I rub my thumb against the steering wheel, the repetitive motion keeping me anchored.
"I have never felt a pull from an Omega. To be honest. Not the way other Alphas describe it. Not the instant attraction, the overwhelming need, the biological imperative everyone says is hardwired into us. None of it." I exhale slowly. "I wondered if I was defective. Broken in some fundamental way that I could not fix. I even wondered if maybe I was gay, but I never felt attracted to Alphas either. No Betas. No one."
A bitter half-smile tugs at my lips.
"I just never found the person who lit a flame under me, I guess."
I glance at her, the thought completing itself inside my head without reaching my lips.
Until you.
Mabeline is quiet for a moment, her hand still resting on my knee. Still warm. Still steady.
She does not pull away.
That alone makes my chest ache.
"There is nothing wrong with that," she says softly. "And you should not feel ashamed by any means. Bodies are complicated.Attraction is complicated. The whole pack-bond system is designed to make us feel broken when we do not fit the mold, but the mold itself is flawed."
She shrugs.
"You waited for someone who mattered. That is not defective. That is particular. And there is nothing wrong with being particular about who you share yourself with."
I chuckle lowly, releasing a breath I did not know I was holding.
"Tell that to Rafe."
She rolls her eyes with the full theatrical force of her entire personality.
"Rafe is a jerk with probably a low ego, and that is exactly why he bothers you. Because you project a confidence that he does not have in himself yet. It is easier to tear someone else down than to build yourself up, and he has not figured out how to do the second one."
I blink. Once. Twice. Three times.
"Is that what you see?" I ask quietly. "When you look at him?"
She nods without hesitation.
"I am a very observant individual." Her voice carries a matter-of-fact certainty that leaves no room for argument. "You have to be in the world of figure skating. You cannot just jump into the swing of things or rush to conclusions. You have to observe. Monitor every move and every execution on the ice. Study the way a competitor holds their arms during a spin, the angle of their blade on a landing, the fraction of a second between a triple and a quad rotation."
Her eyes light up as she talks, that guarded distance melting away, replaced by a passion I have only glimpsed in fragments until now.
"That is what makes you not only a better skater but a better performer. Because you can distinguish exactly whatyour competition is doing right or wrong, and you adjust accordingly." She tilts her head. "Same principle applies to people. Watch long enough, and you learn what is real and what is a front."
Observant. Smart. Perceptive enough to read Rafe better in two days than I have managed in two years.
She is remarkable and has absolutely no clue.
I nod slowly, processing her words with the same care I give to lines of prose when I am revising a manuscript.
"That makes a tremendous amount of sense," I admit. "More than most advice I have received in my life."
She smiles, bright and warm, and the sight of it loosens a knot in my chest that has been pulled taut for years.
"Well," she says, leaning back in her seat with a playful tilt to her chin, "I may not tickle your feathers exactly, but I would not mind a date. If the offer still stands."
Does not tickle my feathers.
If only she knew that her mere existence has set every feather I own ablaze.
