll let you know how it goes. Loveyoubyeeeeee." I hung up quickly, hoping to avoid a lecture.

As I put the car in park, I flipped the visor down, checking my reflection in the little mirror. My makeup looked fine--just a little shimmer on my eyes to brighten them, a little color on the lips. I didn't want to overdo it, especially since I'd just seen him a few hours ago.

The sun was gone now, the disappearing glow casting a warmth over everything. In the mirror, I noticed the sun had kissed my skin today, leaving a soft, natural blush on my cheeks. It made me look alive and vibrant.

"What do you think you're doing, Carina? This probably ain't for the best." I muttered to myself, shaking my head as I snapped the visor back up. "I suppose this is kinda how Grandma and Grandpa met back in the day."

It was a weak attempt at convincing myself this wasn't completely insane. Meeting up with a man I'd just met on the street? Who does that? Still, I couldn't help but smile a little as I grabbed my purse.

There are worse ways to die,

I thought wryly, stepping out of the car.

The moment I stepped into The Hound's Hideaway, I knew it was my kind of place. A guitar hummed through the speakers, the drum's steady thud setting the mood. The air carried the scent of beer, aged wood, and something metallic--like rebellion itself. Neon signs flickered overhead, casting the space in moody blues and reds.

The bar thrummed with that pre-show electricity, the kind that makes your skin tingle, even if you don't know the band yet. The walls were alive with stories--concert posters peeling at the edges, scrawled graffiti, and murals that looked like they were painted in the middle of a whiskey-fueled night. The stage was nothing more than a raised platform in the corner, but it had character: scuffed amps, cables patched with duct tape, and a mic stand leaning like it had witnessed one too many late-night screams.

The people were as much a part of the scene as the music. Up by the stage, I weaved through the crowd, brushing past a group of college kids in flannel and Doc Martens, their laughter infectious. Near the bar, a couple in their forties--she in a black dress and combat boots, him in a worn band tee--sipped their drinks like they owned the place. A group of bikers roared in laughter from a corner booth, silver chains catching the dim light. Toward the back, a retiree in sneakers nodded along to the music while chatting with a twenty-something in a patched denim vest.

People from every walk of life--punks, preppies, bikers, rockers, and even a few buttoned-up professionals--had converged for one reason. The music. Then the lights dimmed. The guitarist hit a crunchy riff, and the first wave of sound rolled over me. It was raw, loud, unapologetic--exactly what I didn't know I was hoping for.

I weaved through the crowd and made my way to the bar, my nerves growing with the electric atmosphere. A bartender caught my eye before I could call out--a raven-haired woman with a neon-pink nose ring that matched her shimmering lip gloss. She moved with practiced ease, pouring drinks while keeping up with the chaos like it was second nature.

She leaned in, her voice cutting through the noise. "What can I getcha, babe?"

I hesitated. "Do you have wine?"

She barely glanced at the bottles behind her. "Two reds, two whites."

I leaned closer. "Okay, don't judge, but... can you make me something that

looks

like wine but isn't? I don't want to look like a total loser in front of my date."

Her lips curled into a knowing smile. "Gotcha." With a wink, she disappeared down the bar.

Seconds later, she slid a stemmed glass toward me, filled with something pale and golden, the liquid catching the light just right. She leaned in conspiratorially. "White cran-apple."

Relief flooded me. "You're a lifesaver." I mouthed, sliding my card across the counter.

"Tab's open. I'll keep you covered."

I took a sip, the crisp, sweet taste settling my nerves. The music surged, and the crowd pressed in on all sides--friends laughing, strangers nodding to the beat, a few brave souls already headbanging near the stage.

But I was still on the outside, scanning the room for him.

This was ridiculous. Agreeing to meet a stranger in a bar I'd never been to? What had I been thinking? But his easy smile from earlier on the street, the confident way he'd asked me out like it was the most natural thing in the world--it had been impossible to say no.

And now, here I was, clutching a fake glass of wine and trying to spot someone in the dim, chaotic lighting. My nerves returned full force, bubbling up like carbonation in a soda, threatening to spill over.

Then I saw him. Dark jeans and a pair of blue Nikes.

He leaned casually against the far wall near a high-top table, impossible to miss. Even in the dim light, his presence commanded attention.

He wasn't alone. Another man stood beside him, shorter but equally imposing, hands moving in sharp gestures as he spoke. Victor listened, arms crossed, his stance relaxed, like he had all the time in the world.

My nerves spiked.

Should I go over?

I lingered near the edge of the crowd, half-hidden behind a high-top table, debating whether to turn around and leave before he noticed me.

But then, as if sensing my hesitation, his eyes shifted. Even in the dim light, they glinted sharp and green, zeroing in on me like he'd known I was there all along.

A flicker of recognition crossed his face, followed by a grin-- slow, deliberate--equal parts invitation and dare.

My heart kicked up a notch. This was trouble. My heart thumped in my chest as his gaze held mine, one eyebrow quirking in what could only be described as a challenge.

He didn't wave me over, didn't say a word. But something about the way he stood, so sure and unmoving, told me he was waiting. Waiting to see what I'd do next.

I swallowed hard, clutching my glass tighter. My feet felt like they were glued to the floor, but I forced myself to take a step forward. And then another. My stomach churned with nerves, but his steady, almost amused expression held me captive, drawing me in like a magnet.

Each step felt heavier than the last as I wove through the crowd, trying to focus on him and not the weight of my nervousness. His grin didn't falter, eyes tracking me like a predator amused by its prey. The man next to him had stopped talking now, his gaze shifting between us with mild curiosity before muttering something and moving toward the bar.

"You made it," he said, his voice smooth and low, cutting through the noise like it was meant for me alone.

I smiled nervously, shifting my glass from one hand to the other. "I almost didn't. This place is... a lot."

His grin widened, and he leaned against the wall with an ease I envied. "Yeah, it's not for everyone. But you seemed like you could handle it."

"Did I?" I asked, raising an eyebrow and hoping I sounded braver than I felt.

"Definitely," he said, his green eyes glinting with something mischievous. "And here you are, proving me right."

I glanced down at my drink, then back up at him. "Speaking of proving you right, I wasn't sure if I'd find you. You didn't give me a name earlier, and this place is packed."

He chuckled, the sound warm and rich, yet with an edge of cockiness that made my stomach flutter. "Victor," He offered his hand, his fingers strong and slightly calloused when they closed around mine. "Victor Amarok."

"Carina Briggs," I said, my voice steadier now. "Nice to finally have a name to go with the mystery."

"Mystery keeps things interesting," he replied, tilting his head slightly as if studying me. "But now that you're here, let's make the most of it."

I laughed softly, relaxing just a little under his confident gaze. "Well, let's see if I survive the night first."

His grin turned almost wolfish, the corner of his mouth curling upward. Victor motioned to a high-top table near the wall, one of the few that wasn't completely swarmed with people. "How about we sit for a bit?" he suggested, his voice smooth.

I nodded, grateful to have somewhere to anchor myself in the sea of chaos. "Sure."

He stepped ahead, pulling out a chair for me like it was the most natural thing in the world. "M'lady," He mock-bowed. I slid into the seat, murmuring a quick thanks as he settled into the chair beside me, not across the table. The closeness felt deliberate but not overbearing.

"So," Victor started, leaning an elbow on the table and turning slightly to face me. "What convinced you to show up?"

His directness caught me off guard, but I shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "I guess I was curious. You seemed... interesting."

"Interesting," he repeated with a smirk, his green eyes glinting. "That's a safe answer."

"Well, what about you?" I shot back, tilting my head. "Do you ask random strangers on the street to meet you at punk rock bars often?"

Victor chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Nope."

"So, you're selective. Good to know."

The conversation flowed easily after that, his charm disarming but not overwhelming. We talked about the bar and the music and even exchanged sarcastic comments about the overly enthusiastic guy near the stage who was clearly two drinks past his limit. It was easy and comfortable, and yet there was an undercurrent of something else.

And then, the band launched into a cover of

All the Small Things

by Blink-182. The opening chords rang out, instantly lighting up the crowd.

My eyes widened, and I sat up straighter. "Oh my God, I used to love this song!"

Victor arched an eyebrow, his smirk softening into an amused smile. "You? A Blink fan?"

"Are you kidding? This was, like, the soundtrack to my teenage years. I even saw them live a few years ago." Without thinking, I grabbed his hand, the warmth of his palm surprising against mine. "Let's go! We have to dance."

He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as he regarded me with mock skepticism. "Can you even dance to this?"

"Not with that attitude!" I reached for his hand again, grabbing it and tugging him toward the open space near the stage.

Victor let out a laugh, low and warm, as he allowed himself to be pulled along. "You don't strike me as the type to drag someone onto a dance floor."

"I'm not," I admitted, glancing over my shoulder with a grin. "But this is too much fun. You can't just sit there!"

We found a spot near the edge of the crowd, and I let go of his hand, starting to sway and move with the beat. The familiar rhythm and lyrics took over, and I couldn't help but sing along.

He hesitated for only a second before his cool demeanor gave way to something lighter. He joined in, moving with an easy rhythm that matched the music. The crowd bounced and sang around us, and finally, I forgot about my nerves. I was laughing, singing at the top of my lungs, and dancing like no one was watching--the whole cliché.

When I glanced at Victor, he was watching me, his green eyes bright with amusement. "You're full of surprises, Carina," he said.

"Stick around," I teased, feeling a boldness I didn't quite recognize in myself. "You might see a few more."

His grin widened, and he leaned in slightly, his voice low and warm. "I'm counting on it."

The song built to its final chorus, and for a moment, everything else--the crowd, the music, the bar--faded away. It was just us, laughing and moving together like we'd been doing this for years. I wasn't worried about how I looked or what anyone else thought. I was laughing, spinning, and singing along, completely caught up in the moment.

As the song died down and another began, Victor and I weaved our way through the crowd, the buzz of the music and chatter surrounding us as we approached the bar again. I paused, glancing at the drink menu, then turned to him with a small smile. "A glass of red wine, please."

The bartender shot me a look, a knowing smirk forming as she quickly reached for a bottle of cabernet. She slid the glass over to me with a wink.

"Thanks," I said, turning back to Victor. He was already holding a cold glass of draft beer, looking relaxed as he leaned against the bar, watching me.

We walked back to the high-top table, the space between us comfortable, the conversation picking up where it had left off. The wine was smooth, and with every sip, I felt the tension in my shoulders ease a little more. The alcohol made everything feel lighter, the edges of my nerves rounding out completely. Victor was easy to talk to--his grin never seemed to fade, and his confidence, while undeniable, wasn't overwhelming. He had a way of making everything feel easy like we were just two people enjoying a night out together, nothing more, nothing less.

We bantered back and forth, his low laugh infecting me every time I said something that even remotely amused him. At some point, his knee brushed mine under the table, and I didn't pull away, letting the connection linger for just a little longer. His eyes flickered down for a moment, then back up to meet mine, a look passing between us that made my heart skip.

By the time it was nearing 9:30, the bar had begun to fill out, the crowd becoming louder and the atmosphere more charged. My phone buzzed suddenly, and I pulled it from my purse to find a dozen text messages from my sister, all in a panic about where I was.

"Are you okay?"

"You're not answering. Is everything alright?"

"Carina, please let me know where you are. Now, bitch"

I glanced at Victor, giving him an apologetic smile. "I'll be right back, just need to step outside for a second."

"No problem," he said, offering me a half-smile. "I'll be here."

I slid out of my chair and stepped toward the door, letting the cool night air hit my face as I answered my sister's call. "I'm fine, Jessie," I said, "I'm still at the bar. Everything is fine. I'll call you on my way home."

"Are you serious, Ina? Did you forget we have to be up early to help Mom at the bakery tomorrow? She has those huge catering orders on Saturday."

I laughed lightly, feeling a little ridiculous now. "You're right. It's fine. I'm fine. I'll wrap it up."

After a brief exchange of assurances and reminders to be careful, I ended the call and stepped back inside. The noise of the bar hit me again, and I took a deep breath, feeling a little lighter now that my sister wasn't hovering over me.

I made my way back to the table, where Victor was already standing. "So, do I have to wait until I lose my wallet again to talk to you, or can I make this easier on both of us?" I held my phone out toward him, the screen open to a new contact. I grabbed my purse and turned, ready to settle the bill. But when I reached the bar to close out my tab, the bartender shook her head with a sly smile, handing me my card. "Your tab's already been taken care of," she said.

I blinked. "By who?"

Victor looked at me with a grin that was equal parts charming and cocky.

I raised an eyebrow. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know," he replied, leaning in just a little closer. "But I wanted to." Victor held my phone out to me before casually sliding into his jacket. "You need a ride home? I can take you or get you an Uber."

I paused, glancing over at him. "I'm actually... I'm fine to drive." I hesitated but then gave a small smile. "My first drink wasn't alcoholic."

Victor's eyes widened, and he laughed, "You were pretending to drink? That's hilarious."

"Maybe just a little. I had to feel you out first," I replied, feeling a bit more confident now that the night was winding down.

"Alright then, Clever Carina," Victor said with a chuckle, his voice smooth and cool like the night itself. "Let me walk you to your car."

I smiled, feeling a pleasant tingle at the gesture. I found myself liking him more than I wanted to admit.

The bar's noise softened as we stepped outside, the cool air wrapping around us like a soothing balm after the buzz of the evening. The scent of pine and damp earth lingered in the breeze, reminding me just how close Silverpine's wilderness always was. Our footsteps fell in rhythm, an unspoken harmony, as we made our way to the parking lot.

I glanced upward, noticing the faint sliver of the moon hanging low in the sky, its edges softened by the distant haze of stars. The darkness felt intimate, cocooning us in a pocket of quiet that made everything else feel far away.

When we reached my car, I turned to face him, my heart doing an odd little jump as I realized how close we were. The shadows played along his sharp features, giving him an intensity, but it was his eyes--bright and piercing even in the dim light--that held my attention.

"Thanks for a fun night," I said, my voice softer than I intended.

He leaned casually against my back passenger door, his posture relaxed yet somehow imposing, like he belonged in every space he occupied. His gaze lingered on me, searching my face with an unreadable expression that sent warmth prickling up my spine.

Then, so casually it felt like second nature, he reached out, his fingers brushing the side of my face as he tucked a loose curl behind my ear. The gesture was achingly gentle, but it lit a spark that seemed to set the cool night air ablaze.

"Anytime, Carina," he murmured, his voice low, edged with something that made my breath hitch. "I'm sure we'll do this again soon."

It wasn't just the words--it was the way he said them as if they weren't a question or a hope, but a certainty. A promise. My chest tightened, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

I managed a small, tentative smile and slipped into the driver's seat, my fingers trembling ever so slightly as I reached for the wheel. With a soft click, the door shut between us, but even as I started the engine, his presence lingered like a shadow I couldn't shake.

As I pulled away, I caught one last glimpse of him in the rearview mirror, standing there with his hands in his pockets, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He didn't move, watching as my car disappeared into the night.

As I drove, a single thought chased its way through my mind, sending a thrill I couldn't quite contain: Victor Amarok was going to be trouble. The kind I wasn't sure I wanted to avoid.

---

My Friday started before the sun was even up, my alarm blaring way too early for my liking. I dragged myself out of bed, threw on some comfy clothes, and grabbed a travel mug of hot tea for the hour-long drive to my hometown. By the time I walked into my mom's bakery, Sweet Haven, the familiar scent of sugar and fresh bread greeted me like a warm hug.

Jessie and Sabrina, my older sister, were already in full swing, buzzing around the kitchen like the well-oiled machines they always were. "Took you long enough!" Jessie teased as she balanced a tray of cupcakes fresh out of the oven.

I rolled my eyes and headed straight for my station. Today's goal was clear: help tackle two massive catering orders for tomorrow while the regular staff kept up with the usual stream of customers. Sabrina was boxing cupcakes, Jessie was knee-deep in dough, and I? I was on cookie duty, my steady hand perfect for decorating the intricate designs Mom promised her clients. I slipped into the rhythm of piping flowers and scrollwork onto sugar cookies, the hours flying by in a blur of frosting and laughter.