Hell Hath No Fury (Nova Falls #1): A Patreon Exclusive Novel ✓

CHAPTER FOUR

Miss Victoria's office was based inside her own home in the heart of the residential area of the compound, and was just as sweet and cloying as the wix herself. With cosy armchairs covered in thick flowery print, faded yellow walls decorated with multiple pastel pictures of landscapes and animals, and the faint scent of fruity herbal tea.

On first glance, the office looked downright cosy and relaxing, the pastels of the walls and décor blending calmingly with the golden-brown wooden floors, but upon closer inspection, the two thick armchairs sitting on the other side of the sleek, wooden desk from Miss Victoria's own armchair were way too bulky for the space. The thick cushions and multiple throw pillows made for an uncomfortable perch especially when one – like Riley and Rowan – was tense.

"Tea?" Miss Victoria offered from her armchair. She, of course, was at home on her own perch, the thick frame of the chair and many cushions seeming more like a small throne than something found in a grandmother's living room.

Neither Rowan nor Riley responded. Miss Victoria eyed them each in turn. Uncaring of their lack of response, she stood gracefully from her seat, moving to the small table pressed against the wall beside her desk holding the kettle and tea things. Her kaftan today was a light pink that matched the interior of her office, with the hems inlaid with gold threads. Her thickly coiled afro was pulled up tight into a bun, golden earrings the shape of leaves dangling from her ears.

She leaned against the tea table as the kettle boiled. "I have to ask, Miss Riley, what do you know about supernatural history in England? Master Rowan?"

When neither of them was inclined to answer, Miss Victoria didn't seem bothered, going on to answer the question herself.

"For generations, four groups of supernatural have existed." She held up four fingers, her thumb pressed to her palm. She dropped her pointer finger. "The vigilantes" - She said this with a disdainful curl of her lip. Rowan didn't look at Riley, but he knew they were both thinking of Grimes – "also known as the people who play by their own rules – appointing themselves judge, jury, and executioner – regardless of how the rest of the supernatural world feels about it." She dropped her middle finger. "The, hm, let's call them the Dangerous – the supernaturals who are constantly on the hunt for immeasurable power, going so far as to steal and strip said power from other supernaturals." Her eyes settled on Riley. "For example, taking the alpha's power from an alpha werewolf, rendering her a beta. Or" - her eyes turned to Rowan – "taking the beta power from a beta werewolf, rending him an omega; an undesignated wolf without a pack, vulnerable and prone to madness."

That's not possible, Rowan thought, secretly horrified. One couldn't just steal the designation from a werewolf, right? Could it be possible? Riley remained expressionless, and the bond thrummed with nothing but calm; they couldn't speak telepathically, but they'd been connected for long enough that Rowan could read what Riley was trying to communicate through the pulses in the bond.

Don't panic, little bro. She's just trying to scare us.

The kettle whistled, and Miss Victoria turned to make her tea, uncaring of the tension slowly rising in the room.

When she returned to her seat, she was stirring the light red liquid in her teacup with a small golden teaspoon, occasionally letting the gold clink onto the sides of the fine china. She set the teaspoon onto the saucer, and took a small sip from her drink.

"Then there are folks like you, unwillingly brought into this new world around them, ignorant of the possible dangers that await and cocky with their newfound abilities. Once, you were only human. Now that you're, well, superhuman, you suddenly think yourself a god." Miss Victoria leaned forward. "What you forget, Miss Riley, is that gods are not infallible."