“Wait, didn’t I spay her?” you shriek. It’s been a while since you’ve shrieked. Well, that the reader’s seen, anyway. You’ve done a fair share of it since the last chapter ended. The mafia influence was strong enough to take control of the pack again, and they threw you back in the cage and headed for the underground tunnel toward the temple, at which point you realized with a certainty that you have a crippling fear of being underground. You broke out of the cage and went nuts until BTS grabbed you, and you are now clinging to him like a koala clinging to a eucalyptus tree while you attempt to regain your mental faculties. It isn’t going well.

“Spay who?” BTS asks. “Ow. C’mon, Y/n, I can’t breathe!”

“Luna! My cat! Who is a person! I spayed her! I—”

“Wait, that old trick? That’s what you’re worried about?”

You freeze. “What?”

BTS seizes the opportunity to pry your fingernails out of his back. “Ow. You know, the old ‘I want to avoid my problems, so I’ll turn into a cat’ trick.”

You stare at him. “What?”

He stares back at you. “You didn’t know about that? Weird. It happens all the time. When the cat claims an owner, they plant a bunch of memories in that person’s head so they think there’s a history of pet ownership. So you didn’t spay her.” He shrugs. “Probably. Unless you did it after she claimed you, in which case—”

“In which case I am the worst human being ever to walk the face of the planet!” you shriek. You then bury your face in his shoulder and squeeze his neck in a stranglehold.

“No, no! You didn’t spay me! I’m fine!” Luna reassures you. You lift your face to look at Luna, who has grabbed the cage bars and is giving you an earnest heterochromatic expression. The dark brown dirt behind her is much better at grabbing your attention. The air smells earthy. Because you’re underground. And you’re hyperventilating.

“Don’t look,” BTS tells you, pressing your face into his chest. “Just breathe. You’re okay. I’m right here.”

He’s in the cage with you. Well, the new cage. He didn’t start out there with you. He was walking alongside the first cage with his fiancée hanging off him, but after you destroyed it and latched onto him, there was no separating the two of you. If you could look, you’d see his fiancée is now sending you nasty messages with her baby blue eyes. You are sitting in his lap, after all. And he’s stroking your hair. And you’re both still in your pajamas. Even if the long-sleeved shirt-and-pants sets aren’t revealing, they’re still pajamas. And you’re relaxing in his arms. With relaxation comes awareness, however, and embarrassment is quick to follow. How will you excuse this without acknowledging the truth of what’s happening here?

“I am not a damsel in distress,” you mutter into his shirt. “I just… don’t want a lawsuit. That’s all.”

“Yeah, I know. Same. This is all to avoid legal action.”

It works. As long as neither of you applies logic.

Of course, logic is avoiding this entire situation. A group of mafia men in suits has joined this procession of kittens and werewolves toward the ancient temple. When the tunnel opens up into a massive cave, it really is a sight to behold. Crumbling stone arches, pillars, and walls rise in narrowing tiers toward a broken spire near the cave ceiling. Moss covers the remains of the stone path leading up to the structure, and you can hear running water over the frantic beating of your heart. There’s an underground river flowing through the base of the ruined temple. That is this parade’s destination, and it isn’t long before your captors load your cage onto a waiting ship, and you’re all sailing east.

Yay! No sacrifice!

Also, you’re out of the cave now.

“About time!” You withdraw your face from its comfy, cozy home in BTS’ shirt and cross your arms over your chest, doing your best to look imperious. It’s hard to pull off when you’re sitting in your pajamas on a man’s lap in a cage. “Somebody had better start explaining what’s going on in the next five seconds, or I’ll have to break my fast on the nearest neck. Second nearest,” you amend yourself, glancing at BTS and then averting your eyes as a traitorous rush of heat colors your cheeks pink.

You meant it as a joke, but your stomach growls. You haven’t eaten since that bottle of tomato juice in the wee hours of the morning. And BTS smells good. You remember how his heart felt against yours, and you remember how it felt to press your face into his neck, and suddenly, you’re breaking out of another cage.

“Stop doing that!” a gray-haired man in a tailored suit scolds you. He lifts a cigar to his lips. You grab it and throw it over the side of the ship.

“Maybe you don’t care about lung cancer, but I do. No smoking. Now, what’s going on?” you demand. The imperious look comes much easier to you now that everyone has seen you bend metal bars with your own two hands for the second time.

“I already told you twice,” the thwarted smoker grumbles. “Once in the tunnel, again just now—”

“And you’ll keep saying it until I’m satisfied,” you interrupt him. Better to pretend you heard him and weren’t fighting your baser instincts to flee and feed.

“Maybe we should start with some introductions,” BTS intervenes, climbing out of the cage and coming alongside you. “Y/n, this is my future father-in-law, Don Ravioli. You already know my cousin, Alpha Empty-head—” he gestures toward the werewolf who is hiding his bird-shame under a fedora— “and this is my fiancée, R. mi Ravioli.”

The Barbie lookalike steps forward, tossing her silken tresses over her shoulder and batting her long eyelashes. “Hello. And I believe you’re Y/n, my darling fiancé’s business competitor. Isn’t he buying you out?”

You flash her a winning smile. She thinks she’s hot. You know you are. “Not anymore. What’s your blood type, sweetie?”

“Wait a minute. What happened to selling me your company?” BTS asks, missing your subtle threat toward his intended.

“I found the perfect model for my new fashion line. That’s what happened,” you tell him. To the other mafioso and alpha, you say, “And if this whole thing is about forcing Luna or me to marry Empty-head there, you’ve got another thing coming. Neither of us will marry him. Ever. Under any circumstances. So unless Jack Sparrow is about to come swinging through on a rope and someone is getting ready to pass out scripts for the next Pirates of the Caribbean movie, you’d better pull this ship into the nearest port and let us go.”

Luna taps you on the shoulder. “Um, Y/n…”

Don Ravioli laughs. “You have a vivid imagination, Y/n. I couldn’t care less about who Empty-head does or doesn’t marry. I’m here to collect my future son-in-law for his wedding.”

“What?” BTS shrieks. He must have been taking notes from you. “The wedding isn’t for another six months!”

“But why wait?” R. mi asks, grabbing his arm and invading his personal space like a virus.

“The Raviolis and the Hunks are on the verge of a gang war,” her father explains. “I wouldn’t mind pulverizing your family, but I’ll lose men if it comes to that, so I’m giving you the chance to stop it. What’ll it be? Marry R. mi, or die fighting?”

“Y/n, I really need to talk to you,” Luna hisses.

You ignore her. “There’s a third option. You could go straight and give up the mafia business. Isn’t the mafia Catholic? Why don’t you go to church for once and listen to the sermon? Or if you need more time to think about it, I’d be happy to call the police. I’m sure they can arrange lengthy jail time for you. With frequent visits from a chaplain.”

“Y/n,” BTS growls.

Luna yanks your arm. “Y/n!”

“That settles it,” Empty-head says. “We kill her. I’ll marry Luna.”

You laugh. “You really think you can kill me? I’m not just a werewolf. I’m also a vampire, and I’m—”

Luna grabs your arm and drags you behind the cage. “Y/n! Listen to me! I need to tell you the prompt the author added in the last chapter! It’s really important!”

“Why don’t we just shoot her?” you hear Empty-head ask. “She probably isn’t bulletproof.”

“Make it quick,” you order Luna.

She nods. “Here it is: ‘While researching the myths of a lost civilization, you discover a forgotten god of mischief. After exploring their ancient temple, strange coincidences and uncanny events begin to follow you. Something from the deity has touched your life and now you must figure out what it wants.’”

You frown. “What’s so important about that? It’s over and done with.”

“But it isn’t! Didn’t you notice the ‘strange coincidences and uncanny events’ part?”

“Wasn’t that the kitten thing? Messing with Empty-head and all that?”

Y/n shakes her head. “No. The coincidences are following me, not him, and they’re not stopping just because we figured out what the author wanted. I mean, look at where we are. We’re on a pirate ship that looks like a set for Pirates of the Caribbean! And your parrot is still on the loose! That can’t be a coincidence!”

“In this story? Yeah, I think it can be, but maybe it isn’t. Who knows? The author’s winging this. She probably doesn’t even know.”

Luna pauses. “Author, I’ll buy you an iced peppermint mocha and chocolate croissant if you don’t write us into a traumatic scene.”

My favorites! Yay! Thank you! But I already told Y/n I’m trying to keep this story from getting a Mature rating, so severe trauma is off the table. It’s just as well. My protagonist support group has some stuff to work through before they can welcome a new member to their therapy sessions. Anyway, Luna, you’re correct in thinking this isn’t a coincidence, and in the interest of avoiding a lengthy voyage from the Appalachian foothills to the east coast, bam. Done. You’ve reached the ocean. Have some cannolis.

“I’m… scared,” you say.

“What about we take her up in a helicopter, shoot her, tie a cement block to her ankle, and then dump her in the ocean?” Empty-head is saying. “No way she can survive that.”

“I object,” you hear BTS say. “And also, did you invite my mother to this wedding, Don Ravioli? Because if you didn’t, something worse than a gang war will come your way as soon as she finds out about it.”

That conversation doesn’t scare you. I scare you. Me, the author with endless power to make your life miserable or wonderful. Speaking of which, you really should try the cannoli in your hand. Everybody on board likes them. Look, Luna’s taking a bite out of hers right now. See the pure bliss spreading across her face? You, too, could experience that sensation. It won’t do anything about your hunger, but at least it’ll taste good. And you kind of need a distraction from BTS’ signature smell drifting toward you on the salt-scented breeze.

You sigh and bite into your cannoli. Your eyes widen. “Yum, that cream filling…”

“Do you want another?” Luna asks. “They haven’t decided how to kill you yet, so I think they’ll let you have more.”

You finish your cannoli and nod. When she leaves, you go to the railing and lean over it, gazing at the pink-topped waves. The sun is setting. You hear a seagull caw, and you sigh. The story isn’t close to over. You know you won’t die, and you know BTS won’t marry R. mi. And then you realize what I did there, and you groan, hanging your head in shame. You have to break up BTS and R. mi. You may survive this story, but BTS fans will kill you when you return to reality.

A glint catches your eye. The ship is approaching a rickety wooden dock, and you see a glass bottle bobbing in the water. Could it be? Might I have sent you a message in a bottle? Only one way to find out…

You jump overboard and breaststroke toward the bottle, gulping in salty water every time your head ducks underwater. That does something for your hunger. Not much, but it’s something, and you just grabbed the bottle. You tuck it into your armpit and head for shore.

“Rrawk! Y/n overboard! Y/n overboard! Rrawk!”

And there’s the parrot, right on time to blow your escape. The mafia men and werewolves were lousy look-outs. They’re shouting now, at each other and at you. You’re swimming as fast as you can, knowing it isn’t fast enough. They’re close enough to the dock now for a couple of men to jump out and lash the ship to a post. You’ve reached water that’s too shallow for swimming, and you set your feet on the sandy bottom and run, fumbling with the cork on the bottle as you go. It pops free as you hit dry sand. You stop there, waves lapping at your toes, and upend the bottle over your hand. A small slip of paper falls out. You unfurl it and read:

How to use your dragon:

_/_

You stare at it. This must be about unlocking Freytag’s legendary power, but you don’t understand it. You flip the paper over, wondering if there’s something on the other side, and there is!

China 10 is now open for business. Free fortune cookies with every purchase.

Well, that’s silly.

“Got her!”

You turn around and slug the werewolf who had the audacity to grab your arm, but more are coming, and you’re soon surrounded. Their mafia friends have their guns trained on you again. Things aren’t looking good for you right now.

“You’re right,” you hear BTS say. He shoves through the crowd and seizes you, yanking you after him as he pushes past the armed men. “But I came up with the original plan, so I should be the one to do this.”

“You’ll need help,” Luna volunteers, running up to join you. “I see the error of my ways. She needs to go, and I want to be the one to knock her off!” She winks at you.

A helicopter pad you hadn’t noticed before sits at the top of the beach. It couldn’t be this easy to get away, could it? Don Ravioli and Alpha Empty-head aren’t really that stupid, are they? But they’ve earned their names, and nobody tries to stop you, BTS, and Luna from climbing into the waiting helicopter. BTS straps himself into the pilot's seat.

“Deploying Plan H!”