Town & Tea

"It’s just a two-mile walk to the village, and then one bus for about an hour," Jen says thoughtfully, checking the map on her phone over breakfast. We are finally going to visit one of the local towns. After the last month, I am more than ready to get away from Exton for a few hours. "That’s doable," I mutter, swiping away yet another notification from my inbox. Another day, another change to the patrol rota. Maybe it had been short-sighted of me to insist every swap came through me. After five weeks, it is becoming harder to keep up. As people settle into clubs, extra training and social plans, the rota shifts constantly, and trying to keep everything balanced is wearing me down. I definitely need a day out. "Ugh, you’re doing it again." Jen takes my phone from my hand and sets it firmly on the table. "Girl, it’s Saturday." "I’m sorry. You’re right." I sit back, forcing myself not to reach for it again. "Today I’m doing something for me." "Exactly." "A terrifying concept." "You’ll survive." "Bold assumption." An hour later, we leave the gates of Exton behind and walk down the country road towards the village. The bus drops us in the centre of one of the nearby cities, though it feels more like a stubborn old market town clinging to its medieval roots. With online shopping now so easy, places like this are harder to find. Here, shops are still wanted. And for what I need, I do not want a screen. I need to feel it in person. "You really think you can do this?" Jen asks as we peer through the window of a haberdashery. "Honestly, at the very least it’ll take my mind off a few things," I reply, pushing through the door. The fabric selection is vast. My attention catches first on colour, then texture, then the alarming realisation that I have no idea what I am doing. Satin? Tulle? Stretch satin for a closer fit? Taffeta? There is too much choice, and Jen is enjoying that far more than is reasonable. "Ohh, I think we have a winner," she says, pulling a length of rich red satin from the shelf. I never wear red. "I don’t know if that’s really me," I mutter as she holds it up against me. "I think that’s the point. You’re turning eighteen in a fortnight. Why not lean into it a bit?" "I usually wear—" "Stop." She smooths the fabric across my stomach. "This is exactly why we’re here. Step out of your comfort zone. Do something different. Something that has nothing to do with an electronic patrol rota." "I feel attacked by the accuracy." "Good." I wander over to the mirror, holding the fabric against myself as I take in the reflection. I love it. It suits your hair, and the cooler tone almost pulls purple against your skin, Astraea says. I am rarely impulsive, but Astraea occasionally nudges me towards it. She has never been wrong before. Fifteen minutes later, after far too much deliberation, I leave with more than enough fabric. I also pick up hooks, ribbon, boning and everything else the list insists I need to make a dress for the winter formal. I have just about enough time. The idea has been sitting in my mind ever since Owen unintentionally suggested it. "Got a backup option in case this goes horribly wrong?" Jen asks as we step back out into the street. "Probably something from your wardrobe," I tease. "Your dresses are extraordinary." She snorts. "Not sure that would work. You’re curvier than me. I’m basically a pencil with cheekbones." We drift along the canal, talking about everything and nothing, mostly the small dramas that have unfolded at school over the past few weeks. The biggest story is the alpha heir from the year below bonding with an omega from ours. No one expected it. Not even them. "It’s happened before, and it’ll happen again," I say lightly, thinking of several packs with omega Lunas. The second-largest pack in the country, for a start. "It kind of proves rank doesn’t mean much, doesn’t it?" Jen says, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she pulls her coat tighter. "It’s the person that matters." "I wish that were true," I murmur. My rank has already closed more doors than I care to count. "It has to be," she says. "Sometimes they’re not even Lycan. Have you ever wondered if that could happen to you? You could be bonded to some dangerously sexy elf or something." "I honestly haven’t considered it." "Not even a little?" "No. That usually happens when the Lycan’s rank is higher." We walk in silence for a moment. “Gosh, it’s only a week before you might start losing your marbles around me,” Jen says suddenly. “Are you doing anything for it?” I huff a quiet laugh. “Nope, I have classes that day and the next,” I mutter, having written off my birthday this year. “I think I’ll be fine. Something would have to really push me to lose my cool.” “And let’s be honest, Lyra — only one person seems capable of that,” she teases. “Ugh, don’t remind me,” I sigh. “He’s been even moodier since the last moon.” Jen pulls a face that suggests she knows exactly why. I narrow my eyes. “You know something?” “Well...” She lifts one shoulder. “Maybe. Just a tiny rumour.” “Jen.” “Miss Lyra Grey,” she says solemnly, pressing a hand to her chest, “as your dearest friend and chief supplier of scandal, I feel it is my duty to prepare you.” I stop walking so suddenly that a balding man in a charcoal pea coat bumps into the back of me. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” I say quickly, stepping aside. “Not at all,” he replies, polite and clipped. His gaze flicks over me for half a second longer than expected. Then he continues on. I barely notice. I am already turning back to Jen. “What rumour?” “Okay,” she says, eyes bright. “Brace yourself, because this is funny as hell. He struck out.” “Wait, what?” I ask, immediately intrigued. Jen shrugs. “Hard to tell with some girls. Sometimes people twist things to save face. But apparently that beta who transferred into our year — Kristen? Kirsty?” “Kirsten?” I offer, knowing exactly who she means. “Yes, her.” Jen’s eyes brighten. “Apparently, she waited for him in the common room after the full moon shift. All night, practically. And things got... sofa-adjacent.” “Sofa-adjacent?” “Use your imagination.” “I’d rather not.” “Well, apparently neither could he.” Jen presses her lips together like she is trying very hard not to laugh. “He just... couldn’t. You know. Perform.” Part of me wants to laugh. A large part, actually. “She definitely seemed more into him than he was into her,” I mutter, thinking back to photography class that same day. “Whatever. Still more than a little embarrassing for the only unmated male alpha from the largest pack in the country,” Jen says, grinning. “But there were weird rumours about him in early summer too.” “Weird rumours?” I ask lightly. “What, was he kind to someone?” Jen gives me a look. “That would be alarming, but no.” “Then what?” “You know what? I need coffee.” She abruptly loops her arm through mine and steers us towards the end of the pathway, where one of the many coffee shops lines the street. Once we are seated with our drinks, I find myself oddly eager to get back to the conversation. "So, the rumour is..." Jen pauses for effect. "His mum did something to him." I blink. "Something?" "Magical. Obviously." She lowers her voice slightly, as though that makes it more believable. "Some kind of restraint, maybe. Or control. I don’t know. People are saying different things." I frown. "Why would she do that?" Jen shrugs. "Think about last winter. With no mate bonds, alphas were losing control, going after higher-ranked girls, trying to force things that should never be forced. It was a mess." Young women died, Astraea says quietly. I remember. I remember too well. One from our pack. Gone because someone stronger decided wanting her was enough. "And with parents like his?" Jen continues. "Running the supernatural council, opening universities, being painfully important all over the place. The last thing they’d want is their son dragging their name through the mud." "So she just..." I stare at her. "Switched him off?" "No one knows," Jen says quickly. "It’s probably exaggerated. People love a story." She pauses. "But something is clearly off with him, isn’t it?" I hesitate. Because that part is not wrong. Is that why he’s so angry? I ask Astraea. He did not need any help to kick your ribs in, she replies dryly. I huff quietly and shake the thought away. “I don’t know,” I say. “He’s always been like that, as far as I can tell.” Jen looks thoughtful. “I don’t know,” she says slowly. “He used to be in my maths class in the earlier years, and honestly… he was nice. Smart. Respectful, even. You could tell he’d been raised properly. I don’t know what happened last year to change him so much.” For some reason, that makes me uncomfortable. I look away, distracting myself by noticing how spectacularly shiny the bald man’s head is two tables over. “How are things going with Alex?” I ask, a little too quickly. Jen’s expression brightens immediately, and she wiggles her eyebrows. “Well, he is officially my date to the formal.” “Of course,” I say, not surprised. “What about you? Any… ideas?” she asks, carefully avoiding any mention of my failed attempt to force something with Owen. I shake my head. “No. I’ll be fine.” Jen taps her fingers lightly against her cup, considering something. “Okay… there is a guy in my class I think you’d get along with. But there’s a snag.” “A snag? Does he have two heads? Because at this point, ‘nice’ is enough.” “He’s human.” “And?” Jen blinks at me, then breaks into a pleased smile. “Good to know you have no qualms,” she says. “I’ll bring him along, and you can have a blind date at the formal.” “Sure,” I say lightly. “What’s the worst that could happen?” Later that afternoon, I start on the dress. It feels good to focus on something purely for me. Something that is not for my pack, my studies, or my increasingly tyrannical patrol rota. Celine joins me, wanting some “female chill time”, as she puts it, after a long meeting with her coven. “Just this really long-ass meeting about morals, ethics and principles centred around balancing energies,” she mutters as I let her into our room. “Bleh, bleh, bleh. Where’s our favourite fish?” “Jen is out doing fishy things, but she is not a fish.” “She gets quite fishy-looking.” “Fine. Just don’t let her hear you say that.” I cross the room to where I have laid the red satin across the largest stretch of floor. Celine’s blonde curls bounce against her shoulders as she kneels beside it, nodding approvingly. “This colour is gorgeous,” she says, smoothing a hand along the edge. “And the quality is great. I’ve never seen you in red.” “No one has,” I reply, staring at it as I click my fingers lightly, thinking. “So,” Celine says brightly, “what are we doing? I shall now offer you the benefit of my fashion-student expertise.” I tilt my head, considering it, then shake it. “No.” She blinks. “Rude.” “Not no to expertise. No to overcomplicating it.” “That is often where expertise lives, but continue.” "I don’t know. Floor-length, obviously, because it’s a formal. My legs are a little too muscular for a short dress. Such is the plight of a female gamma," I say, reaching for the pile of patterns. "I can’t decide on the neckline." Celine takes the patterns from me and clicks her tongue a few times as she flips through them. "Okay. I have an idea, and it’s a blend of these two," she says, pulling a pair from the pile. I take them back with a frown, trying to see what she means. "The cowl gives softness. Elegance. But this V-neck is too..." She pauses, then shakes her head. "Not you. The red is already you stepping well outside your comfort zone. We do not need to make your chest part of the crisis." "Comforting." She taps one of the sketches with a painted nail. "Soft boat neckline at the front. Keep it simple. Covered. Elegant. Add a small necklace, something delicate and sparkly, and that gives you the polish." Then she taps the second design. "And this is where we add the drama. You keep it classy from the front, but add just enough maturity with a deep cowl back." "I don’t know what my back looks like," I blurt out. Celine laughs. "Who does? I can tell you it’s toned as hell, though. Trust me, that is going to be far sexier than cleavage." "I’m not exactly an authority on sexy." She smiles at me, then wriggles her eyebrows. "All in due time."