Chapter 16 Mira
— · —
Mira
Ashvale loved a celebration.
The Lantern Festival had been about the harvest. Before that, apparently, there’d been a Spring Bake-Off, a Midsummer Bonfire, and an event called the Great Pie Dispute that people still took sides on.
Now it was Founder’s Day, the anniversary of whatever brave or foolish soul had looked at this patch of mountain wilderness and thought, “Yes, I’ll build a town here.”
The whole place buzzed with the kind of small-town energy that was equal parts charming and suffocating.
We were out picking up groceries and lunch.
The three of us. Me, Percy, and Solomon, because three lycan hunks apparently ate enough to feed a small army and the fridge needed restocking every four days.
Lucian was at the firehouse finalizing paperwork. Overtime logs and incident reports, he’d said. Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to avoid the festivities. Both options tracked.
The whispers started the moment we stepped out of the truck.
“...all three of them...”
“...living together, I heard...”
“...she’s not even that pretty...”
I kept my chin up. The gossip was old news by now.
The bookshop girl shacking up with the three firefighters had been Ashvale’s favorite topic for weeks, and the theories ranged from scandalous to absurd. Some people were kind about it. Most were curious. A few were openly hostile.
I found, with genuine surprise, that I didn’t care. Let them whisper or stare. I had bigger problems than small-town gossip, and smaller patience for it every day.
Outside the store, a familiar blonde head bobbed through the crowd and changed direction toward us.
Cateline.
She appeared at Percy’s elbow with the precision of a heat-seeking missile, all glossy hair and a smile aimed exclusively at him. “Percy! I didn’t know you were coming to Founder’s Day. We should grab a drink later, catch up. I was just telling my friends how funny you were at the last...”
Percy smiled at her, full dimples. The warm, open, genuine Percy smile that he gave to everyone because he was fundamentally incapable of being rude and my blood pressure spiked so fast I nearly cracked a molar.
She just never learns. And he just never notices.
Percy, annoyingly beautiful, oblivious Percy, treated her the same way he treated the elderly woman at the post office. Completely clueless that he was being hunted.
“He already has a date,” I cut in.
Cateline’s smile didn’t waver but her eyes did. They cut to me, recalculated, and returned to Percy. “Oh? Who?”
I stared at her and she stared back at me. The silence lasted exactly long enough to communicate everything neither of us was going to say out loud.
“She means me,” Percy said. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, casual but deliberate. “All three of us are going together, actually.”
“How nice.” Cateline’s voice could have frozen the produce aisle. She turned to me with a sweetness that dripped acid. “You must feel so special. Being someone’s charity project.”
“I do, actually.” I matched her smile. “Feels great. You should try having people want to spend time with you sometime.”
Her jaw clenched. Percy shifted his weight, the playfulness draining from his expression.
“Cateline.” His voice lost the usual warmth. “I think that’s enough. I don’t like you talking to Mira that way.”
She looked at him. Whatever she found in his face made her take a step back. She tossed her hair, mumbled an excuse, and disappeared into the crowd.
We loaded the groceries in comfortable silence. Solomon had purchased enough food to sustain a platoon, and Percy hauled the heavier bags while I organized them in the truck bed. When the last bag was in, Percy turned to grab the cart, and I caught his arm.
He looked down at me, eyebrows raised.
I grabbed his face with both hands. Squished his cheeks together until his lips puckered and his dimples disappeared under my palms.
“Don’t go showing these dimples around to others, Percival. Got it?”
His eyes widened. Then the grin spread beneath my fingers, slow and devastating even with his face compressed between my hands.
“Yes ma’am.”
The possessive satisfaction that flooded my chest was absolutely not something I planned to examine further. I released his face, turned back to the truck, and pretended my heart wasn’t hammering against my ribs.
***
Back at the cabin, Percy followed me up the stairs, chattering about the band lineup and whether the dance floor would be big enough for his moves.
“So what are you wearing tonight?” He leaned against my doorframe. “Since you refused to buy anything new.”
“I don’t need anything new. I just want to go and have fun.”
“You can’t show up in leggings and a cardigan.”
“Watch me.”
He held up his hands in surrender and retreated as I pushed open my bedroom door.
A white box sat on my bed.
Large, flat, tied with a simple ribbon. No card or note. Just the box, positioned in the center of the mattress with careful precision.
I untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.
The blue dress.
Soft fabric, simple cut, the one I’d paused at during our shopping trip weeks ago. The one I’d held against my body in the store mirror and put back on the rack because old habits die hard.
There was only one guy who saw me try it.
Solomon.
He noticed and remembered it weeks later.
My chest did a thing I couldn’t name. It wasn’t pain or joy.
But a feeling that sat between the two, swelling against my ribs until my eyes burned.
“Don’t hide yourself anymore, Mira.”
I turned.
Solomon leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. I hadn’t heard him approach. The man moved through the world without disturbing a single molecule.
His pale silver eyes held mine. My breath came shorter.
“You have us now,” he said.
The words settled into my chest and took root. Simple, direct. The way Solomon said everything, as if complicated emotions were problems he could solve with the minimum required syllables.
I crossed the room before I could talk myself out of it and wrapped my arms around him. His body went rigid for a beat, then his hands found my waist. Those massive arms folded around me, warm, encompassing, and I rose on my toes to reach his ear.
“Thank you.”
I kissed his cheek. The scarred side. Pressed my lips against the raised line that ran from temple to jaw and felt him inhale, felt his hands tighten on my waist.
When I pulled back, he didn’t fumble this time. Didn’t blush or stumble or flee to the forest. Instead, he turned his head and pointed at the other cheek. A dare disguised as a request.
I grinned. Kissed him there too.
His mouth twitched and for a moment, Solomon looked very soft and happy.
Then his hands found my waist. Both of them.
Firm, deliberate, fingers pressing into the curve above my hips with a grip that said he’d been thinking about doing this for longer than he’d ever admit. He held me there, the softness from two seconds ago felt very far away.
“Get ready,” he said. His hands lingered on my waist. “We leave in an hour.”
He released me and walked out of the room without looking back. I stood there with my skin burning where his fingers had been, trying to remember how breathing worked.
***
An hour later, Ashvale’s town square had transformed into a postcard.
Fairy lights blanketed every surface. The band played a mix of folk and swing that made the whole square feel warm and golden, and the dance floor was already crowded with couples, families, and kids sliding across the polished wood in their socks.
I wore the blue dress. Simple, soft, stopping just above my knees. My hair was down, the copper roots visible now, the dark dye fading in a way I’d stopped trying to fight. It had been a long time since I didn’t feel invisible.
I didn’t want to be.
Lucian was already there when we arrived.
He stood at the edge of the square in dark clothes, arms crossed, scanning the crowd. His eyes found me the moment I stepped into the light, and tracked down my body.
I crossed to him, wanting to get into his nerves as always.
“Aren’t you going to ask me to dance, or are you not good at it?”
Lucian’s jaw tightened. A challenge received. He extended his hand, palm up, and I took it.
Much to my annoyance, he was excellent.
Not just good but exceptional. His hand settled on my waist with the confidence of a man who’d been trained to lead, and within four bars of music, he’d spun me across the floor with a precision and grace that made my head swim.
“Where did you learn to dance?” I managed, slightly breathless.
“Court manners.” He guided me through a turn that I almost fumbled and he corrected without missing a beat. “A king who can’t dance is a king who loses diplomatic leverage.”
I missed a step. He caught me.
“You’re...” I stared up at him. “A lycan king?”
His storm gray eyes held mine. “Yes.”
My mouth opened and closed. The music swelled around us and the lights spun as a five-hundred-year-old supernatural monarch was leading me through a waltz in a small-town square. I processed the fact that the grumpiest man I’d ever met was actual royalty.
“Well.” I found my voice. “I guess that explains a lot. Why you’re so bossy.”
His brow furrowed. “I’m not bossy.”
“Sure you aren’t, Your Majesty.”
The frown deepened, but beneath it, the faintest crack of amusement surfaced. His hand tightened on my waist. The music shifted tempo, slower now, and the space between us shrank until I could feel the warmth of his chest through my dress.
“I’m glad you returned to us,” he said quietly. Stripped of the formality, the control, the walls.
Just Lucian.
My throat tightened. “I’m glad too.”
He held my gaze for one more measure. Then the song changed, bright and fast, and he spun me outward with a motion that sent the skirt of my dress flying and deposited me directly into Percy’s waiting arms.
“Hello, beautiful.”
I laughed. “Hello, handsome.”