Caroline #3
I’m talking about the TrueBond App. Developed by a semi-reputable Chicago firm with “Council-approved compatibility algorithms,” it supposedly combines personality profiles, scent data, and lunar alignment to find “your perfect pack balance.” Unbonded Omegas are encouraged to join the app as soon as they turn eighteen just for a chance for a happily ever after.
This is because most Omegas have their first heat around that age.
Some even earlier.
Mine was when I was seventeen, triggered by the grief of losing my father. Luckily, I didn’t need the app then. I had a boyfriend.
Ex-boyfriend, I remind myself. One who, in the heat of all that passion and need, I had let mark me. Now everyone in town thinks I’m a bonded Omega when the truth is, I haven’t even seen my ex in a really long time.
I’m all alone.
Correction: I have Thistle.
Amara bursts out laughing so loud that half the tavern looks over.
“TrueBond is a scam, and you know it. They’ve matched people with abusers, Caroline.
Last month, a witch from Rosehill ended up in a pack where her Alphas literally controlled her life.
She couldn’t even see her family when she wanted to. ”
I wince. “Right. I read about that.”
“Besides, you don’t need an algorithm to tell you who belongs in your orbit. I can always put a pheromone charm on you. It would have all the men in here drooling for you in seconds.”
I blush. “Great. At least with you around, I know I will never die a spinster.”
“I would never let that happen,” she says with a mock gasp.
Outside, thunder rolls across the sky, deep and echoing. The windows shudder.
I glance toward the glass, uneasy. “That doesn’t sound good. You think it’s a Rift flare?”
She waves a hand dismissively. “Probably just some moody weather witch practicing cloud work. Stop worrying.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’m charming,” she corrects with a smirk.
Our food arrives then—golden fries and ribs steaming, two mugs of ale frothy and cold. The scent makes my stomach rumble.
Amara flicks her fingers over her mug, whispering something under her breath. A faint shimmer of rose-gold light trails from her nails to the drink.
“What did you just do?”
“A little cheer charm.” She grins. “You’ve been working too many hours, sweetheart. You need it.”
I roll my eyes but take a sip anyway. Warmth blooms through me immediately, like sunlight under my ribs. My shoulders unclench.
“See?” she says. “I know how to fix you.”
“You’re intolerable.”
“And yet here you are, still my best friend.”
We fall into easy laughter, dipping fries in mustard and talking about everything—her law classes, my failed experiments, my bosses’ latest feud over cauldron maintenance.
She tells me one of her professors, a stoic Beta from the Council, uses pheromone-dampening charms in class so the students don’t distract each other.
I nearly choke on my ale at the thought.
When Benny comes back to check on us, the tavern has grown louder, voices raised in laughter and the occasional burst of music from someone’s enchanted fiddle. He leans his elbows on our table. “You two heading to the quarry tonight?”
Amara perks up. “There’s a party?”
“Yeah. Big one. Full moon. Drinks, dancing, the works. You should come.”
I glance toward the rain streaking down the window. “In this weather?”
He shrugs, grinning. “Little rain never hurt anyone. Besides, when the quarry glows under the storm clouds—it’s something else.”
“That’s what worries me,” I mutter. “Isn’t glowing under storm clouds one of the signs of a Rift flare?”
Amara pokes my arm. “You worry too much. If the Rift wanted to flare, it would’ve done it already. Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ll dance, eat terrible snacks, and forget the world exists.”
Benny winks. “See? Even your friend thinks it’s a good idea.”
I look between them, torn. The thought of the quarry at night—the wind, the magic, the possibility of trouble—sends a flutter through my stomach.
Amara drains her ale and slides out of the booth, pulling her shawl around her shoulders. “Let’s go before you overthink it.”
“Fine.” I sigh, tossing a few coins on the table. “But if we get struck by lightning, I’m haunting you forever.”
She grins. “Deal.”
As we step out into the rain, the air hums with energy, the scent of ozone stronger now. Thistle darts ahead, tail like a banner. The path glistens with puddles reflecting the lamplight. Somewhere in the distance, the faint, haunting hum of the quarry drifts through the wind.
Amara links her arm through mine as we head toward the small parking lot behind the tavern. “Hear that? Even the quarry is inviting us. We need a good night out.”
“You're driving,” I remind her.
“Obviously.”
We reach her car, parked beneath an old maple. Thistle jumps onto the hood, then down again, weaving between my legs before trotting off toward the town square.
“Where are you going?” I call after him.
He doesn't so much as glance back.
Amara laughs. “He's a familiar, not a pet. He'll find you when he's ready.”
I shake my head with a smile. “Try not to get into trouble.”
Somewhere in the distance, the faint, haunting hum of the quarry drifts through the wind.
“Hear that? Even the quarry is inviting us. We need a good night out.”
I laugh, though my skin tingles with unease. “Let’s just hope it’s in a good mood tonight.”
She unlocks the doors with a click and grins. “When is Willowbrook ever not in the mood for a little chaos?”