Chapter Text
Penelope Featherington sat by her bedroom window, staring out at the hazy morning mist that clung to the garden like a possessive lover. The pale sun did little to warm the early spring air, and yet she pressed her forehead to the cool glass, needing the chill against her skin.
Her heart felt too warm. Too restless. Too… unsettled.
Again.
Another morning waking like this. Her skin sensitive. Her pulse quickening at the slightest thought of him.
Colin Bridgerton.
God help her, she was still hopeless over him.
Years had done little to dull the ache. If anything, it had become something worse. A craving she buried under layers of polite smiles, carefully chosen words, and—most importantly—suppressants.
Penelope reached for the small, unlabeled bottle on her vanity. The pills rattled inside, reminding her of every choice she’d made to keep herself hidden. Swallowing one dry, she tilted her head back and shut her eyes.
The bitter taste coated her tongue. It never got easier.
But she needed them. Without them, her scent would betray her. Without them, the entire ton would know what she truly was.
An Omega.
A secret she had held tightly for years.
Her mother didn’t even know. Lord, she couldn’t imagine the hysteria that would follow if Portia Featherington discovered that her youngest daughter—her least marriageable, her plainest, her most overlooked child—was an Omega. The very thing Portia believed only high-born beauties deserved to be.
Penelope had started taking suppressants the moment her first heat threatened to expose her at sixteen. She hadn’t told a soul. Not even Eloise.
Especially not Eloise.
The last thing she needed was another person pitying her… or worse, trying to “help.”
A soft knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.
“Penelope?” came her mother’s voice, strained and impatient. “You’re not still in bed, are you? There’s far too much to do before Lady Danbury’s Full Moon Ball.”
Penelope’s stomach twisted.
The Ball.
Of course.
“I’ll be down shortly, Mama,” she called back, schooling her voice into something light, something obedient.
As her mother’s footsteps retreated, Penelope allowed herself a quiet, bitter laugh.
Lady Danbury’s Full Moon Ball was infamous across the ton. Every season, it coincided with the first full moon of spring—an event where Alphas, Betas, and Omegas mixed more… freely than they did at ordinary society functions.
Ostensibly, it was just another masquerade ball. A place for dancing and music under moonlight.
But everyone knew the truth.
Lady Danbury hosted it because she enjoyed watching the courtship games play out when instincts ran close to the surface. It was the one night when society’s rigid rules softened. When Alphas prowled just a little closer. When Omegas who wanted to be caught… often were.
And when unmated Omegas on the brink of their heats had to tread carefully.
Penelope dragged her fingers through her hair, trying to settle the loose copper waves. Even her hair felt too soft today, too silky. Another warning sign.
She glanced down at her reflection in the small mirror on her vanity. Her cheeks had a permanent flush. Her lips—already too full for her taste—looked even more swollen.
Her suppressants were weakening.
They always did around the full moon, no matter how many she took. The science could only do so much. Nature didn’t like being controlled.
“Just get through the night,” she whispered to herself.
Then, maybe, she could hide for a week. Wait for the lunar pull to fade. Wait for her body to settle again.
Wait until her heart stopped imagining things that could never happen.
Like Colin noticing her.
Like him realizing she wasn’t just Eloise’s shy, forgettable friend.
Like him looking at her with the hunger she sometimes imagined… in her most private, most shameful dreams.
Penelope’s face burned. She covered it with her hands, trying to banish the image of Colin’s hands gripping her hips, his mouth at her throat, his scent filling her lungs.
Stop it.
Those thoughts were dangerous. Especially now.
Especially with how close the full moon was.
⸻
By late afternoon, the Featherington household descended into chaos.
Modistes came and went, fabrics draped over chairs, ribbons and lace scattered everywhere. Even Prudence and Philippa were unusually quiet as dress fittings dragged on.
Penelope stood like a doll on display as Madame Delacroix’s assistants pinned and tucked the lemon-colored silk of her gown.
Lemon. Again.
Of course her mother had chosen the most unflattering color in London.
“I don’t see why you must sulk,” Portia scolded as she paced the room, inspecting her daughters. “This ball is your opportunity, Penelope. Perhaps if you smiled more, stood straighter, and spoke a little less, someone might overlook your… other qualities.”
Penelope bit her tongue.
This was not new. Nor unexpected. But it still hurt.
Her hands clenched in the folds of her skirt.
At least the dress had a low neckline. Fashionable, her mother called it. Scandalous, some would whisper. But for Penelope? It was armor. A distraction.
If men were looking at her décolletage, they might not notice the faint flush creeping up her neck… or the way her scent kept trying to spike.
Suppressants dulled her Omega signature, but they couldn’t erase it completely. Not under this moon. Not with this much stress.
Madame Delacroix seemed to sense it. The modiste’s nostrils flared faintly as she adjusted the bodice, her eyes flickering to Penelope’s throat before darting away.
Penelope prayed no one else noticed.
Especially not Colin.
⸻
That evening, as her carriage rattled toward Lady Danbury’s estate, Penelope sat rigid between her sisters, staring out at the star-streaked sky.
The moon was already high.
Fat. Full. Glowing like a silent witness to her unraveling nerves.
The air inside the carriage felt heavy. Every breath a struggle.
She could already feel the pull… that low, instinctual thrum beneath her skin. As if her body recognized the lunar shift even before she stepped inside the ballroom.
“Perhaps this year will surprise us all,” Prudence muttered beside her, fluffing her skirts. “Maybe one of us will finally attract an Alpha willing to mate.”
Philippa giggled.
Penelope swallowed hard.
The word mate lingered too long in the air, too sharp and intimate.
Her heart pounded as they rolled to a stop at the grand entrance of Danbury House.
Music drifted out through the open doors. Laughter, too loud and loose already for this early in the night. The scent of too many bodies, too many emotions, too much desire—all of it tangled together and spilling into the spring air.
A footman helped her down. Penelope’s slippers touched the stone steps, and the weight of the night settled on her chest like a stone.
Inside, chandeliers glittered overhead. The dance floor gleamed with golden light and silk gowns and dark tailored suits. Everywhere she looked, Alphas prowled the edges of the room, their gazes sharpened by the full moon and the heady perfume of unclaimed Omegas.
Penelope’s breath caught as her eyes found him—almost against her will.
Colin.
Standing near the orchestra, laughing with Benedict and Anthony. His dark green waistcoat brought out the color of his eyes. His smile—boyish and easy—made her stomach flutter in a way she’d never been able to stop.
But tonight… something felt different.
His stance. The set of his jaw. The way his gaze kept drifting across the room… as if searching for something.
Her.
No. Impossible.
Yet when their eyes did meet—just for a flicker of a second—something primal and electric surged between them.
Penelope’s skin prickled.
His gaze lingered. Longer than it should have.
Her knees wobbled.
Colin looked away first, laughing at something Anthony said. But there was a tension to his shoulders now. As if… unsettled.
Penelope pressed a shaky hand to her stomach.
This was dangerous.
She needed to stay hidden. Stay small. Stay away.
For both their sakes.
As the night deepened and the moon rose higher… she feared that might no longer be possible.