Chapter 30 Vespera
thirty
Vespera
It's amazing how well Ben fits in with Stephanie and Robbie, like he's the fourth piece to our friendship puzzle.
I watch him across the campus café table, gesturing animatedly as he describes his disastrous freshman orientation at his previous school, and something warm settles in my chest. It's been a week since he transferred, and already it feels like he's always been here.
The way he and Robbie trade theater gossip, how Stephanie keeps stealing his fries while he pretends not to notice, the easy laughter that comes when we're all together—it works. We work.
"—and then the RA made us do trust falls," Ben's saying, "except nobody wanted to catch the Alpha who'd been bragging about his family's net worth for three hours straight."
"Please tell me someone let him fall," Robbie says.
"Oh, absolutely. Face-first into the lawn." Ben's grin is wicked. "Best orientation activity ever."
Stephanie snorts coffee through her nose, which makes all of us laugh harder.
This. This is what I've been missing. Not the pack bonds or the biological imperative or the complicated dynamics of living with three Alphas. Friends. Normal, uncomplicated friendship where the only thing at stake is who's buying the next round of coffee.
Except it's not uncomplicated, because every time I look at Ben, I find him already looking at me. And when our eyes meet, something passes between us that has nothing to do with friendship.
"So," Stephanie says, setting down her cup with deliberate casualness, "did anyone see the callboard this morning?"
The shift in her tone tells me this isn't a casual question.
"What's up?" I ask.
She pulls out her phone and turns it toward me. "Fall Showcase announcement."
FALL SHOWCASE - AUDITIONS OCTOBER 15-16HEDDA GABLER by Henrik IbsenDirected by Professor De ScarzisPrepare a contemporary monologue (2 minutes max)Sign-up sheet posted outside Studio 3B
My stomach does a complicated flip. Hedda Gabler.
The story of a woman trapped by circumstance and expectation, manipulating everyone around her in increasingly desperate attempts at control until it all collapses.
Dark. Psychologically complex. Exactly the kind of role that could make or break a scholarship student's standing.
"That's ambitious," I say, keeping my voice neutral. "De Scarzis doesn't mess around."
"You'd be perfect for Hedda," Robbie says immediately. "The whole 'trapped by society' thing? You could do that in your sleep."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence in my personal misery."
"I calls 'em like I sees 'em."
Ben's been quiet, studying the announcement on Stephanie's phone. "I'm thinking L?vborg," he says finally. "The self-destructive poet who can't escape his past? That's got my name written all over it."
"You're not self-destructive," I protest.
His eyes meet mine, and there's something rueful in them. "I transferred to a school where the girl I'm interested in is bonded to three Alphas who hate me. That's at least moderately questionable judgment."
The café noise fades to background static. Robbie and Stephanie suddenly find their phones very interesting.
"Ben—"
"I know." He cuts me off gently, but firmly. "I know the situation. I'm not here to make your life more complicated. I needed to be here. To see if there was any chance, or if I needed to move on." His smile is crooked. "Still figuring out which one it is."
The honesty in his voice makes my chest ache.
Because I don't know which one it is either.
The bonds with the pack are real—biological, binding, impossible to ignore.
But so is this pull toward Ben. Toward someone who makes me laugh.
Who sees me as Vespera, not an Omega or a scholarship case or a problem to be solved.
"We should practice together," I hear myself say. "For auditions. We could give each other feedback."
"I'd like that." The way he looks at me makes my pulse kick up.
Stephanie clears her throat loudly. "Okay, since you two are apparently incapable of subtlety, I'm going to be the adult here and point out that you have Scene Study in twenty minutes. You know, the class where Wells is assigning partners for the semester?"
Right. Scene Study. The class I share with Dorian.
My stomach sinks.
The pack is already in Studio 2A when I arrive. Dorian sitting second row center, Corvus on his left, Oakley on his right. The three of them taking up space like they own it—which, given their families' endowments, they basically do.
Dorian's eyes track me as I enter, and the bond pulls. Not painful, but present. A constant awareness of his attention, his location, his emotional state. The bonds work both ways, which means he's feeling my reluctance to sit with them right now.
I take a seat on the opposite side of the room, next to Maya from Movement class. Dorian's jaw tightens, but he doesn't say anything.
Professor Wells sweeps in with his characteristic dramatic energy, all flowing scarves and emphatic gestures. "All right, my darlings! Today we begin the real work. Partner scenes for the next six weeks. I've assigned you based on height, energy, and my own mysterious artistic intuition."
He starts reading names off his list. My heart pounds as I wait to hear mine, praying I don't get paired with Dorian. That would be too much—six weeks of forced proximity, intimate scene work, professional requirements that would blur every line I'm trying to maintain with the pack.
"Levine and..." Wells consults his clipboard with a theatrical pause. "Rosen."
My head snaps up. Ben's in this class?
I find him three rows back, looking equally surprised. And pleased.
"You'll be working on contemporary realistic scenes from the provided packet," Wells continues, oblivious to the sudden spike of tension in the room.
"I want authentic emotion, truthful behavior, genuine connection between partners.
No performance. No indicating. Two human beings in a room, wanting something from each other that they may or may not get. "
His eyes sweep the room, landing on me and Ben with what might be deliberate weight. Or maybe I'm paranoid.
"These scenes are intimate work," he says. "You'll be exploring vulnerability, desire, conflict, need. If you can't trust your partner, the work will fail. So I suggest you start building that trust now."
Dorian's scent has gone sharp with displeasure. Even from across the room, I feel it.
Wells distributes the scene packets and dismisses us early to "begin the vital process of partnership building." The pack intercepts me before I can escape.
"Scene partners with Ben," Dorian says without preamble. "Convenient."
"Wells assigned it randomly."
"Did he?" Corvus's voice is mild, but his eyes are calculating. "Or did someone have a word with him about partnership compatibility?"
"You think Ben bribed Wells?" I can't keep the disbelief out of my voice. "With what? His charming personality?"
"I think," Oakley says carefully, playing mediator as always, "that this is a class assignment, and we need to not make it weird."
"It's already weird," Dorian mutters.
"Then stop making it weirder." I shift my bag higher on my shoulder. "Are we going to have a problem every time I'm assigned to work with someone who isn't one of you? Because if so, tell me now so I can figure out how to complete my degree in isolation."
The hallway has gone quiet around us. Other students slowing down, pretending not to listen while absolutely listening.
Dorian's expression shifts—frustration giving way to something more complicated. Guilt, maybe. "You're right. I'm sorry." He glances at Corvus and Oakley. "We're all sorry. It's hard to watch you with someone who..." He trails off.
"Who what?" I challenge. "Who isn't bonded to me against his will? Who chose to be here?"
The words land like a slap. Dorian flinches, and even Corvus looks away.
"That's not fair," Oakley says quietly.
"Isn't it?" But the anger's already draining away, leaving me tired. "Look, I have to go. I'll see you at dinner."
I walk away before they can respond, Ben falling into step beside me once we're clear of the pack's earshot.
"That looked intense," he says.
"That was restrained. You should see intense."
"I'll pass, thanks." We exit the building into autumn sunshine, and Ben nudges my shoulder gently. "Hey. We don't have to be scene partners if it's going to cause problems. I can ask Wells to reassign me."
"No." The word comes out more forcefully than I intend. "I want to work with you. And they need to learn that I can have friendships—partnerships—outside the pack."
"Okay." He studies my face. "But Vespera? I'm not your friend."
"I know."
"And this partnership thing is going to make that obvious to everyone, including them."
"I know that too."
We walk in silence, the weight of unsaid things heavy between us.
"Movement class tomorrow?" he asks, changing the subject with obvious effort.
"Yeah. Cruz is making us work on physical impulse exercises. Should be painful."
"Want to grab coffee after? We could start brainstorming audition pieces."
I should say no. Should maintain distance. Should not create more opportunities for the pack to feel threatened or for me to feel things I shouldn't.
"Sure," I say instead. "Coffee sounds good."
His smile could light up a stage.
That evening, I'm in my room at the pack house trying to focus on my Voice homework when my phone buzzes.
Ben: Hey. Found the perfect monologue for L?vborg auditions. It's from Angels in America—the 'I wish I was an octopus' speech. Thoughts?
I smile despite myself, pulling up the scene on my laptop to refresh my memory.
Me: That's actually perfect. Fits the whole 'can't escape your past' theme. What about me? I'm thinking Nina's final speech from The Seagull.
Ben: The one about endurance? About bearing your cross and having faith even when everything's falling apart?
Me: That's the one.
Ben: Yeah. That tracks.
The conversation pauses, and the three dots indicate he's typing, stopping, typing again.
Ben: Can I ask you something?
Me: Depends on the question.
Ben: In Movement class today, when Cruz had us doing impulse work? Your body language was... let's say your body doesn't lie, even when your words do.
Heat floods my face.
Me: What's that supposed to mean?
Ben: It means I see you, Vespera. The whole you. Not the careful version you show the pack, or the professional version you show professors. I see who you are when you forget to control it.
Ben: And someday you're going to stop being so careful. And when you do, I'll be here.
I stare at the messages, my heart pounding. Three floors below, Dorian's voice, talking to Oakley about something. The sounds of the pack house settling in for the evening. My life. My bonds. My cage.
I don't respond to Ben's text. Don't know how to respond when he's right and it terrifies me.
Eventually, my phone screen goes dark, and I lie back on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow I'll see him in Movement class. We'll do impulse work, and my body will betray me again. Then coffee, where we'll pretend we're friends preparing for auditions. Then Scene Study, where Wells will make us explore vulnerability and desire with professional justification.
And the pack will watch it all happen, feeling every shift of my interest through bonds I never asked for.
I'm trapped between two worlds—the one I'm bound to, and the one I want. And I have no idea which one will win.
But I know which one makes me feel like Vespera.
And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.