Naria's Wolves

Painting a sunset shouldn't have been such a feat, yet Inara couldn’t quite bleed the orange into the navy blue that trailed the sun. It was a heavy blanket of color, destined to turn black as the sun slipped below the horizon. She drew a knee to her chest, her hair stirred not by a natural breeze, but by the steady hum of a fan. Perched on her balcony with a perfect view of the sprawling city, the artistic muse she sought remained stubbornly out of reach. With a sharp, audible huff, she expelled the frustration from her lungs. “Having trouble?” a soft voice asked. Inara turned to see her sister, Scarlett, sweeping onto the balcony with a glass of fresh lemonade. They weren’t twins, but the resemblance was striking enough to fool most—the same silver hair tumbling in soft curls, the same high cheekbones and full, velvet lips. Only Inara’s golden eyes truly set them apart. “I can’t blend the orange and the blue,” Inara huffed, her gaze dropping back to the canvas. “The transition just doesn't seem possible.” “Are you forgetting, little sis?” Scarlett set the cold drink down with a click. “That sky isn’t real. Why should the colors be any different?” She plopped into the vacant chair, stretching a slender leg toward the balcony rail as her soft, grey tail curled lazily over her lap. “I haven’t forgotten,” Inara muttered. She gave up, swirling her brush in the muddied water on her easel. It was a stinging reminder: she had been born in the underground, and the sunset above them was nothing more than a masterpiece of holographs and hex code. It was a silly thing to obsess over, but her artistic mind demanded precision. It had to be perfect—even if it would never be real. “Come on,” Scarlett groaned, stretching like a cat in the artificial twilight. “Come dancing with me tonight.” “At Club Vixen?” Inara snorted. “Do you remember what happened last time?” “I won’t let you get that drunk again, I swear,” Scarlett giggled. “Though, you have to admit, it was pretty funny.” “Dancing on the bar and then falling off of it was not funny,” Inara grumbled. She ran a hand through her silver hair, her gold eyes flashing at the memory. “At least no one saw you puking,” Scarlett reminded her with a sly, wolfish grin. Inara groaned at the reminder. “You didn’t warn me about the vodka sodas!” she accused, snatching a wet sponge from her tray and hurling it. Scarlett squealed, batting it away with a manicured hand. They both watched the sponge sail over the railing, falling two stories until it hit the ground with a dull, wet thud. “I promise, I won't let it happen again.” Scarlett held out her pinky, her expression turning mock-solemn. The last of the holographic sunlight caught her hair, turning the silver to fire-orange and lighting her steel eyes with a mischievous amber glow. Inara narrowed her eyes, hesitant, before finally locking pinkies with her sister. She didn’t entirely trust the promise, but she loved Scarlett too much to stay angry for long. “I swear, Scarlett, if you get me drunk again...” The threat trailed off, losing its edge. “Just don’t let Rowan and Silas catch wind of it like they did last time.” “Now that I can do,” Scarlett chuckled. “Rowan wouldn’t stop scowling at you for a week, and Silas didn't let you hear the end of it for a month.” “Silas is hardly an angel,” Inara huffed, “and neither is Rowan.” “No, but they’re brothers. They think they’re supposed to act disappointed.” “Or just rude,” Inara muttered. She had never quite seen eye-to-eye with her brothers, the age gap between them feeling more like a canyon most days. “So, does that mean you’ll come?” Scarlett asked, sitting up with renewed excitement. As the holographic sun officially dipped below the horizon, the fire in her hair faded into a shadow of cold steel. Outside, the city lights flickered to life in the artificial dark, casting a neon glow over the balcony. “I’ll think about it,” Inara said, beginning to pack away her brushes. With the light gone, the struggle was over; there was no point trying to capture a reality that didn't exist. Maybe Scarlett was right—it was a fool's errand to try and match colors that were nothing more than light and code. “It’s Friday night!” Scarlett groaned, tugging insistently on Inara’s hand. “I’ve had a wicked week with a board of sharks, and don’t even get me started on the new line.” “The life of a fashion mogul must be so grueling,” Inara teased, lightly tugging a silver lock of her sister's hair. “Says the baby!” Scarlett scoffed. “You have zero responsibilities.” “I can’t help it if Father won’t let me do anything,” Inara snapped, her voice sharper than she intended, feeling a self-inflicted sting from her sisters poor choice of words. A heavy silence fell between them. Her siblings were all established; Scarlett was the heir apparent to their mother’s fashion empire, Rowan was already commanding their father’s luxury car industry, and even Silas—rebellious and cantankerous as he was—had a seat waiting for him once he finally grew up. But Inara? She was tucked away like a prize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way,” Scarlett said softly, resting a comforting hand on Inara’s shoulder. Inara felt spoiled, but it was a suffocating kind of luxury. She knew the rest of high society saw her as a pampered doll with nothing but time to paint and socialize, and she hated it. “It’s okay,” Inara sighed. “Father keeps saying art isn’t a real pursuit, but every time I try to get involved in the business, he shuts me down. I don't know what I'm meant for.” Scarlett’s mischievous grin returned, lighting up her face. “Well, for now, you’re meant to keep me company and showcase my newest designs.” Inara rolled her eyes playfully, the tension breaking. “Fine, you fashion diva. Dress me up like one of your dolls and let’s get this party started.” ~*~ The music pulsed in rhythmic thumps against Inara's chest, a physical heartbeat that vibrated through the floor. Flashing neon lights bled across the room, casting iridescent hues against her silver hair—half-pinned in a simple, elegant style Scarlett had thrown together before they’d left the house. Inara’s golden eyes drank in the vibrant chaos of Club Vixen. Bodies were pressed together in a rhythmic trance, a collective energy that had her fingers twitching to join in. But she wasn't quite there yet; she needed a little more alcohol-infused fire in her system before she could surrender to the sea of sweating bodies. “Drink up, sis,” Scarlett shouted into her ear, leaning down from the extra six inches her sparkling black heels provided. She pressed a cold glass into Inara’s hand, the liquid inside a swirling gradient of sunset pink and orange. A single, freezing condensation droplet escaped the glass and landed on Inara’s bare chest, making her shiver before she tilted her head back to drain the sweet, heady sting of the alcohol. “Bahama Mama,” Inara said with a grin, licking the sweetness from her lips. “You know me so well.” “I should hope so,” Scarlett laughed, her head falling back as the strobe lights caught the line of her throat. “I am your sister, after all.” Scarlett’s little black dress clung to every curve, a second skin that commanded attention. Her silver hair was swept into that messy, effortless bun—the trademark style only she seemed to truly master—and her steel eyes began to survey the room with a predatory hunger. Inara knew that look all too well; Scarlett wasn't just here to dance. She was here to hunt. “Who’s on the menu tonight, sister?” Inara asked with a smirk. The yearning to hunt was bred deep into their bones—instincts infused into their DNA that, while less sinister than those of their wild ancestors, were no less potent when it came to desire. “Tall, dark, and handsome at three o’clock,” Scarlett growled playfully. Inara’s golden eyes followed the nod. Down the bar, a man with sun-tan skin and slicked-back dark hair was eyeing Scarlett with hungry, chocolate-colored eyes. He was clearly a canine of some sort, though the strobing lights made it hard to tell the breed. His ears were pricked forward in interest, and a sharp, doggish grin showed off rows of pearly whites. “I wonder if he knows he’s playing with wolves,” Inara murmured, nudging her sister. Scarlett clacked her teeth together—a sharp, clicking sound—and twirled a lock of silver hair around her finger. Her steel eyes were locked onto her prey now, a hungry smile revealing the slight points of her own canines. “Let’s see if he can keep up,” Scarlett answered, her voice dropping to a husky purr. Inara watched her sister saunter over, knowing the man had no idea what kind of night he’d just signed up for. “Would you like another?”