They Call Her Psycho

14. The Crescent Council

It was the first of January. New Year's Day. One year to the day since Tequila had met her mate. For the first few weeks she'd had nightmares, reliving that fateful night. His purples eyes invaded her every thought and sometimes she would catch a hint of his scent, only for it to disappear as soon as it arrived. But the more time that passed since the ball, the more she would remove every thought of him from her mind. Now a year later, she'd built her wall back up. And this time it was bulletproof.

Tequila sat on a bus stop bench pretending to read a book. The man next to her kept throwing her suspicious looks and shifted nervously as he waited. Tequila knew very well it was not the bus he was in fact waiting for, this was a member of one of their rival gangs, the Golden Skulls. The Seven Serpents had been growing suspicious in the last few months when the Golden Skulls had gone suddenly very quiet. Usually the two gangs were always butting heads over territory and rule over the city, but recently the Torriantos hadn't heard a thing. So, they had decided to capture this member and force him to shed some light on the situation.

As he got more uncomfortable with her presence, the man pulled out his phone and started texting someone frantically, Tequila rolled her eyes, having grown impatient of waiting. Ignoring her brother's protests through her earpiece she closed her book, placing it on the bench and stood up. She cleared her throat loudly and the man jumped, then turned to face her. She took her black sunglasses off and revealed her wolf's glowing red eyes. The man's own muddy green eyes widened in terror as she drew back her arm and launched a perfect jab which knocked him out instantly. She put her sunglasses back on and picked up her book. Tyrone and Titus appeared behind her with matching expressions of exasperation.

"You can't just ignore the plan like that and do your own thing Tequila, we're a team," Titus huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Tyrone just stood with his arms crossed, glaring at her. He often didn't speak and simply stared angrily.

"Let's get him in a cell before someone calls the police," Tequila said ignoring them.

The three siblings dragged the unconscious man into a sleek, black range rover and drove off into the centre of the busy city.

~

On the other side of the city, the King of werewolves sat sternly on his throne. Today was his least favourite day, his birthday. Every year it reminded him that another year had passed and he still didn't have his mate by his side. This year at least it was true that he did have a mate, yet there was no chance of him accepting, which left him in the same situation as last year; alone.

His thoughts were interrupted by a door to the ballroom opening and heeled footsteps approaching him swiftly. He looked up to see the silver haired woman his mother relied on so much, the Head of Palace Staff, Flo.

"Your majesty the Regents are requesting your presence in the meeting room," she said with a deep curtsy.

He nodded once to show he'd heard her and followed her and out of the room. He'd been in a horrific mood all day and everyone in the pack knew to stay well out of his way. They walked up to the wing with all of the offices and through two large gilded wooden doors.

"King Xander," Flo announced and curtsied to him before quickly exiting the room.

Xander entered, his powerful aura filling the room and forcing all the wolves to stand up and bow their heads in respect. As most of the wolves sat around the long wooden table were Alphas themselves, Xander needed to immediately establish himself as the most powerful wolf so that none would challenge his authority.

The meeting room of the Cresent Council was a darkly decorate room with dark wooden pannelling and a long table with eleven carved chairs, all of them filled but one; where his mate and Queen should sit. Xander glanced over it longingly as he always did before taking his place in the chair at the end of the table. There was a large golden chandelier that hung low over the table and provided more light than the windows in the late winter evening.