My Sister Stole My Mate, And I Let Her

Chapter 555: Chapter 555 FALLEN FROM GRACE (BONUS Chapter 2)

CELESTE’S POV

The first time I left home, I couldn’t bear to give up my creature comforts.

Private villas overlooking the Aegean, yacht parties in Ibiza, beach clubs in Miami. Sun and luxury were the twin pillars of my existence.

Two things I now couldn’t remember the last time I experienced.

I flinched as I stepped out of the Blue Lantern and cold rain stung my cheeks. Ducking beneath the awning, I hugged my flimsy jacket tighter and shot a glare at the sullen, brooding sky.

The rain poured in a drizzle, and honestly I’d made the fifteen-minute walk home in worse weather, but—

But nothing.

Complaining was a luxury I no longer deserved.

No private chauffeur was waiting to ferry me in the lap of luxury to a gorgeous mansion with servants ready to rub my feet and draw me a hot bath.

All that waited was a cold, soggy trek to my cockroach-infested apartment where the hot water tap was just...tap.

And that was that.

I inhaled deeply, only to wrinkle my nose at the sour blend of wet concrete and garbage. Adjusting my bag, hands buried in my pockets, I ducked my head and braved the rain.

Even at 1 a.m., the first few blocks buzzed with life.

Cars hissed over the wet pavement, their headlights smearing across the road in long yellow streaks, while buses lumbered past with only a handful of passengers visible through the fogged windows.

A couple stumbled out of a bar ahead of me, laughing loudly as they argued over where they’d parked their car.

They brushed past, the girl’s shoulder colliding with mine.

“Oh, sorry,” she slurred, waving her hand in a somewhat apologetic gesture. “Didn’t see you there.”

I bit back an acidic retort and hitched my slipping bag strap back on my shoulder.

There were a lot of things I’d had to get used to in this new life: physical labor, vile objectification, borderline poverty.

But what still stung, what was harder to come to terms with, was the anonymity.

The idea that I could walk down the street and not turn heads, that no one recognized Celeste Lockwood, no one was falling over themselves to curry my favor.

I should have been relieved—that was exactly why I’d moved to Seattle, the opposite of where I had grown up, a largely human city with next to no werewolf influence.

I wanted to disappear, and I’d done that—a little too well, maybe—so I had no right to bitch.

I crossed the street, skirting a puddle that had swallowed half the sidewalk, and glimpsed my reflection in the glowing window of a twenty-four-hour gym.

I winced and tore my gaze away, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

The neighborhood was much quieter now. Most of the shops had their shutters down, and save for the dozing homeless man huddled beneath a threadbare blanket, I was alone. I slipped into the alley toward my apartment.

They materialized out of nowhere.

One was tall and wiry, his sweatshirt hood drawn low to shadow his face. The other, shorter and stockier, wore a baseball cap and nursed a glowing cigarette.

I changed direction, intending to pass them on the opposite side of the sidewalk.

The tall one moved with me, falling into step beside me.

“Hey, beautiful.”

I kept my head down and pressed on. The rain had faded to a ghostly mist, and if I could just reach my apartment unscathed by whatever the fuck this was, I’d count myself the luckiest of the unlucky.

The short one let out a low whistle and fell into step on my other side. “Hey, my friend’s talking to you.”

My hands curled into fists in my jacket. Two more minutes and my building would come into view.

“Hey!”

The tall one stepped forward and blocked my path, forcing me to a halt. “It’s rude to ignore people when they’re talking to you.”

I pursed my lips and fixed my gaze on the puddle at his feet.

“I’m Reggie. What’s your name?”

I said nothing.

“Oh, come on,” the short one said, “a pretty thing like you can’t possibly be deaf and mute.”

I clenched my jaw, biting back the retort burning on my tongue.

Then Reggie reached out, long fingers moving towards my face. Instinctively, my hand shot out and wrapped around his thin wrist.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I hissed, raising my head to glare at him.

His eyes widened a fraction, and he let out a surprised guffaw. “Look at that, Clancy. She does talk!”

I let go of his wrist and stepped back. Somehow, the short one—Clancy—had slipped behind me, and my pulse jolted as his arms locked around me.

“No need to be all catty,” he cooed in my ear, “we’re all friends here.”

Blood roared in my ears, my heart racing out of control.

“Let me go.”

I hated how soft and small my voice sounded. I hated the small tremor that embodied it.

I hated the boisterous laughter that burst from Clancy as his arms tightened around me. His body was uncomfortably warm, but it did nothing to stave off the shiver that ran through me.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that.” He pressed his cheek next to mine, the rough stubble of his beard scratching my face.

The overwhelming reek of tobacco assaulted me, and I had to clamp my throat to hold back the sudden bile that rose.

“Look.” I tried to take a deep breath, but Clancy’s grip around me had tightened to the point of pain, and all I could manage were shallow inhales and exhales.

“I don’t have anything worth stealing. There’s about twenty bucks in my purse, and my phone had like two owners before me, but you can have those if you want. Just please leave me alone.”

“Oh, honey, that’s not true,” Reggie purred, reaching out again. This time, I couldn’t stop him from running his fingers down my face.

I couldn’t stop the sharp gasp when he gripped my chin hard, turning my face toward the glow of the flickering streetlamp above.

It was a lot harder to choke back the bile as his eyes roamed my body, lingering with a lecherous glint.

“You have something a lot more valuable than that.”

“Let. Me. Go,” I gritted out.

It was laughably easy to harden my voice, to infuse it with that icy quality that used to make people shrink back and scurry away.

Except that it wasn’t working right now. Reggie only let out another shiver-inducing snicker as he leaned forward.

His breath stank of anchovies and cheese, and I briefly considered just letting myself vomit over them.

“And what are you going to do if we don’t?” he asked with a smirk.

A memory crept up in the back of my mind. Ethan and I were in the Frostbane packhouse’s private indoor training area, and he was trying to teach me basic defense techniques.

I’d rolled my eyes and continued scrolling through Instagram. ‘If you think I’m ruining my brand-new manicure on brutish tactics I’ll never need, you’re sorely mistaken.’

He’d sighed. ‘Dammit, Celeste. One day I might not be there. Your guards may not be there. You have to learn to protect yourself.’

I’d scoffed. ‘I’ll always have protection. I’m Celeste Lockwood.’

I almost laughed—if I could breathe, I might have.

When I was Celeste Lockwood, even in impossible situations, someone always had my back. Ethan. Olivia. Brett. Kieran. Fuck, even Sera.

...Kharis.

I wasn’t Celeste Lockwood anymore.

No one was coming to save me.