Final year students occupied the building at the back of the campus, and Cole headed through the central green area, checking the time on his phone as he went. He had two unread texts, both from Nick. One wanting to know if he’d set off yet, and the other asking how long he was going to be.
Cole smiled at the screen and rattled off a quick reply.Almost there.
He climbed the steps to the building and followed the corridor until he came to his tutor room. Every Monday morning they spent the first hour with their tutor, addressing any issues that may have come up during the week. Cole knew what the topic of conversation would be today.
The classroom was about half full when he arrived, all human—the shifter students had their own building—but thankfully no sign of Professor Damien.
“About time,” Nick called from over in the back corner. He had a huge grin on his face, practically vibrating in his seat.
It took Cole a second to realise what Nick was so excited about. He needed to remember that not everyone had dreaded today like he had.
“Did yours come?” Nick asked as Cole took the seat next to him.
“Yeah.” He must’ve been broadcasting his feelings because Nick nudged him with his foot. “Come on, it’s not that bad.” He leant in closer and lowered his voice. “You might not even be compatible.”
That forced a huff of laughter out of him. “You sound like my mum.” It soon faded though, and Cole slumped in his seat. It was all right for Nick; he was arty, creative, good with his hands. Could make anything out of wood and metal. Any packs wanting him wouldn’t be that bad.
Cole was good with his hands too, but in a vastly different way.
They’d all done the self-defence courses and the shooting ones. It was a national requirement. Where some of the others had barely scraped through or done okay, Cole had excelled.
These days the degree courses were tailored more to societal needs, the choices often limited, and dependent on test results not only from school, but from the first induction training that everyone had to do.
Cole had gone to uni wanting to study Sports and Geography. He wanted to teach.
His ability to fight—with or without weapons—had nipped that dream in the bud. “Society doesn’t need more PE teachers, Mr Moreton, but it does need specialist soldiers, self-defence instructors, and combat specialists.” The Dean’s words still rang in his head after four years. By ‘society’ he’d meant the London packs. There were a few that were involved with national security in some way, and none of them were particularly appealing. Rumours of forced changes were rife, and Cole shuddered at the thought.
“Settle down, everyone.” Professor Damien strode in, closing the door behind him, and the whole room fell silent.
Cole watched him from the back of the room.
As professors went, Damien was one of the good ones, especially considering he was a shifter. His pack tattoo covered more than half his forearm, on display where his shirt sleeves were rolled up.
“Today is an important day for the majority of you.” He glanced around the room. “Who got letters this morning?”
Over half the class raised their hands, including Cole and Nick. Everyone born in 1997 with birthdays from Decfirst to May thirty-first. The rest would get their letters in December. There was no escape.
Damien’s gaze landed on Cole, and he wondered if he’d imagined the flash of sadness in his eyes. “As per the requirements of this university, we’ll spend the next hour going through what’s expected of you during your compatibility testing and what will likely happen for the four weeks after that.” He glanced at a photograph on his desk and sighed, looking less than happy about the whole thing.
Damien had been human once, before joining the Davidson Pack. Cole had heard the rumours. He’d been forced to leave his home town to come to Richmond and had eventually taken the bite. Cole had no idea if he’d done so voluntarily or had been strongly encouraged to do so. Either way, he’d lost his fiancée because of it and didn’t look happy now.
Cole didn’t want that. Didn’t want to be forced into a life he hated just because a fucking test said he’d make a good shifter.
“So,” Damien said, leaning back against his desk. “Friday...”
Cole rested his chin on his folded arms, heart sinking with every word as Damien went through what would happen to them in the coming month.
Fuck my life.
FRIDAY CAME around way too quickly for Cole’s liking. He hadn’t been ready for this when he received the letter, and he wasn’t now either.
Leaving early to avoid seeing his mum—he couldn’t face her worry on top of his own—Cole decided to walk there instead of getting the Tube. The fresh air would do him good, even if the clear blue sky seemed to be mocking him. The day should be overcast and miserable to match his mood.
He’d been about sixteen when this law had been passed.
People had been excited at the prospect of being transformed into the best version of themselves, knowing that it wouldn’t kill them or have any other nasty side effects. Or that’s how the whole thing had been sold in the beginning. And with the testing, it meant the result was pretty much guaranteed.
The new government had made all sorts of promises: the rebuilding of what was destroyed during the fighting, a better standard of living with job security and a health care system with no delays and equal standard of care wherever you lived.
