It´s Crazy

Toby

I’m nervous as hell. The premiere’s today—two showings—and the weekend’s already packed, Saturday and Sunday tickets sold out. My stomach’s a knot of adrenaline and dread, but I keep telling myself it’ll be fine.

I never thought I’d pay off my debts in just three nights—three nights of shaking my ass under Vicky’s lights.

By the end of the month, I’ll be driving home in a new car, debt-free, and I’m taking Vicky with me to meet my dad. We even got the alpha’s authorization, a rare nod from the pack that means more than I can say. It’s all falling into place.

So why do I feel like I’m about to puke?

The show kicks off, and I’m a mess. The guys crowd around backstage, slapping my back, telling me to breathe. I took a shot of whiskey. The alcohol relaxed me right away. It hits fast, a warm buzz smoothing out the edges.

Helena, this slinky brunette dancer with a smirk that could cut glass, keeps grabbing at me—her hands everywhere, testing my patience. She’s getting on my nerves, but I grit my teeth.

Let’s go.

The lights dim, then flare up, casting a glowing full moon across the stage. It hits me like a punch—Vicky’s ass, round and perfect, flashes through my mind, and I almost laugh at myself.

Smoke curls into the air, thick and hazy, and then a howl rips through the sound system. It freezes me solid, my blood going cold, every instinct screaming threat.

Vicky’s cackle cuts through from the wings—she’s doubled over, clutching her stomach. That little shit. It’s just a recording, her idea of a prank to mess with me.

I shake it off, square my shoulders, and step onto the stage.

The women lose their damn minds. Screams erupt, a wall of sound that slams into me. Something red and lacy flies through the air—a pair of panties lands at my feet, for God’s sake.

I start my dance, hips rolling, muscles flexing, playing the part Petry drilled into me. The lumberjack costume comes off piece by piece—flannel shirt, boots, until I’m down to swim trunks, the crowd showering me with tips.

Bills flutter like confetti, sticking to my sweat-slick skin. Their screams are pure lust, eyes glinting with it, women laughing and swaying in their seats, caught up in the fantasy.

Helena slinks out, my “target” for the routine. I grab her, pull her close, kiss her like the script demands—hot, messy, all for show. The crowd eats it up, their excitement spiking, and my nose catches it—sharp and unmistakable.

They’re getting wet, the scent hitting me like a freight train. My wolf senses are dialed up to eleven, hypersensitive, and it’s a struggle to keep myself in check. I clench my jaw, focus on the steps, praying I don’t ruin this by letting the beast slip out.

The moon dims, signaling my exit. Thank the goddess—the firefighters burst onto the stage right on cue, axes swinging, drawing the crowd’s focus.

I’m almost free when Helena’s hand darts out, grabbing my dick through the trunks.

Bold as hell.

Who does this ballerina think she is?

Instinct kicks in—I shove her off, forgetting my strength for a split second. She stumbles back, cries out, and crumples, clutching her arm.

Shit. I broke it.

It was an accident, but the snap of bone echoes in my ears over the music. Vicky’s there in a flash, storming across the stage, cursing a blue streak.

“What the fuck, Toby?!” she yells, then spins to Petry, who’s already rushing over. “Get her to the ER, now!”

Helena’s sobbing, cradling her arm, and the crowd’s buzzing, confused but still half-drunk on the show.

I stand there, chest heaving, expecting Vicky to tear me apart. She glares at me, fury blazing in her eyes—and then she laughs. That wild, unhinged laugh I know so well, the one that says she’s pissed but still finds me ridiculous.

This crazy girl, whom I love more than I can ever admit.

“Why did you do that, baby?”

“Damn, I forgot my strength,” I said, running a hand through my hair, still damp with sweat. “She was rubbing herself all over me, grabbed my dick like it was hers to take. Vicky, if she’s not my partner, it’s only you—you know that.”

“Damn, Toby!” She sighed, and I could see it click—she got me, even if she didn’t like it. “I can’t agree with violence, I know you didn’t think. It was your wolf, but he’s gotta cooperate.”

“I’m arguing with him right now,” I muttered, half-joking, though Sharon—my wolf—was snarling in the back of my mind, pacing, restless.

“There’s one more show today! What now?”

“Dance with me,” I said, the idea hitting me like a bolt.

“What?” She blinked, incredulous. “I’m fat like this. It’s crazy.”

“Put on one of your loose dresses,” I countered, stepping closer. “You’ll be a hit. You know the choreography—we rehearsed it together, remember?”

“I’m not…” She faltered, shaking her head. “I don’t like the stage…”

“Oh, come on,” I said, grinning. “You sing at karaoke, you dance on the damn table almost every night, Vicky.”

“But it’s different!” she protested, her voice rising. “I’m drunk when I do that. It’s the end of the night, no pressure…”

“Drink, then,” I said, nodding toward the bar. “Now. We’ve got forty minutes before we’re on.”

“Damn!” She laughed, that wild, reckless sound I loved, and shook her head. “I’m gonna have to do it, aren’t I? Hahaha. Fine, I’m going to get changed. Michael!” She spun toward the blond hovering nearby. “Make me one of those double drinks—stat.”

She disappeared into her office, and I paced backstage, adrenaline pumping. Forty minutes later, she strutted out in a flowing black dress with red accents, the fabric swishing around her thick thighs, hugging her curves just enough to tease.

The drink was in her hand, half-gone already, her eyes bright with liquid courage. The lights flared, the moon glowed, and we hit the stage together.

Needless to say, we rocked it. The crowd went feral the second they saw her—screams, cheers, a wave of lust and awe rolling off them.

I was crazy about her, every move electric as we danced.

Her hips swayed, her laughter rang out over the music, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She owned it—owned me. Right then, I’d have dropped to one knee and asked her to marry me, debts and dreams be damned.

But Sharon wouldn’t let me.

That stubborn bastard growled in my head, clawing at me, insisting on his fated partner, some mythical she-wolf I hadn’t even met. Screw him.

The routine ended with us locked together, my hands on her waist, her arms around my neck. We left the stage kissing—hot, messy, desperate—and stumbled upstairs to her apartment, lips still crashing.

The door barely shut behind us before we were in the bathroom, shedding clothes, the shower hissing to life. Steam filled the air as we stepped under the spray, water sluicing over her curves, my hands following every dip and swell.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Baby, if you don’t want to stay here, for the love of God, put on your pajamas and I’ll go for a run,” I said, my voice rough, strained from the effort of keeping myself together.

“Toby, how are you going to run now? In wolf form?” she asked, wrapped in a towel that clung to her damp skin, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. She was standing there, half-naked and glistening, and it was torture—pure, deliberate torture.

“I’m going to sleep on the couch,” I said, turning away, grabbing a towel of my own to wrap around my waist. “You’re doing it on purpose.”

“Toby, I’m sorry,” she said, her voice softening, cracking just a little. “I feel it too.”

“I know, baby.” I stepped closer, pulling her into my arms, her wet hair cool against my lips as I kissed the top of her head. “Vicky, we’ve grown up. We’re playing a dangerous game—for both of us.”

“I know,” she whispered, looking up at me, her eyes brimming with tears that shimmered under the bathroom light. “And the one who’s going to lose is me.”

"Vicky..."

“This is so unfair, Toby,” she said, her voice breaking. “I hate your fucking goddess.”

“Shhh, don’t say that,” I murmured, tightening my hold on her, trying to soothe the storm I could feel brewing in her chest. “Everything has a reason. Let’s talk sober tomorrow, okay?”

She nodded, her tear-streaked face barely visible in the dim light as I left the bathroom.

I shuffled into the living room, the couch creaking under me as I flopped down and pulled the blanket over my shoulders. I squeezed my eyes shut, pretending to sleep, but every sound from her room cut through the quiet—soft sniffles, a muffled sob.

It broke my heart.

I’d have to be more careful, guard myself better, because this—this push and pull—was tearing us both apart.

I’d always wanted a predestined companion, that fated mate every wolf dreams of. Growing up, I’d watched the couples in the pack, their bonds so deep it was like they shared a single soul.

True, soulmate love—someone who’s everything to you, who fits into your life like they were carved for it.

Yes, I wanted that.

But I didn’t want to hurt Vicky.

She was my best friend, the closest thing I had to family, blood or not. We’d been through hell and back together—orphan days, wild nights, the kind of history that welds you to someone.

I wanted her in my life forever, not just as a fling or a fallback. I loved her, not just because she was Vicky, but because I knew she didn’t have anyone else.

Petry and Michael were there, sure, but they were human, aging fast, their years ticking down. How long until she was alone again?

I needed to think of a way for her to find someone, to be happy—truly happy, not just coasting on the chaos she ruled. Could the Moon Goddess bless her, just this once? Throw her a scrap of the magic she’d denied me so far?

I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling, my mind churning. If I didn’t hold back, I’d want to sleep with her—God, I already did.

She was hot, sexy, a walking temptation with those curves that drove me wild. I’d dreamed about her more times than I’d admit, waking up hard and restless. And when we kissed, when we made out, it felt so right—like we could be more.

But I’d hate myself if I was her first, only to find my mate later and leave her shattered. I loved sex, craved it, but not with her—not like that. It’d tangle everything up, make it impossible to go back, and I didn’t want to regret her. Even if she hated me for pulling away.

I needed a plan. Focus on the now—get the money from these shows, claw my way out of debt, head back to the pack and make my father proud.

I wasn’t a great warrior, never had the bulk or the ferocity for it, but I could do better than slaving in the kitchen, a gamma scraping by. Maybe college was the answer.

Vicky had done it, turned her Advertising degree into this empire. I could study, improve my position, climb the ranks. It was time to grow up, to stop drifting between her world and mine.