Rafe, predictably, has a different response.
"Maybe you should have defended yourself," he says, his voice flat. Unapologetic. Utterly infuriating. "Instead of just taking it. Maybe if you had fought back, we would have left you alone."
The audacity.
The absolute fucking audacity of this man.
Did he really just say that? Did he really just blame twelve-year-old me for not defending myself against a pack of Alphas who were bigger, stronger, and more popular than I could ever hope to be? Did he really just suggest that his cruelty was my fault for not magically developing combat skills at age twelve?
I do not say anything.
I just walk toward him.
Slowly. Deliberately. My footsteps soft against the hardwood floor. Watching the confusion flicker across his face as I close the distance between us.
He is easily a foot taller than me, all broad shoulders and muscle and Alpha presence. His cedar smoke scent intensifies as I approach, sharpening with what might be uncertainty.
He does not move. Probably assumes I am going to yell at him. Maybe shove his chest ineffectively. Maybe cry.
I do none of those things.
Instead, without hesitation, I kick him in the balls.
Hard.
With precision that surprises even me.
"FUCK!"
Rafe doubles over with a strangled howl that sounds like a dying animal, his hands flying to his groin, his face contorting into an expression of pure agony. He crumples to the floor like a puppet whose strings have been cut, curling into a fetal position and making sounds that no human being should be capable of producing.
Cal's reaction is immediate and explosive.
He bursts out laughing.
Full, belly-deep, tears-streaming-down-his-face laughter that fills the entire room and probably carries to the neighbors who already complained about noise earlier. He is clutching his stomach, gasping for air, looking at Rafe writhing on the floor with an expression of pure, unadulterated joy.
"Oh my god," he wheezes. "Oh my fucking god. She just... you just..." He cannot even finish the sentence, dissolving into another fit of hysterics that has him nearly falling off the couch.
I turn my glare toward him.
Cal's laughter cuts off like someone flipped a switch. His hands immediately move to cover his own groin in a protective gesture, his amber eyes going wide with sudden terror.
"Yeah, no, fuck that." He holds up his other hand in surrender. "No bullying in class. Got it. Completely understood. Message received loud and clear. I will never say a mean word to you again. Please do not kick me."
I look at Etienne.
He is smiling. Not laughing like Cal was, but genuinely smiling, those storm-blue eyes soft with what looks like admiration. Or maybe respect. Or maybe he is just thoroughly entertained by watching his packmates get put in their place by an Omega half their size.
Either way, his expression clearly communicates that he has no intention of bullying me. Not now. Not ever.
Good enough for now.
I return to my spot in the center of the room while Rafe continues to make dying whale sounds on the floor, clutching himself and occasionally letting out a high-pitched whimper.
"Anyway." I smooth down my shirt like nothing happened. "Rule number three."
"You are insane," Rafe groans from the ground, his voice several octaves higher than usual.
