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No. I can wish for it all I want, but nobody’s coming to save me. Especially not an Alpha. Everyone thinks that Alphas would do anything to protect their Omegas. That they’d rather die than let their beloved feel a moment of pain.
I know now that’s a lie. Grayson proved that to me. Daddy was the exception, not the rule. Alphas are just as selfish as the rest of us—more, even. Because they know they’re strong enough to take whatever they want. Alphas are just predators, no matter how good they smell.
But I refuse to be their prey. These woods are my home turf, my family. Here, I rule.
If they’ve stumbled onto my territory, I can be the hunter. I know how to be careful. I’ll go back to the creek, covering my scent over again. Staying downwind is second nature to me now.
Knowledge is power. They don’t know the forest like I do. It’ll be easy for me to track them, to find out who they are and what supplies they’re carrying.
I can do it without them ever realizing I was there.
I can.
Now, I know what it feels like to have a heat come on. The minute I feel the symptoms, I can come back. I’m stronger now. I’ve survived a heat on my own. And I’ll prove to myself, once and for all, that I’m stronger than my worst instincts.
The clouds part, letting some sunshine filter down to me as I march toward the creek. Sunny, just like I hoped.
This is my lucky day. I’ll use that luck to track down the Alphas intruding on my land. Threatening my home.
And I’ll take everything they’ve got and give them nothing in return.
THREE
—
B R O O K L Y N
Gray-brown mud covers me from head to toe. Even my dark hair got doused, that’s going to be a pain in the ass to wash out.
Thankfully, I keep a spare set of clothes near the edge of my territory. They still smell like the Beta camper that I stole them from, sweaty after her long hike. If I’m lucky, her scent will help neutralize my own.
The sun’s starting to set, bathing the landscape in a soft red light. The shadows from the trees and brush hide me while I hunt. As always, the forest is looking out for me.
My Omega instincts aren’t helping me any. They want me to go faster, to rush toward the Alphas as fast as my legs can carry me. It’s a battle to slow down, to check the wind’s direction every ten steps. My path zigzags as the breeze shifts.
I’ve never scented anything so good in my life. It’s better than the aroma of crusty bread fresh from the oven. Better than a bubble bath with my favorite scented oil. It’s something foreign but familiar and completely intoxicating.
My entire body feels attuned to these Alphas, my nerves electric and sparking. In the back of my mind, I hear whispers from past conversations with Momma. Conversations where she told me one day I might scent-match, like she did with Daddy. That I would know when it was right.
But she was wrong.
Nothing turned out right.
And even though my logical sense is screaming wrong, wrong, wrong, my pulse pounds out a song that fights to contradict it.
I’m playing a dangerous game here, but the prospect of turning back is unbearable.
Wherever this path is leading, I have to follow it.
As I get closer, I realize the Alphas are moving along a rocky creek I know well. Soon, it’ll widen to a rushing river. Good news for me — that means their movements will be predictable. Plus, I can count on the rushing water to cover any noise from my footsteps and cover my scent with the musk of water-drenched earth and sulfur. I can get even closer than I thought, assuming I’m lucky with the wind direction.
It’s getting harder and harder to override my Omega instincts to run right toward them. But I manage, even if I have to dig my nails into my palms to snap myself out of it.
You are not an animal, I remind myself, the words a mantra as I weave through the maze of trees.
Their scents are getting stronger, and I’m able to differentiate them. Now, it’s three Alpha scents, braided into each other. One smells like the forest, one like the sea, one like metal and spices. Primal, elemental scents.
I’m low to the ground, crawling on my hands and feet when I spot them.
