All Bark, No Bite

I put my bag down on the desk a little harder than I mean to. "Whoa," Jen says, looking alarmed. "What’s pissed you off?" Then she leans closer. "Are you on your period?" "What? No." I slump onto the stool in our physics lab. "Then why the attitude? I know it’s the full moon tonight, but something has clearly rattled you." I let out a loud sigh, a growl slipping under my breath. Jen’s expression changes instantly. Interest. Horrible, gleeful interest. "Oh," she says. "This is going to be good." "It is absolutely not going to be good." "That sounded like a yes." I drag both hands down my face. "I just thoroughly embarrassed myself, and then Landry came over after apparently watching the entire thing—" "Wait." She lifts a hand. "Watched what, exactly?" I glare at the desk. The desk offers no assistance. "I was..." I swallow. "Trying to flirt with Owen." Jen stares at me. "Trying?" "Do not make that the part you focus on." "It is absolutely the part I’m focusing on." I drop my forehead onto the desk. Jen gently pulls my hair back from my face and looks at me with immediate, devastating sympathy. "Oh, honey," she says softly. "Flirting isn’t really something you try to do. It sort of happens when you actually like someone." I growl under my breath again, then sit back up, my whole posture slumping with defeat. "Do you like him like that?" she asks. I rub my face with both hands, because the answer is complicated. And, somehow, even more embarrassing than what happened outside. "I want to," I admit. "I should, right? He’s hot, he’s kind, he’s easy to talk to, and I really like being around him. I love working with him in biology. He’s exactly the sort of boy everyone would tell me to go for." "But..." I hesitate, biting my lip. "But it’s not..." I exhale sharply, frustrated with myself. "It’s not that feeling. Not properly. I don’t think I’d feel the way you did about going on that date with Alex. That excitement. That certainty." I look down at the desk. "I wanted that. I still want that. I want to know what it feels like." Jen laughs softly, but there is nothing unkind in it. "You will," she says. "Maybe not today, but you will. I promise. You’re amazing, and I refuse to believe your Goddess hasn’t lined up someone incredible for you. You’ll see." I nod, then immediately try to drag the conversation somewhere less humiliating. "How is your hair that soft?" I mumble, reaching out for a lock of it. "Genetics, babe," she says lightly. "Same as whatever it is that makes Lycans so annoyingly attractive. The poor humans here never stood a chance." By the time physics ends, my brain is almost done for the day. Unfortunately, duty still calls. Because I had booked ahead, Mr Woodward is already there helping me set up the boxes for jumping practice. It is not something the humans can easily take part in, so I set up the attack dummies as a separate activity for them instead. Each box creates a wider gap to clear, the jumps getting more difficult as they move around the room. “Only one more full moon until you come of age,” he says as we set the last box into place. I nod and take a quick swig of my drink. “Have you thought any more about your options after school?” I glance at him, then down at the floor. “Our luna is rumoured to be looking to get pregnant in the next few months. I’m hoping to be chosen as part of her protection while she can’t shift. Multiple babies could keep me busy for a few years.” “Lyra...” There it is. That look. Aim higher. Be realistic in a different direction. Believe in yourself, or whatever version of that adults try to hand you when they do not quite understand the system they are asking you to ignore. Mr Woodward is kind. I know that. But he is also beta to the alpha of the largest pack in the country. He does not understand what it is to be useful rather than important. “I’m gamma,” I say simply. “People like me are useful. We are not the ones people build anything around.” His expression shifts. Not pity. Worse. Sadness. “That may be how some packs think,” he says. “It does not make them right.” I look away. It is easier when people underestimate me. At least then I know where I stand. “Lyra, you may be gamma, but you are also intelligent, focused and intuitive,” he says. “You read movement better than most betas I have trained. You understand risk. You know how to teach. That counts for something.” I let out a small breath. “Maybe,” I say, because arguing with kind people is always more tiring than arguing with cruel ones. “Maybe I’ll end up bonded to a beta, if I’m lucky. From a big pack. Maybe they’d let me have some input into training.” I shrug. “Probably not.” He nods slowly, clearly sensing I am not in the mood for this conversation again. Not today. The itch starts as midday hits, my skin suddenly feeling too tight over my bones. I have not shifted since my last patrol, and that was three days ago. I stretch awkwardly, my mood dipping even further as Landry walks into the training hall. Owen follows behind him, and heat rushes up my chest and into my face. Breathe. This is nothing. Owen is too kind to make it worse, Astraea says calmly, exerting just enough influence over me to keep me from fleeing through a window. I brace myself for some irritating comment from Landry. Thankfully, it never comes. The session goes smoothly, and everyone seems to enjoy it, even the humans beating the hell out of the combat dummies. "I’ll help you move this stuff back," Owen offers afterwards. My stomach flips. Once the rest of the group have left, he walks over, and I almost want the ground to swallow me whole. "Lyra," he says carefully, "about earlier—" "Owen, please don’t." I avoid his gaze. "I can explain." "You don’t have to." "No, I do." I swallow. "My roommate went on a date, and she had a great time. When she came back, she was just... light. Carefree. Excited about what might come next." His expression softens. "And I wanted that," I admit. "Not with you specifically. That sounds awful. I mean—" "Lyra." I stop. His mouth twitches. "I understand." Relief loosens something in my chest, though not enough to make me look at him properly. "You’re attractive," I say, because apparently I am determined to die by honesty. "And kind. And completely different from most of the betas here. I like being around you. I just..." "Can’t force something that isn’t there?" he offers. I wince. "Yes." "Ouch," he says, but his smile takes the sting out of it. "Sorry." "Don’t be. I’d rather know." I finally look at him then. He really is kind. Horrifyingly so. "I think the right person will show up when you least expect it," he says gently. "Doubtful. I’m gamma. Finding my mate could take a while." "Maybe," Owen says, reaching for one of the boxes. "Or maybe the Goddess has a sense of humour." "That would explain a great deal." .. I spend my free period after lunch sorting the rota issues Sage Landry brought to me. Sage’s workaround had been intelligent, but it relied too heavily on consistency, and consistency was exactly what got people hurt if anyone outside the school started paying attention. By the time I finish adjusting the shifts, accounting for rank, temperament and likely swap requests, my head is pounding. But it is worth the headache. Because this is the only place I am allowed to matter properly. On a spreadsheet. In a patrol pattern. When I get to photography, I am in no mood to be anywhere near Landry. I keep my head angled away from him, determined not to engage. Thankfully, today is practical. No discussion required. Half the class seems to have already settled on a theme, but we are starting with mood boards. Magazines, scissors and glue sticks are scattered across every desk. "Finished with this, Josh?" The voice is low and deliberately soft. I glance over before I can stop myself. Kirsten Delacroix, the new transfer, is perched on the edge of the desk in front of him. She leans forwards slightly, close enough that the ends of her dark hair nearly brush his sleeve. Her shirt pulls tight across her chest. That, at least, is definitely not accidental. "Almost," Landry says easily. Too easily, really. He does not look flustered. Of course he does not. He tilts his head back slightly to look up at her, one hand still resting on the magazine between them. Kirsten smiles. Slow. Practised. The sort of smile that understands exactly what it is doing. "You know," she says, touching the corner of the page he is holding, "I was thinking of using power for my theme." "Were you?" "Mm." Her eyes flick briefly over him. "Seems appropriate." I look back down at my own desk. Unfortunately, my ears continue to work. "Power is a broad theme," Landry says. "I know." Kirsten’s voice drops a fraction. "That is what makes it interesting." A laugh threatens at the back of my throat. Not because it is funny. Because this is flirting. Actual flirting. Not whatever disaster I inflicted on Owen by the patio doors. Kirsten makes it look effortless. Leaning close, looking up through her lashes, letting silence do half the work. I hate her a little for that. "Can I borrow it?" she asks, tapping the magazine again. Landry slides it towards her. "Since you asked so nicely." My hand tightens around a glue stick. Pathetic object. No structural integrity at all. "I bet you don’t do anything by halves, do you?" she adds, her voice dropping. "And you don’t strike me as someone who does anything quietly," he replies. Kirsten smiles, something sharpening in her eyes. "You’ve got presence, that’s for sure. Even just sitting there, you’re easily the most interesting guy in the room." The full moon makes us all do strange things, Astraea remarks lightly. Landry does not lean into it. He does not retreat either. He just sits there with that infuriating composure of his, as if being wanted is as ordinary to him as breathing. I look back at my board. I do not care. Obviously. "You can take this now," he says, handing her the magazine without breaking eye contact. She takes it just as deliberately, her fingers brushing his. "I’ll see you later," she says. It sounds like a promise. She slides off the desk and walks away with a confidence that borders on theatrical. After a pause I hear him speak. “You saw that, Grey?” I turn, already irritated from this morning. “Saw what?” “That,” he says, a hint of amusement in his tone. “That was actual flirting.” He lets it sit for a moment before continuing. “Not whatever it was you were trying to do with Owen earlier.” It lands exactly how he intends it to. I twist the glue stick in my hands. “I wasn’t aware you were paying me that much attention,” I snap. “It was hard not to,” he replies. “You weren’t exactly subtle.” I set the glue stick down with more force than necessary and face him fully. “You know, Landry,” I say evenly, “that natural alpha allure of yours must have to work overtime.” His gaze sharpens, just slightly. “Because even with that — even with your surname — you’re still not as charming as you think you are.” I hold his eyes. “It’s all smoke and mirrors,” I add, matter of fact. “All bark, with no bite.” The corner of his mouth twitches, and I know that's landed. Good. “Careful, Grey,” he says quietly. “You’re starting to sound defensive.” And just like that, he turns away, picking up his work as if I am no longer worth his attention. The dismissal is deliberate. Infuriatingly so. I stare at him for a second, heat still sitting sharp in my chest, and wonder — and not for the first time — when I became the angry one out of the two of us.