Page 27 of Specter Bred

Alvarez barked out a laugh.

"And somehow that didn't discourage you?"

"No, sir. If anything, it felt like progress."

Both instructors stared at me.

"Progress?" Cutter asked.

"Well, before, she just told me to fuck off. Now she's getting creative."

Alvarez rubbed a hand over his face.

"Alright, suit yourself, Hayes. But remember, female alphas, especially that female alpha, are like praying mantises."

"Uh..." I scratched the back of my neck. "Can't say I know much about bugs, sir. Cows, horses, pigs, sure… Bugs, not a thing."

Cutter grinned.

"The female mates with the male."

"Okay..."

"Then she bites his head off and eats him."

I considered that for a moment.

"Well, if that's the case, at least I'd die a happy man."

Cutter doubled over, laughing.

"You're insane, Hayes," Alvarez muttered.

"What?" I asked with a shrug. "Have you seen her?"

Almost on cue, Maeve turned the hallway, fresh from the showers.

Even after weeks of sharing a dorm, the sight nearly short-circuited my brain.

Her dark hair was still wet, brushed back from her face and cascading around her shoulders in damp waves. Beads of water clung to sun-bronzed skin, tracing paths over defined shoulders and powerful arms, before disappearing beneath the edge of a towel wrapped around her.

Maeve wasn't delicate.

The military built her body with ruck marches, obstacle courses, and endless runs. Lean muscle defined every inch of her frame. She had strong shoulders, powerful arms and thick thighs that looked capable of crushing a watermelon.

Or my head.

Maeve looked less like a soldier and more like some ancient warrior goddess.

Most men drooled over omegas with their tiny frames, doe eyes, and soft voices, but not me. I grew up watching my mama run a farm, raise four boys, and scare unruly men into behaving. Strong women were the standard. Maeve Archer was the gold standard.

My mama used to say a woman should be able to carry her own feed sack, and Maeve looked like she could carry mine too.

As she rounded the corner, even Alvarez lost his train of thought. Cutter glanced her way before catching himself staring and looking anywhere else.

I couldn't exactly fault them. Maeve Archer had a habit of walking into a room and making everyone forget what they were doing. Myself included. And while I was doing my absolute best not to stare, I was failing with remarkable consistency.

Cutter glanced toward Maeve. Then he looked back at me.