I've never felt that before. Never understood what the other Alphas meant when they talked about the pull, the need, the all-consuming desire to protect and claim.
I understand it now.
Which is terrifying.
Because Mabeline Mae Rose doesn't look at me and see a potential mate. She looks at me and sees a ghost from her past. Another face in the crowd of people who hurt her.
Can I really blame her?
I think about her appearance. Really think about it, now that I have space and quiet and no angry packmate pacing holes in the floor.
Those hazel eyes, flickering between fear and fury in the locker room. Brown and green and gold, like autumn leaves caught in amber. The way they'd widened when Rafe corneredher, then hardened when she decided to fight back instead of flee.
The soft curves hidden under that borrowed jersey. My jersey. Number 31, with my name stretched across her shoulders like a declaration.
The freckles across her nose that darkened when she blushed. The way her chestnut hair had escaped its messy bun, curling around her face in damp tendrils. The plush lips that had pressed together in determination when Vanessa tried to humiliate her.
She's beautiful. Objectively, undeniably beautiful. The kind of beauty that's earned through survival rather than genetics. Soft and sharp at the same time, like a rose with thorns you don't notice until they draw blood.
But it's not her beauty that captivates me.
It's her spine.
The way she didn't back down from Rafe, even when he was towering over her, naked and growling and radiating enough Alpha energy to make most Omegas submit on instinct. She'd lifted her chin. Met his eyes. Called him "Captain Naked" like she wasn't even slightly impressed.
Brave.
Or reckless.
Maybe both.
I resume walking, my thoughts spiraling.
I can tell she's been hurt. It's there in the way she holds herself, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. The way her shoulders stay tense even when she's trying to appear relaxed. The flinch she tried to hide when Vanessa's name came up.
The shadows that pass across her face when she thinks no one is watching.
What kind of bullying did she go through?
I know what Rafe and Cal were like as kids. They've told me, in bits and pieces over the years of our reluctant friendship. Late-night confessions fueled by exhaustion and the strange intimacy of hotel rooms on away games.
The pranks that went too far. The nicknames that stuck like brands. The casual cruelty that children are capable of when they haven't yet learned empathy.
Nerdy MaeBell, go to hell.
That's what they used to chant. Rafe admitted it once, his voice rough with something that might have been shame. An entire classroom of kids, following his lead because he was the golden boy even then.
They're different now. Or at least, they're trying to be.
Rafe channels his aggression into hockey, into being the best captain the team has ever seen. Cal uses his need for approval to help others, tutoring struggling students and volunteering for every charity the school offers.
They're assholes, yes. But they've laid off on bullying.Especially bullying women.Especially bullying Omegas.
These days, they're more interested in fucking them and moving on than emotionally tearing them down.
Which isn't exactly better, but at least it's not the same.
Me?
