LUCY
I settle in Zaden, a human city many miles away from Elinox, and even more of those miles away from Virelan.
But before then, I had become something of a tourist, splurging, carefully, some of the money my mother had given me, moving from one city to another—including Elinox—checking the people, their possible alliances, their level of loyalty to the Dominion of Lykara, and my resonance with them.
None suited my needs to remain hidden. None resonated with me like Zaden, one of those developed large cities that seems to have no knowledge of, or possible alliance with, the supernaturals.
The people here are just so… human. And I fit in beautifully.
Having exchanged a gold ring and bracelet in one of the cities I bounced through, I was sort of rich. So the first thing I did when I came into Zaden—despite it being evening—was hunt for an apartment.
Luckily, I found one, courtesy of directions from an old woman who sold cakes right at the entry point between Zaden and the next city.
It was a modest two-bedroom space sitting directly above a coffee shop.
The moment I paid—cash—the landlord grew visibly hesitant. His fingers lingered on the notes a second too long, suspicion flashing in his eyes.
But money makes the world move.
He accepted it with a low murmur, threw me one last assessing glance, then handed me the keys and the signed copy of my contract before quietly leaving the apartment.
Once he was gone, I took my time. I walked through every room. Every corner. Every quiet inch of the space. And with each step, the feeling grew stronger…
Home. I finally felt… home. Settled.
Before the emotion tightening my chest could overwhelm me, I hurried back downstairs to the coffee shop below.
Only when I stepped inside did I realize it was far more than just a coffee shop. The place opened into two warmly blended halves.
On the left was the café and meal area: polished wooden tables spaced comfortably apart, soft pendant lights glowing amber above each one. A long glass display counter showcased pastries, savory pies, and neatly arranged snack trays.
Behind it, an open service window revealed flashes of the kitchen—steam, clinking plates, the rich scent of spices and roasted coffee beans curling through the air.
Then, on the right side sat the bookstore lounge, separated by a waist-high wooden partition lined with potted ivy. Floor-to-ceiling shelves held an eclectic mix of books—some new, some clearly well-loved.
The whole place hummed with quiet life. A steady stream of customers flowed through: students, office workers, couples. Normal people. Human people.
A waiter attended to me almost immediately, polite and efficient. After a hearty dinner—which I admit was delicious even by werewolf standards—I asked to see the owner of the place.
The sign above the counter read: "The Mastro's Corner— Feed Your Mind, Fill Your Belly." It was oddly charming.
After a series of questions, to which I gave lies for all of them, I was hired as a waiter. The pay was not bad, just enough to keep my ruse as a newly admitted student at the local college.
I began the next day. I applied to the college just then too, just in case the bald-headed owner got finicky.
Fortunately, I got accepted at the local college, a stroke of mad luck considering I paid a fellow on the net to doctor my application and high school results.
I surely could not have reached out to my parents, could I?
Of course not.
So, it has been ten months since I settled in Zaden, attending classes and getting to live for myself, by myself, trying to live with the grief of loss. And I've not regretted settling here… until now.
Well, maybe that might be an exaggeration.
But I'm just too exasperated and fed up with the bimbo currently fluttering her lashes with her two friends at table five, who has changed her order three times.
"Ma'am…" My tone is patient, a few feet away from patronizing. "This is what you ordered… I have it in my notepad as a matter of—"
Splash!
The drink she ordered finds a resting place on my red apron, on my blue striped collar shirt, and on my black flat shoes.
I'm too shocked to continue my speech. My ears drone in the sudden silence that swamps the café arm of the establishment, while my mind processes what is happening.
The customer is always right.
I chant it to myself mentally, holding down the urge to slap the bimbo who is smirking at my state.
Her smirk makes her familiar, but I'm too invested in controlling myself to make the connection.
"What is going on here?"
It's Harlen, my colleague, and a good friend of mine. He also attends the local college.
"Oh, here is the errand boy…"
My confusion doubles. Am I missing something here?
Meanwhile, Harlen asks them to leave.
"Be careful what you wish for, boy. We might give the café a one-star rating—"
"You will give it either way." Harlen scoffs and gestures to the door. "Get out. And possibly don't come back. My family doesn't need your change."
Yes. He is the owner's son, and hence where the audacity comes from to walk out customers.
The bimbo tweaks her nose, getting to her feet with her crew. They look at both of us from head to toe like we are fleas, but even with my stained clothing, I do not balk or cower. I stare her down.
She snorts finally. "Stay away from Raymond."
I frown. Who the hell is Raymond?
"Oh my God, she doesn't know him?" one of the bimbo's friends says, disbelief dripping from her voice.
The bimbo's face is something to behold, reddening with anger. "Don't you dare lie about that! He sends you flowers every day…"
Oh. I smile then. Another happening in my life—receiving flowers from an anonymous student while in class. Raymond. Whoever that is. I wonder if that is a prelude to being asked out.
"Is there a law against that?" I ask mildly.
"He is my man! So stay away from him!"
I've not even seen the fellow, bitch. Yet my smile widens. "You should tell him that… or maybe let him be. You shouldn't strap yourself to a man who is done with you."
It's candid advice, if I'm to be honest, but the bimbo does not like it. Because she lunges like a vengeful princess with a shriek.
But Harlen is faster. He grabs her hands and flings them away, annoyance flashing in his eyes.
"Get out! I won't say that again… not as nicely."
The bimbo heaves in and out, sputters, "Fuck you, you've been warned," and storms out of the café.
I laugh when they leave, seeing them as nothing compared to where I come from. If I survived that… I will survive anything.
My smile freezes, however, when the door opens. And he steps in.
I don't even know his name, but he comes in here at the same time every day, since two months ago, orders the same thing, and spends the whole time while he eats watching me.
It is creepy. That and upsetting… gets my nerves all jumbled up.
Worse… I know he is one of them. One of my kind. But because I do not feel threatened in his presence—because I know he is not a Virelan—I always move about my business.
As I do now. Heading toward the staffroom to clean myself up, my steps steady… even though my heart is not.
Why does the goddess create handsome hulks like that?