Not once. Not ever. In twenty-five years of existence, through puberty and presentation and every hormone-fueled phase that Alphas are supposed to go through, I have never felt that pull. That spark. That primal recognition that everyone talks about.
My packmates would come back from parties, reeking of Omega scent and satisfaction, bragging about conquests and near-misses and the intoxicating high of the chase. They'd describe it like a drug, like a hunger that could only be satisfied one way.
I smiled and nodded and pretended I understood.
But I didn't.
Not really.
I thought I was defective.
Actually, I was convinced of it. Spent years wondering what was wrong with me, why I couldn't feel what everyone else seemed to feel so effortlessly. Why Omegas' scents were pleasant enough but never overwhelming. Never consuming.Never the all-encompassing need that Alphas were supposed to experience.
Broken. That's what I decided I was. Broken in some fundamental way that couldn't be fixed.
Why else would our pack be sent to this school?
Sure, the scholarship was helpful. More than helpful, actually. It covered tuition, housing, training, everything. A fresh start wrapped in athletic opportunity, presented like a gift rather than what it really was.
A last resort.
Because underneath the official reasons, I knew the truth.
We came here because we're broken. All three of us, in different ways.
Rafe, with his mood swings and his inability to commit to anyone beyond a single night. The revolving door of Omegas who enter his bed and leave his life within hours, never touching whatever wounded thing lives at his core. His father's voice, probably, telling him he's not enough. Never enough.
Cal, with his desperate need to please everyone and his fear of standing alone. The way he folds himself into whatever shape the people around him need, losing pieces of himself with every accommodation. His mother's expectations, maybe, weighing on his shoulders until they're permanently bowed.
And me.
Me, with my silence and my secrets and my apparent inability to want what every Alpha is supposed to want.
An Omega. A pack. A bond.
I'd accepted it, honestly. Made peace with the possibility that I would go through life observing from the outside, watching others find what I never could. Writing stories about love and connection that I'd never experience firsthand.
Pathetic, maybe. But peaceful. A quiet kind of resignation that felt almost like contentment if I squinted hard enough.
And then today happened.
She happened.
I stop walking, tilting my head back to look at the darkening sky. The first stars are beginning to appear, pinpricks of light against the deepening blue.
Her scent.
Mon Dieu, her scent.
Warm vanilla sugar. Frosted rose petals. And underneath it all, a hint of fresh ice that made my blood sing.
It wrapped around me like a promise when I draped my jersey over her shoulders. Settled into my lungs like it belonged there. Made my Alpha instincts, dormant for so long I'd forgotten they existed, wake up and take notice.
Mine.
That was the word that echoed in my head when I looked at her. Standing there in the concessions area, drenched in blue slushie and defiance. So damn beautiful it hurt to look at her.
Mine.
