Chapter three
Clay
My stomach grumbles as we near the end of the day, but I ignore it, swallowing the little bit of lightheadedness I’m feeling.
There’s no risk of me dying from skipping a meal or two.
Especially when I can still taste cum and honeycomb in the back of my mouth from Mitch’s sticky adventure this morning.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the stainless steel oven in the kitchen and cringe.
What kind of Alpha looks like me? Twenty years spent learning to be my own monster, and baking has turned me more than a little soft.
Mitch doesn’t seem to mind, but we’re nearly forty and not the fit twenty-somethings we used to be.
I don’t look like the football star I was supposed to be when we first mated.
Nor are we able to fuck six ways to Sundays all night long and still open the shop at the crack of dawn anymore.
He’s still fit, and just as gorgeous as ever.
Even when we were kids, I always remember thinking whoever got Mitch for a mate would be the luckiest Wolven in the world.
He’s funny, protective, and kind, all wrapped up in beautiful copper brown fur that smells like vanilla, warmth, and a touch of sweet.
If I think about how good my Beta smells for too long, my knot’s going to swell and I won’t get any of my afternoon prep finished. I need to get it done so I’m not rushed in the morning, which I hate. Maybe I could get him to suck me off while I set up the sourdough to bulk ferment.
As if on cue, Mitch barges into the kitchen, door swinging wildly behind him with a sweet scent that clings to his heated one. With my gloved hands still covered in dough, all I can do is turn to watch him grab the soap by the sink and run out the rear door like the building’s on fire.
“Okay, then,” I sigh. “Guess I’ll close up the front too.”
It takes me an extra hour to clean up the front of the café and make sure all our receipts from the day are stored away to take to the accountant at the end of the week.
The dizziness has morphed into a throbbing headache, and all I want to do now is fall into bed with my mate and forget that we don’t have our Omega or that we’re getting older or that money is tight.
I lock the back door, then head out the front.
The small flower patch at the front has nearly dropped all its petals.
The wolfsbane has a few flowers still clinging to it, but the rest have been cut back.
We’ll need to get our bulbs soon so they’re ready for spring.
Another thing to put on my to do list for the off season.
I lock the front entrance and take the other door up to our tiny studio.
Mitch stands in our little kitchenette, his tail wagging so hard that his shorts are struggling to stay up all, singing along to whatever music is playing through his earbuds. His fur is still damp in a few places where he couldn’t reach it with the hair dryer.
So he stole my degreaser soap after this morning's escapades. Maybe I wasn’t as thorough as I could have been when I licked all the honey off his dick. Damn, I could have had a bit more of that sweetness to start my day.
“Hey,” he grins as he turns around.
“You ran off quick.”
His ears flatten and he gives me a sheepish look.
It’s not like Mitch to be so quiet. Even after a full day of dealing with customers, he’s always chatty.
He loves relaying the gossip of the day to me while we make dinner and settle in for the night.
The best parts of my day are spent hearing him explain the drama of Hallow’s Cove like it’s some kind of soap opera.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. I’m just feeling a bit worked up, Alpha.”
Alpha.
My cock stirs when he calls me that. Outside of the house, we don’t really use designation titles.
It’s a private, intimate matter for most Wolvens and plays a heavy role in how we live.
Some packs ignore the historical and societal hierarchy of our kind.
For others, like me and Mitch, we play into it more like we would a BDSM lifestyle.
He’s my Beta, the glue to a pack relationship and also the catalyst. A Beta instigates relationships with an Omega after the Alpha’s approval.
His role in our pack is crucial, but more importantly, he’s the love of my life. I couldn’t imagine being without him.
As the Alpha, my job is to be the one who’s got their shit together. Alphas are supposed to be the steady rock in a pack. Right now, I feel anything but strong and dependable.
So while Mitch’s words have an effect on me physically and emotionally, I need a different sort of love right now.
“C’mere, Beta.” I open my arms and he runs right into them.
We bury our snouts into each other’s necks and sigh. Our scents merge and mix like the perfect vanilla cake. He squeezes me, arms struggling to stretch around my thick middle. I try to suck in my gut, but it doesn’t stop the doubt that creeps into my thoughts.
“Don’t get burnt on me now,” he huffs.
“Sorry, sunshine,” I whisper, taking another deep breath against the junction of his neck and shoulder.
“Do you want to talk about it, or you still letting it brew?”
He’s a good partner. The best anyone could ask for, but I don’t have the words to really explain this heaviness settling in me. I press kisses up the side of his neck until I meet his lips. He tastes a bit like blueberries, and I know he’s eaten my last experimental cookie.
“Right now, all I want is to share a meal with my mate and fall asleep in his arms.”
I’m downstairs by 4:30 the next morning, but I’m more tired than usual. Is this what getting old feels like, or is this further proof I’m not taking care of my mental health? It’s probably both, and as Mitch’s mother insisted last Christmas, it’s probably our lack of Omega to balance us out.
She is the most infuriating Alpha I have ever met, and she won’t shut up about us finding our missing pack member. As I knead and beat loaves of sourdough into submission while my croissants are proofing, I keep thinking about those stupid pamphlets.
All those happy, muscle-headed, stereotypical Alphas holding both members of their pack together. It’s such an outdated and Alpha-centric view on packs. My parents had that sort of view, and I can tell you right now, that doesn’t always lead to a happy home life.
Was I looked after as a kid? Yes. Was my parental pack loving and kind to one another? Fuck no. More than once, I caught my pops begging their Alpha and Omega to calm down and not raise their voice. Or worse, my mama throwing her Alpha and Beta from her nest because she couldn’t stand them.
Shouting still makes my hackles rise, and I haven’t spoken to them in years. Every once in a while, my sisters will send a holiday card with the whole family on it. My parents are never standing next to each other.
That’s why when Mitch and I presented and mated, I was clear that I wasn’t going to rush into anything with an Omega or force them into our pack. Whoever they were, the universe would bring them to us when we were ready.
My timer goes off, and I pull trays of pastries out of the oven, firmly shoving any thoughts of my past into a box in the back of my brain. It’s a new day, and this batch of pain au chocolat looks perfect. Golden brown on top, all the layers of pastry telling me that it will be light and crispy.
I organise them onto wooden platters with the other sweet pastries, and I take them through to the dark café.
There is a soft light from the glass-fronted fridge, but not much else.
I put the platters on top of the glass case and flick the lights on, then start arranging today's goodies.
Croissants, cinnamon swirls, and pain au chocolat on one side, sunrise muffins and pistachio babka in the middle, and two pies at the end.
At 5:30 on the dot, I unlock the front door.
Only a handful of locals come around at this time of morning.
Ted, the Bigfoot who owns the diner, always has a coffee while he waits for his daily bun and bread order to be ready.
The town Werewolf has started to come by as well.
He’s a little scarred, a little more quiet than he used to be, according to Lerana, but apparently Jeremy is trying to turn a new leaf after going to some hippie Werewolf retreat in the woods.
Just as I’m about to put on the pot of coffee for the day, someone new stumbles in.
The smell of sweet and tangy blueberries hits my nose, and I nearly spill the grounds all over the floor.
It’s like I can taste sugar-crusted berries with a twist of lemon zest on them without even opening my mouth for a bite.
When I turn around, a stunning human is walking right toward me.
She takes off her bicycle helmet, revealing a messy pair of braids and I’m struck with the realisation.
She’s our Omega.
This short and curvaceous human is ours.
The universe has finally sent her our way.
While my hindbrain has moved south to my quickly swelling knot, my chest tightens with anxiety.
She’s a tourist. What if she doesn’t want us?
Humans don’t always have the same connections that us monsters do, and they certainly don’t have designations like Wolven do.
Around me, the locals are staring at her like they’ve just seen a celebrity. What the fuck is that about? I throw a glare at Ted and Jeremy before I make eye contact with my Omega.
“Morning.” She smiles at me. “Do you have Darjeeling?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. I don’t have a fucking clue what that is, but she sounds just as sweet as she smells. Her low voice is soft and accented, and not from round here whatsoever.
“No,” I grunt, in an effort to stop myself from calling her Omega. Way too forward. I need to control myself. “I can do ya a drip coffee in about five minutes?”