Chapter 9
Helena
We’re seated by the window at The King’s Shell, the restaurant everyone at Seamuse swears is both the best and the worst in town depending on the day.
The menu is all seafood, all the time, except for the steak and chips they keep on for stubborn tourists and children, which Zane orders without shame.
The same Zane who’s not looking at me—he’s staring, hard, at the purple of the sunset reflecting in the bay.
His jaw is so tight, the muscle jumps. There are candlelight shadows on his face, making the black of his hair sharper, and the blue in his eyes almost phosphorescent.
He always does this when he’s irritated—draws in on himself and counts silently to a million while waiting for me to be the first to speak.
I’m halfway through a glass of white wine, which was probably not the best choice on an empty stomach, but Zane insisted on debriefing after our eventful day at the bakery.
There’s an oyster shell on my plate, a grim reminder of my “seize the summer” mantra—Omega Finishing School really drilled the shellfish test of class into us, but I only ever pretended to enjoy it.
I tip the shell upright and let it spin before pointing out, “You’re angry.”
He blinks—slowly—then looks at me, like he had just remembered I’m here. “I’m not angry.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” I swirl the wine in my glass, watching it catch the candlelight. “I thought you’d at least order the crab cakes, considering you spent your whole childhood eating them here.”
He doesn’t rise to the bait. Just folds his arms and watches the window, but this time, I know it’s so he doesn’t have to look at me. “We need to talk about today.”
There it is—the moment I’ve been dreading since Cole handed me that tasty bun. Zane only ever says “we need to talk” when he’s about to tell me I’ve done something reckless, or humiliating—or both.
Which have I accomplished today?
“Go on, then.” I force myself to hold his gaze. “Tell me what I did wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says, almost instantly. Which is a lie, but I let it slide because he’s working up to something. He waits a beat, then says, “I don’t think you should see Cole and Lucas again.”
I laugh, not because it’s funny, but because I can’t believe how predictably paternalistic he is. “Why? Because they’re both alphas?”
The word lands between us with a heavy, embarrassing thud.
There’s no need to lower my voice—the restaurant is empty apart from a trio of pensioners, who are too busy dissecting a lobster to notice us.
Still, I feel the weight of it: alpha. There’s a time and a place for these things, and Zane has always been very specific about not discussing them in public.
“You know exactly why.” His voice is gravel, low and steady. “Your father would be—”
“My father’s not here,” I cut in, sharper than intended. “And even if he were, he’d have to accept that I’m not his property.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
I lean back, folding my arms. “Then what did you mean?”
He’s silent for a while. Our food arrives: the steak, rare and perfectly symmetrical, and a linguine studded with clams for me. The waitress, a teenager with pink braids and blue nails, is careful not to interrupt our standoff. She vanishes as quickly as she appeared.
“I’m responsible for your safety,” Zane says finally, as if that explains everything. “And getting involved with them—”
“Them being Cole and Lucas, one of whom you grew up with, both of whom are the least dangerous people I’ve ever met and are alphas.”
He stares me down. “It doesn’t matter. You’re only here for the summer. You start something with them, it’ll end with someone getting hurt. That’s how these things always go.”
As opposed to simply yearning for several years while seeing each other every single day?
I hate that Zane says it like he knows. “That’s not your call to make. I’m an adult, and I’m allowed to make bad decisions if I want to.”
He’s still, absolutely still. I can smell the flint in his scent, sharper than usual, like the spark right before a fire. “You’re not making a bad decision,” he says. “You’re making an impossible one.”
I poke at my pasta, but I’m not hungry anymore. “You sound jealous.”
He recoils, just slightly. “I’m not.”
I look at him over the rim of my glass. “Aren’t you?”
His mouth opens for a few seconds in which I think maybe he’ll admit it. But then he shuts it again as his eyes flicker through several emotions. Then he blinks, all of it tamped down in only way he can do.
So fast, I wonder if I hallucinated it.
“You’re my responsibility,” he says, slow and deliberate. “And my friend. I don’t want to see you hurt. Not by anyone. Least of all by people who should know better.”
I should let it go. The thing is, I want to believe him, but there’s an edge to his voice that’s always there when the subject is me and other alphas. He’s never been one to act on jealousy, but it simmers, beneath the discipline. The old rules, hardwired into both of us.
I set my fork down. “I’m not going to promise anything.”
He leans in and lowers his voice. “Helena. Please.”
His eyes, when he says my name, are so earnest, it almost undoes me. I want to forgive him, to let it go. But I can’t.
I stand up. “I’m going for a walk.”
He starts to rise, but I hold up a hand. “Alone.”
He doesn’t follow. Not right away. I know he’ll be behind me in a minute, but I need the head start, the illusion of freedom. I grab my bag, tip the waitress more than I should, and slip out into the salty, nighttime air.
Seamuse at night is unrecognizable from the postcard-perfect daytime version.
The shops are shuttered, but the beach is alive with the low, constant music of waves on shingle.
I kick off my sandals and walk barefoot along the sand, letting the cold bite my toes.
The wind is fresh, peppered with brine and driftwood.
For a minute, it’s easy to pretend I’m the only person in the world.
I make it all the way to the little, wooden pier before I spot someone else: Lucas, sitting on the edge, legs dangling over the black water.
He’s wearing a faded hoodie and board shorts, even though it’s definitely too cold for either.
There’s a thermos beside him, and he’s tracing shapes on the surface of the pier with a wet finger, lost in some private reverie.
I consider turning around, but he looks up and waves, a huge, loose-limbed gesture that’s impossible to ignore. “Helena! Hey!”
His grin is so open, it’s almost disarming. I walk over, brushing sand from my feet as I go. “Hi.”
“Sit,” he says, patting the space next to him. “No one should be alone out here. That’s what my gran always says.”
I sit. The planks are rough but solid. I hug my knees to my chest and look out at the lights from the harbor, bright, little wounds in the dark.
He unscrews the cap from his thermos and pours steaming liquid into the lid. “Tea?” he asks. “Sorry, it’s just builder’s, nothing fancy. Cole says I’m addicted.”
I accept the tea. It’s scalding and perfect. “Thanks.”
He leans back, arms behind him, and soaks up the nighttime breeze. “Rough night?”
I let out a short laugh. “You could say that.”
“Did Zane give you the alpha lecture?”
My head jerks up. “You know?”
He shrugs. “I do, yes. But there’s zero pressure to act on it. From Cole, either, for what it’s worth. Seems like this was a total accidental surprise.”
“More or less.” I fold my hands together. “I just wanted a normal summer. For once.”
Lucas nudges me with his shoulder, gentle but unmissable. “You know, some people would call being a triple-scent-match with two local alphas and your own bodyguard the opposite of normal.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling, a little. “It’s not like I asked for any of this.”
“I know. But it’s also kind of… special, right? If you believe in that sort of thing.”
“Fate?”
He shrugs again, more sheepish. “Nah, not fate. Biology, maybe. Or the universe having a laugh at our expense.”
I finish my tea. Lucas pours more without asking. We sit in companionable silence for a while and listen to the waves. I relax for the first time in… months, honestly.
After a while, he glances at me sidelong. “You want to walk back together? Or do you need more alone time?”
It takes me a moment to realize he’s offering not out of obligation, but because he wants to. The difference is subtle, but it matters. “To my flat? I’d love that, thank you.”
He grins again. “Sure thing.”
The walk back is slow and quiet. Lucas doesn’t try to fill the silence with talk. He just keeps pace with me. When we reach the flat, the lights are on inside. Zane’s silhouette is visible through the curtains, pacing the small living room.
Lucas hesitates at the door. “You want me to come in? Or…”
I shake my head. “I’ll be okay.”
Lucas looks at me, earnest and sweet. “If you ever need a break, just come to the bakery. Cole always have midnight pasties for emergencies.”
I smile, genuinely, and he touches my arm, warm and careful. “Goodnight, Helena.”
“Goodnight.”
He jogs away down the empty street, hands stuffed in his pockets.
Inside, Zane is waiting. He’s not angry—just relieved. He doesn’t say I told you so, but it hangs in the air between us. I brush past him and head for my room, shutting the door softly.
I lie awake in bed and stare at the ceiling, trying to make sense of it all.
Of the rules I was raised with, the traditions drilled into me by parents and tutors and the endless committee of old-money omega aunties.
Of the way I feel when I’m near Zane, the thrill and the terror, and the impossibility of wanting more.
Of Lucas and Cole, and how they both make me feel something different, something wild and safe at the same time.
I never wanted to be a pack’s omega. Not really. But now, with the scent-match tripling down on me, and the summer shrinking by the day, I wonder if I ever had a choice.
I fall asleep wondering if this was the path before me all along, or if I’m just making it up as I go.
If fate is.