And I smile despite the lingering unease twisting in my stomach, despite the inexplicable feeling of being watched, despite the mystery of that origami note they won't explain.
I'm a nobody in the grand scheme of things.
Maybe Kael was right that I'm not particularly special or remarkable or noteworthy compared to other omegas with better connections or wealthier families or more impressive accomplishments.
But to these Alphas—Nash, Theo, and Grayson—I'm someone important.
CHAPTER 31
Protective Vow
~THEODORE~
Reverie squeals—high-pitched and delighted and completely uninhibited—as she tries to run away from Grayson who's practically sprinting across the snow-covered lawn to catch her, his longer legs eating up the distance between them with each powerful stride.
I stand on the covered wraparound porch of Winter Pine Lodge's main building, sheltered from the steadily falling snow by the wide overhang, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of genuine amusement and something darker, more protective, coiling tightly in my gut like a spring wound too tight.
The snow falls in thick, heavy flakes now—much denser than the light dusting from this morning. The blizzard is building slowly but inevitably, exactly as the weather reports predicted. Visibility is decreasing by the hour. Temperature dropping steadily. Wind picking up in intermittent gusts that swirl the falling snow into hypnotic patterns.
But Reverie doesn't seem to care about the deteriorating weather.
She's too busy being absolutely, impossibly fast.
She's surprisingly, impressively, almost shockingly quick. I don't think she realizes just how fast she actually is when she's not overthinking her movements or second-guessing her capabilities. She's darting across the snow-covered ground with natural agility and instinctive evasion patterns that would genuinely make some of my former military teammates jealous.
Her boots—the cute winter ones with fur trim that she bought yesterday—kick up white powder as she runs. Her ponytail swings wildly behind her with each direction change. Her laughter carries clearly across the winter air like bells ringing, pure and joyful and completely unguarded.
She doesn't know her own capabilities. Doesn't realize her own speed or innate athleticism or mental resilience. Years with that pack—with Kael and his manipulative bastards—convinced her she was weak and incapable and fundamentally flawed. Made her believe she couldn't do anything right. But watching her now—moving with natural grace and raw unfiltered joy—proves every single one of their assessments was complete bullshit.
Grayson's gaining on her though, using his significant height and reach advantage. His longer legs eat up the distance with each stride. She glances over her shoulder, sees him closing in rapidly, and squeals again—half delighted, half mock-terrified—before pivoting sharply to the left in an evasive maneuver that would actually be tactically impressive in any combat or pursuit situation.
Natural evasion instincts. Quick decision-making under pressure. Spatial awareness and directional changes. She'd be excellent in tactical training if she ever wanted to pursue that path. Not that I'd ever want to put her in danger. But the capability is there, dormant and untrained.
They're having an epic snowball fight.
Her versus Nash and Grayson in what appears to be full-scale tactical warfare played out in winter wonderland conditions. Apparently mid-storm snowball fights are the perfect outdoor winter activity according to Reverie's enthusiastic declaration this morning over breakfast—the logic being that when the blizzard intensifies to dangerous levels, we can just retreat inside immediately without having to travel any distance from the building.
Sound tactical thinking, actually. Minimize exposure while maximizing enjoyment of conditions.
She's living her absolute best life out there in the snow. Squealing with pure unfiltered joy every time she makes a successful hit. Running with complete abandon like she has zero fear of falling or getting hurt. Packing snow together with her gloved hands—the technique is actually pretty good, compressed enough for aerodynamic flight but not so hard it could cause injury. And throwing those snowballs back at the two Alphas with surprising accuracy considering she probably never had proper training in projectile physics or targeting.
Nash and Grayson have clearly tag-teamed against her—coordinated their attacks, tried to flank her from multiple angles, used classic tactical approaches to overwhelm a single target. Standard pack hunting behavior applied to winter recreation.
And somehow—impossibly, impressively, almost unbelievably—this five-foot-four petite Omega is holding her own against two military-trained Alphas who outweigh her by a combined three hundred pounds, have height advantages, and possess significantly more upper body strength.
She's not just holding her own. She's upping them. Actually beating them at their own tactical game. Nash and Grayson keep exchanging these looks of impressed disbelief every time she nails one of them with a perfectly aimed snowball orevades what should have been an unavoidable capture. They're genuinely struggling to catch her.
She's quick-thinking, adaptable, uses terrain advantages instinctively. Natural combat awareness even if she doesn't realize that's what it is. Her old pack wasted her potential in every possible way. Convinced her she was worthless when she's clearly capable of so much more than they ever acknowledged.
I watch her duck behind a snow-covered bench, use it as temporary cover while she rapidly packs three snowballs in quick succession. Then she pops up and throws all three in different directions within seconds—one at Nash, one at Grayson, one lobbed high to create aerial threat. Nash gets hit in the shoulder, Grayson in the leg, and they both have to dodge the third.
She's laughing so hard she's nearly crying, her face flushed pink from cold and exertion and pure happiness.
This is what she should have been experiencing all along. Joy. Play. Freedom to be herself without judgment or criticism. Her old pack stole years of this from her. Made her afraid to laugh too loud, afraid to take up space, afraid to just exist fully.
And someone from that pack is here now. Watching her. Threatening her. Trying to take away the happiness she's finally allowing herself to feel. Not happening. Not on my watch.
I opted to sit this particular snowball battle out entirely. Not because I don't enjoy the activity—snowball fights were surprisingly common during winter training exercises in various cold-climate locations—but because I needed physical and mental distance right now. Needed space to think clearly. Needed to not be within touching distance of her.
