#upir

Roman's thick, sticky cock dragged into me over and over, his girth stretching me out in the most addicting way possible; his thrusts were harsh, each one making a squelching sound that made me even more delirious, and it didn't help that they were paired up with low, groan-like moans from his end. His perfect brown hair was kissing his forehead as he moved, glistening with a thin layer of sweat that I couldn't help but want to lick off of him, and he grinned down at me with that infuriating smirk-- but this time, it didn't annoy me; it only made my lower abdomen coil tighter, unable to push back the reality that he was ridiculously handsome.

"My pretty girl," he cooed, the tip of his cock pressing kisses to my g-spot, making me pant and whimper. "Such a good-- fucking girl for me, yeah? Taking your alpha's cock so well... Just a little-- more, okay? Gonna soothe you, gonna fuck you through your heat, gonna-- gonna help my pretty girl out."

For once, Roman wanting to be helpful was actually paying off. My skin flushed with goosebumps at the sound of his words, my toes curled with his next thrust, and I couldn't hold back the high whimper of a moan that left me when he drove his cock all the way in once more, pressing the tip hard against my sweet spot-- my eyes rolled back as I let out a relieved, shaky breath, now squeezing my lids shut to savour the way the press of his cock soothed the pain of the heat that seemed to relent through every position, every minute, every hour, every sensation, and every moan. 

"A-Alpha," I cried, before my hands went up to coil softly into Roman's hair, pulling him closer, pulling my chest to his. My nipples hardened at the contact, and that sent yet another shiver through my body-- then, with one more snap of his hips, one more harsh thrust of his thick, wet cock, Roman...

Roman kissed me. 

I whimpered against his soft lips as he fucked me harder, the hair on the back of his neck stiffening at the pleasure of the kiss, and I felt the shiver running down his spine; he liked this. He liked kissing me. He loved kissing me. With slanted, wet lips, he pressed into mine with loving pressure, and the feeling drew out a guttural moan from him, and a needy one from me.

Roman let go of my knees, guiding my legs to wrap around his waist before his arms, in turn, wrapped around me and pulled me closer, melting into the kiss as his cock snapped into me over and over, over and over, filling me up the way I needed him, the angle now allowing for my clit to brush up against his pubic bone, and I clenched around his girth as I snaked my arms around his neck, letting myself get fucked into the mattress in the way I had dreamed of all my life.

"A-Aah--" I was barely coherent, too delirious about the spot the tip of his dick was pressing inside of me again and again. It was a sharp, warm pleasure that made my legs give into a shake, and I clung to Roman, my alpha, like I was afraid I was gonna fall apart.

Roman moaned; I must've clenched a little harder around his thick cock, and his ears perked up in the most endearing way-- I was close enough to lick the shell, so I did, earning another shaky moan followed by a grunt, and a particularly hard thrust that made the bed give out a sound that didn't leave much up to the imagination. 

We were breaking my fucking bed, but it only seemed to turn him on more. Roman grabbed a fistful of my hair, roughly tugging my head back, earning a whimpery moan as I squeezed my eyes shut, loving the rush. "Listen," he growled into my ear, his girthy cock filling me over and over to the point where I started drooling-- he caught it with his thumb, rubbing it into my chin. "You wanna do good for your alpha?"

"Yes-- yes," I cried, the line between pleasure and exhaustion finally blurring and melting into his touch.

"I can smell how close you are," Roman purred. "You smell so fucking sweet. I can feel that you're close, so you're gonna cum for me, yeah?"

I nodded, mindless and delirious-- I loved that he found my scent sweet. I loved it, I loved it, I loved it. I never allowed myself that thought in real life, but I fucking did. Oh, how I did. At the promise of another orgasm, however, I felt my body go limp with relief; I smiled up at Roman, pulling him in for another euphoric kiss, enjoying the little I had left of these needy kisses. 

He sensed the way I had surrendered my body to him and kissed me back with breathy little praises, now taking the freedom to handle me whatever way he wanted; Roman leaned even more forward, forcing my legs to spread wide open, making me whine out in shock. 

"Alpha's gonna make you cum," he cooed. "Gonna take good care of my omega, okay? Gonna-- fill you up real good. You want alpha's cum? Want alpha's knot?"

I found myself saying yes, yes, yes, over and over against his soft lips, and the promise of feeling his knot swell inside me had me clutching onto him even harder-- there was nothing I wanted more. I wanted every drop of him inside of me, wanted the warmth to soothe the ache that had gotten me into this heat in the first place. 

Roman let out a breathy moan that told me everything I needed to know; he was close, and so was I. My abs were already clenching with my impending orgasm, body locking up beneath his, that coil in my lower abdomen coiling tighter and tighter-- that's when Roman gripped the headboard and slammed, slammed, slammed, grip tightening so hard against the wood that it cracked, letting a string of pleasured grunts fill the room along with my moans.

I held onto him so tight that my nails left crescent-shaped moons into his back, not wanting to let go, wanting to prolong the moment, wanting him as close as possible as to not waste any drops of warm, perfect cum; I clenched around Roman's thick, twitching cock, feeling myself tip over the edge, feeling my whole body tighten, about to soothe the heat, about to be filled with love, love, all the love I had for Roman, for my alpha, and--

And--

Wait, no, no, wait, was I seriously?-- oh, God, no, I was waking up, wasn't I?!

With a loud cry, I awoke, body spasming and keening up into the air, searching for the body that had just been above me-- I felt like I was still just on the edge, just about to cum, and as I brought my hands down to my clit, rubbing it as quickly as I could, feeling pleasure shooting up into my spine, I let out a genuine sob as I realized it wasn't going to work. 

With a groan, I gave up, swearing loudly as I flipped around, now screaming into my pillow-- how was I supposed to go to school now?! Was I just going to be horny like this for the rest of the day?!

When I calmed down after a good five minutes, with tears drying on my cheeks, I immediately felt the headache that made me remember the ball I had gotten to my head yesterday; it still felt like someone had banged my head against a wall repeatedly, so I rubbed my temples and sat up in my bed with a groan. The more I moved, however, the more I realised how... wet I was. I groaned again at how sticky I was, feeling how my inner thighs were covered in my own slick; just to top it off, now the spot I was sitting on felt wet and cold and icky. Just perfect.

And just as I got ready to get up, an alarming sound came from outside, startling me.

Waking up this way sucked, obviously-- but nothing sucked more than being scared shitless by the shrill sound suddenly coming from my driveway. What was that? Was it an alarm? Was someone trying to steal my car or something? 

Groggy as ever, wet and grumpy, I trodded out of bed and approached my bedroom window, rubbing my head as I tried to find what the sound was and why it kept going. Seriously, was someone breaking into my car, or?--

Oh, there was no fucking way. 

My heart slammed into my ribs so hard that any human could've heard it. 

Roman Godfrey was parked in my driveway like he had been dropped there by a boy-band casting director with a very cruel sense of timing.

His blood-red Jaguar had been lazily parked in my driveway, just a smidge away from ruining the windshield on my car, just a centimetre away from making an indent, but he didn't care; Roman's sunroof was wide open, letting the morning light pour straight down onto him like he was about to start floating toward the sky with ridiculous angel music playing. He had sunglasses on, obviously-- dark lenses, stupidly flattering, the kind that made him look like he had stepped straight out of a music video where his role was to be the annoying bad boy flirting with me at seven in the morning. One of his long arms rested on the steering wheel, and the other was draped along the passenger seat, elbow hooked casually over the edge like he did this every day. Did he, perhaps? I knew he had a habit of picking up cheerleaders. 

And then--like the universe was actively mocking me more than it already did on a daily basis--he tipped his head back.

Right up at my window.

Roman's grin split wide the second he saw me, like he had been waiting for the exact second I'd look; he definitely timed this with the slamming thump of my heart. He lifted his hand from the sunroof and gave a lazy little wave, fingers loose, wrist relaxed.

"Oh, there she is!" he called, loud and unapologetic, voice bouncing off the quiet street like he was announcing me to the entire neighborhood. "Morning, sunshine!"

I recoiled from the window like it had burned me and hid from view-- what the hell was going on?!

My heart lodged itself somewhere between my throat and my ears, pulse skidding wildly, and I slapped a hand over my mouth like that might stop him from existing. Jesus Christ. He was yelling for everyone to hear. He was here.

"Roman!" I hissed, even though there was no chance he could hear me from where I was hiding next to the window, back pressed to the wall as I nervously tried wiping the slick on my thighs away. "What the hell?!"

As if in direct response, he leaned farther out of the car, craning his neck, sunglasses slipping just low enough that there was a flash of green beneath them. "I said--" he cupped his hands around his mouth, absolutely shameless, "Good morning!"

Oh my God. This couldn't be more mortifying. First the sex dream, and now this? I peeked from around the corner, aware of my bedhead, aware of the state of my person, hissing as my cheeks flared bright red; "What are you doing?!"

Roman tapped the folded roof of his car twice, faux innocent as ever. "I'm picking you up, sunshine!"

"I did not agree to this!"

"Well... yeah. Didn't run it past you, so you had no opportunity to disagree. Hence, I have a green light!" Proud of his stupid rapist-logic, Roman straightened in his seat, draping one arm casually over the steering wheel with that stupid grin still on display, looking entirely too comfortable for someone ambushing me at this hour. "C'mon," he added, voice dropping just a touch, smooth and coaxing even from this distance. "I promised I'd behave. This is me being nice!"

I could only grimace. At least this would save me this morning's gas? 

Roman smirked, victorious, and leaned back again, utterly pleased with himself. "Take your time," he called up. "I'll be right here!" He gave me another little wave-- and then, just to be a menace, he added, "Don't make me come knock, by the way. You know I will."

I yanked the curtain shut so hard it rattled. Standing there for a second with my back against the wall, breathing as if I had just sprinted a mile, I pressed one hand flat to my chest as if I could physically shove my heart back where it belonged.

Get it together.

This was Roman. Annoying, smug, bratty, insufferable, loser Roman-- not the version my subconscious had apparently decided to audition overnight. Not the alpha upir who fucked me through my heat and kissed me like he wanted to be tethered to me forever as my mate. Nope, no, no. 

Christ, if I really focused, I could still feel the way his cock filled me up over and over-- it made me shiver. I glanced at the bed, headboard still intact, and sighed. I just had to get through this day somehow. 

I dragged myself away from the window, muttering threats under my breath as I threw on the first vaguely acceptable outfit I could find, shoved my feet into shoes without sitting down, hurriedly put on some mascara and blush, and ran a brush through my hair like it would magically erase the fact that I felt seen in a way that made my skin buzz. No one had ever picked me up before, not like this. What shocked me, however, was that when I glanced at the clock, I realized Roman had come on time to make it to school. He was notoriously late, and now this? I hated the way it made me feel. I hated the way it amplified the coiling feeling in my gut from the dream, the feeling that had been soothed over and over by the tip of his cock. How was it possible to miss sex that I hadn't had with someone? Just my luck. 

The next thing I knew, I was slumping down into the passenger seat of Roman's car.

Luxurious leather met my back, cool and smooth, and I let my head fall against the headrest with a long, defeated sigh, like he was driving me to detention I didn't deserve. The door shut with a solid thunk, sealing me in, and something about that sound made my shoulders tense.

God, that dream tonight had really fucked me over in more ways than one. Could he smell it on me?

Roman glanced over at me, one hand still on the steering wheel, the other draped casually along my seat, posture infuriatingly relaxed. He didn't say anything at first-- he just looked at me, mouth twitching like he was holding back a comment.

I kept my eyes fixed on sky; if I looked at him, I knew I'd be done for.

"Wow," he eventually said, amused and low. "Quite the greeting I get, hm?"

Was it not obvious to him that this wasn't ideal? Maybe it was. He most likely didn't give a shit, though. "You're loud," I huffed, "and it's early. On top of that, I had a really bad night of sleep, and now you're sitting in my driveway like you're filming a music video."

Roman's grin widened. "I'll take the compliment."

I scoffed and shifted in the seat, tugging my jacket closer around myself, painfully aware of how close he was now, how good he smelled, and how the dream I was desperately trying not to think about had left my nerves stretched thin and jumpy. I shot him a look, quick and suspicious, as my mind reminded me of the way he had kissed me in said dream; I wondered whether my head had gotten the look of his dick right, and-- wait, why was I wondering this?! 

Roman caught the way I zoned out. "Why do you look like that?"

"Like what?" I shot forth, heart in my throat.

"Like... that." Roman's eyes narrowed as though that would give him a closer look. Did he have some sort of astigmatism, perhaps? He'd definitely be the type to refuse glasses, and yep, yeah, there I go again. Why was I so curious about him? Seriously, why had that dream cursed me?! Maybe I was concussed from yesterday?

I shrugged, trying to act casual; "You woke me up by honking me awake. Don't expect me to jump out of bed all cheery, looking like Brooke Shields in a jeans commercial."

Roman studied me for another second, green eyes sharp and knowing, like he was cataloguing every strange detail and filing it away for later. Then, to my immense relief, he didn't push; instead, he reached forward, started the car properly, and flicked the music on. It was some... Russian song? I didn't mind. It was fine. Not aggressive like I'd expected. I'd rather he put on some Radiohead, though, so I'd know his favourite songs, for... no reason, of course.

He proceeded to pull out of the driveway like this was normal, like he hadn't just upended my entire morning. As we rolled onto the road, Roman glanced over at me again. "For what it's worth," he said casually, "you look just fine."

Huh? "Just fine?"

Roman shrugged, one shoulder lifting. "Dunno. Don't overthink it."

My lungs felt tight for a reason I refused to examine. I stared out the window, watching the street roll past, pretending my pulse hadn't picked up again. "You're a weird one," I muttered.

He smiled, just faintly, like he hadn't meant to--but didn't disagree either--and turned up the Russian music up a notch as the car picked up speed.

And that was... it. No lingering looks, no teasing follow-up, no nasty comments, which somehow made it worse.

I sank a little lower into the seat, heart annoyingly unsteady, realizing with a quiet dread that Roman Godfrey saying things like that without thinking about them, and meaning them, might be far more dangerous for me than anything else he'd done so far.

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It felt weird to feel full; my hunger for blood wasn't ravaging me like it had just a few days ago, but my hunger for real food, human food? That had revived, stood up from the bed like Jesus on the third or fourth or whatever day it was he crawled out of that cave like Michael Bublé in December.

My life was filled with many oddities, many of which were gruesome, many of which I tolerated-- what I did not tolerate, however, was what had happened this morning. First the sex dream, and then Roman picking me up? Looking like... that? 

I blinked hard, grounding myself, and stepped forward when the line moved.

Get food. Eat. Normal person things. Stop thinking about his stupid, stupid, stupid hair. 

This was all because of that dream, I knew that, and I hated it. Seriously, how bad was my timing? My thoughts were racing through the images that were left in my brain as the cafeteria got louder and louder-- Roman's cock pumping in and out of me, in and out, covered in my slick. In and out, in and out, as he moaned and grabbed my knees harder, wanting to get as deep into me as possible, wanted to fuck me as properly as possible, and the way I fucking drooled from the pleasure, I--

"Move it!" came a voice from behind.

To my shock, it made me jump; usually, I'd just have turned around and barked something offensive because I could smell their scent from miles away, but now? I was too deep in these nasty fucking thoughts to realize how close that person had been to me. I was disgusting. I was just as disgusting as Roman, now, and probably worse. Here I was, thinking it couldn't get worse, but oh well. I had never gotten what I wanted, anyway. 

Too many voices stacked on top of one another as I moved along the cafeteria line, my tray scraping as chairs shrieked against tile, and the smell of grease and sugar and something burnt hung thick in the air. I stared at nothing in particular, brain still half-stuck somewhere else as I pondered when Letha would come and join me for lunch. I had to tell her about Roman picking me up; she'd eat that shit up and whine about how he never picked her up without her asking first. 

When I reached the grumpy cafeteria lady, my fingers fumbled with my card as I reached the register, the plastic somewhat slick between my thumb and forefinger; odd. I could still feel remnants of Roman's body on mine whenever I moved, even when I tried not to-- the phantom heat, the memory of a body too close, a mouth at my throat that had no business being there except during a hunt. I swallowed, irritated at myself, and held the card out.

But before I could tap it--

Another card slid in front of mine.

Black, minimalistic, and definitely not mine.

I froze as the terminal beeped once, cheerful and final, and the grumpy lady nodded, already reaching for my tray. 

"Um?--" I started, then stopped, because of course.

Roman's hand was still there, withdrawing his card like this was the most natural thing in the world. He didn't look at me at first, just accepted his receipt with a distracted hum, shifting his weight like he hadn't just paid for my lunch.

"Roman!" I hissed, turning to him. "What are you doing?"

He glanced over then, eyebrows lifting slightly, like he had only just noticed me standing there-- smooth fucker. "Paying."

"I was paying!"

Roman smiled-- small, easy, and irritatingly pleased with himself. "Not today, you aren't."

"You've got to be kidding me!" I huffed; I'd have flailed my arms, had they been free. "Seriously, stop it, just-- move!"

Roman's grin sharpened. "Make me." As he watched my eyes widen with shock at his audacity, he shifted, and suddenly he was a fraction too close-- just enough that I felt him before I registered the movement. One hand braced casually against the counter beside me, now barricading me into a ridiculous half-halo of alpha pheromones. "Or, y'know, at least try. Could be fun."

There it was again-- the phantom press of him against me, the memory of his grip, the echo of that stupid dream like someone had smuggled it under my ribs. My pulse kicked embarrassingly, and my breath went somewhere strange, snagging halfway up my throat like it had gotten stuck on the word alpha that I had not, under any circumstances, asked to be thinking about.

I tried--really tried--to bark something back, but all I could say was; "Oh, you... you!-- ugh, you... you."

And then nothing. 

Just... nothing. It stopped there.

Fucking pathetic. 

Roman noticed everything when it benefited him, so this? Of course he noticed this. His head tilted, slow and assessing, the way upirs do when they're deciding whether or not to pounce, before his grin widened into eerily handsome grounds. "Huh," he murmured, voice dropping low enough that I felt it more than I heard it. 

"What?" I bit back, finally finding my words despite how my heart thudded.

"Nothing," Roman purred. "Have a nice lunch."

Like nothing had happened, he slid into the crowd like the cafeteria had parted for him on instinct, a ripple of attention trailing behind him like glitter in water. A couple of girls at a nearby table tracked him with their eyes, whispering something about his hair, as always. Ugh.

My pulse was doing somersaults at how horribly that whole interaction had gone. I had never been tongue-tied like that before; it was beyond humiliating. I felt like I was about to vomit or spontaneously combust, whichever came first, until--

"Okay, what the hell was that?"

Letha's voice sliced in from behind me, and I jolted so hard I nearly dropped my tray; I had sensed her coming toward me about three seconds ago, but I hadn't expected the volume of her query. She blinked at me like I had just told her I had stolen her favourite pair of heels, yet with an inkling of her being proud of me for showing interest in shoes in the first place. 

"It's nothing," I croaked, which would've been more convincing if my eyes weren't still darting around like a prey animal waiting for the hunter to return. 

Letha giggled at that, her mouth curling around her words like a cat toying with a mouse; "It didn't look like nothing," she sing-songed. "What did I miss?"

I really didn't want to deal with this right now. "My morning headache," I huffed. "Your cousin is brain damaged, do you know that?"

"I'm faintly aware, sure," Letha snorted, gleefully unconvinced. "But seriously, what was that? You looked like you were about to eat Roman alive, or-- he was about to eat you. Honestly, hard to tell with you two."

I forced a laugh that sounded like it might've been manufactured in a creepy basement. "You're being weird. Seriously, stop it."

Letha opened her mouth--probably to pry like the nosy little demon she was--but then her eyes flicked over my shoulder and lit up like someone had plugged her directly into a power socket. "Wait, oh my God-- Jacob!"

I barely had time to react before she smoothed down her hair, straightened her top, and practically launched herself past me like she'd been shot out of a cannon. I caught a glimpse of Jacob--broad shoulders, varsity jacket, stupidly symmetrical face on display--as Letha ran to join him at his side, voice bubbling. 

I sighed, watching how ridiculous my best friend looked chasing after some man who didn't really pay her any mind. I didn't want Roman to make me look like that, especially with how he was hovering around me today; it had to be avoided at all costs.

Wasn't he an avoidant, though? This should be easy.

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Um... apparently not.

And apparently, Roman's nice-act was as unrelenting as his arrogance, because I woke up to the same sound in my driveway the next day, with yet another high-pitched whistle coming from my driveway all over again. I had hoped to avoid that stupid, smug whistling that only Roman would weaponize as a mating call or whatever the hell he thought he was doing, but alas-- why was he here again?!

I nearly tore my curtains off the rod yanking them open.

There he was, slouched in his car with a manspread, one hand draped over the wheel, looking up at me with a grin that had no right to be that pretty at seven forty-two in the morning. Seriously, it wasn't even a compliment, but more of a morbid shock. He had no shame, clearly.

Roman's wiggled his fingers in a wave, and that's when I felt my head was about to explode-- enough was enough. I clenched my fingers around the curtains, grinding my teeth as I did my best to speak calmly from above; "Roman, you--" Another deep breath. "You can't be serious!"

"Sure can!" With a warm, condescending laugh, Roman adjusted in his seat to get a better view of the state of me. "Morning, sunshine!"

"Stop calling me that!" 

Roman just chuckled at that, tipping his head back against the leather like he was sunbathing in the attention and glory of getting me angry. He reached up to the sunroof and flicked something off the edge--crumbs? ash? God forbid confetti?--and then looked back up at me like I was the punchline to a joke only he understood. "I'll workshop a new nickname," he called, totally unfazed. "Although I think this one suits you. 'Cause you're such a ray of light, am I right? Never bitchy or judgy. So happy and joyous, like, all the time."

My fist curled in the curtain. "You're threading on really thin ice, are you aware?--"

"Which is odd, 'cause here I am, trying to be nice." He pointed lazily up at me, grin widening. "It would be awfully rude of you to disregard my attempts, y'know? I have to get your trust back after knocking you out straight, so here I am, picking you up. Let me, ma'am."

I could feel my pulse in my gums; was he aware of how irritating he was? Why did he have to remind me about how he had overpowered me? "Roman," I hissed, leaning more out of the window now, just in case he couldn't hear the annoyance dripping off my every word. "I can drive myself to school. Can you leave me alone, now?"

Roman hummed like he had to think about it-- had to, like this wasn't premeditated down to the millisecond. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Well... I could, technically. But you went and threatened to split up the pack, so you kind of gave me no choice."

"That's!--"

"--Because," he steamrolled right over me, voice dipping into something smoother, warmer, goddamn smoky, "you were right. We do have to kind of tolerate each other for this to really work, so go get ready, and put on some proper clothes. I can see your nipples through your shirt, y'know."

With a loud squeak of horror, I covered my chest and ducked out of sight, falling to the floor with a thud-- this was more horrifying than anything else that could've happened in this scenario. I would've rather he shot me, or something. 

And that was when I heard it from below the window; first a snort, then a full-bodied wheeze, the kind of laugh that ripped out of him like he had been holding it in just to let it explode at the right moment. It was mean, delighted, and painfully Roman to the point of cruelty.

"Hah!" he wheezed, the car creaking when he slapped the door. "You should've seen your face! That was too fucking easy!" 

My brain short-circuited. Embarrassment detonated behind my eyes like a flashbang grenade as the realization hit me. Slowly--slowly--I crawled up just enough to glare over the windowsill. "Asshole!" I barked.

Roman waved a hand, still breathless. "Relax! If I start reaching, I can say I saw just the outline, but-- hah!" He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, grin still splitting his mouth. "Highlight of my fucking morning!"

"That wasn't funny!" I barked, balling my fists. "You're not as funny as you think you are! You're like a dumb gorilla on a good day, you imbecile!"

With a knowing glance back at me, his laughter died out as he forced himself to sigh to calm down. "And that wasn't as good of an insult as you think it was," Roman said as he slid his arm along the rolled-down window, the grinning image of nonchalance and cocky arrogance. "A gorilla is the king of the jungle. You're basically calling me a king."

"How did you?!-- How did you manage to spin it like that?" Why couldn't I have moved to another state? Why did it have to be this one, where this moron resided and owned the whole fucking town? "Ugh, fuck it. I'll be down in ten, okay? And possibly with a gun." 

Roman grinned at that; "To shoot me?"

"Yes, to shoot you!" The mental picture of a bullet going straight through his forehead soothed a part of me I liked to stroke. "My dad isn't here to do it for me, so it seems I have to be the one to get you off my property with a firearm!" Actually, my dad would've torn him to shreds with his teeth, but I didn't care to go into the details.

With a hearty laugh, Roman put on his sunglasses, the same as the ones from yesterday, and waved his hand at me as to dismiss my threats. "You have ten minutes, sunshine!"

Ugh. 

At least car ride to school was oddly chill.

Roman put on the same Russian song as yesterday. I glanced at the title and nodded as though I could read Cyrillic-- this song got my seal of approval. It was the only thing currently soothing me, along with the mental image of Roman getting torn apart like pulled pork. 

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Thump, thump, thump.

Vodka was easier to swallow than this being my reality.

Thump, thump, thump.

Oh, how I missed alcohol.

Thump, thump, thump.

I missed my old pack, too. My friends. My family. The rhythmic thumping of Mrs. Rutherford's heart sounded through my usual hideout spot behind some shelves as I leaned my head against them, eyes closed, trying to match my heartbeat with hers; it was slow, heavy. I felt it for the first time, the true weight of it. I suppose a heart gets heavy after a long life of culminating sadness.

The more the dream from yesterday with Roman played through my mind, the more it hurt me. The more it reminded me of the real deal, back when I'd had it with my previous alpha, back when... it had all gone wrong. It pained me that my dream-sex with Roman had been so good, and that I still remembered it so clearly, because it had been easier to abstain when my real-life experience was so shitty. It had been easier to be alone when I truly thought I'd be better off alone, that there wasn't anything for me in intimacy, that it was something that'd only make the man feel good, anyway. I had never had any interest in being a hole for anybody to use or abuse. I'd never had any interest in lying down and baring through something like that, just to do it for another person. No, that was never going to be me. It was beneath me, frankly. I couldn't. I would die. I would simply cease to exist, and my worth, the little I felt I had left, would diminish to the point of no-return, if I had sex again.

But now that it had felt... good?

Albeit in a dream, of course, but... now that I felt the phantom pleasure coursed through my body, through my lower regions, through my inner thighs, shooting the memory through every endorphin that lived in my brain, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd like it in real life once more. I wanted to scrub myself free of the image of Roman on top of me, kissing me, not fucking me just to fuck, but to soothe me, to make me feel good, to help me through my heat-- the worst part of it all, was how loved I had felt in the dream. How engulfed by alpha pheromones I had been, which was the most addicting feeling known to any omega. 

It hadn't felt like that with him.

It had just been... blindingly painful.

Just the memory of it had me shuddering against the shelves, my brows drawing together in hopes of invoking anger in my chest instead of the incoming bubbling sadness. 

This morning with Roman had definitely thrown my nerves into a box and shook them with high intensity; I hated that he was suddenly always around. I hated that he showed up in my dreams, the cafeteria, in my fucking front yard. When would it end? 

Thump, thump, thump.

Oh, well.

Thump, thump, thump.

Maybe another hunt would cheer me up?

Thump, thump, thump.

It definitely would, wouldn't it?--

"You bitch!"

The word cracked across the aisle like a whip, loud enough to snap Mrs. Rutherford's heartbeat off its rhythm for half a second. My eyes snapped open, and the phantom warmth of Roman's dream-mouth evaporated, replaced by a cold, metallic spike behind my ribs.

Brooke.

Of course.

She stood at the end of the shelf like she'd been conjured there, flanked by two of her orbiting satellites-- some girls with glossy ponytails and bitten-sharp smiles, the kind who never moved alone. Brooke's brown hair was scraped back into that signature ponytail so tight it looked like an odd facelift, and her eyes were lined in glitter and something... oddly blotchy?

Didn't matter; she looked at me like I had personally dragged her out of hell by her ankles.

I straightened, pushing off the shelf. I hadn't planned on dealing with other nuisances today, but it seemed that life loved to throw me these curveballs. "Good morning to you, too."

Brooke scoffed like the air I breathed offended her. "Don't play stupid with me!"

"I'm not," I replied, dead-eyed. "Couldn't play stupid even if I tried."

One of her friends snorted. Brooke didn't.

Instead, she stalked closer, heels clicking against the old laminate, heartbeat speeding up in my ears like a warning siren--thump-thump-thump--not slow and heavy like Mrs. Rutherford's, but sharp and erratic, fuelled by anger and adrenaline. 

Brooke jabbed a finger into my chest, and I bit my teeth together to make sure they wouldn't pop out and pierce her neck. "You messed with me," she hissed, "in the bathroom that day. Don't bother denying it."

My eye twitched as I fought to keep my face neutral. Brooke technically shouldn't remember my presence from that day at all, when I had made her bark and cum on the spot for calling me a freak, but alas; maybe I hadn't wiped the image of me there completely, somehow. Maybe I had gotten sloppy, or--

Wait, was I getting sloppy?!

I cleared my throat, forcing myself to look confused. "Okay, let's take it slow, alright? I don't know what you think happened, but--"

"Oh, save it," Brooke snarled. "I remember you! You were covering up some hickeys on your neck, which I remember because I thought it was odd you had any in the first place, and the next moment, I was!--" She couldn't even say the word, couldn't voice it out loud. 

At that, I bit down on my lips, hoping to stop the way they curled; it didn't prevent anything, though. I felt the corners of my mouth point upward in a rather sinister look. "What?" I said. "I heard the rumour of course, but are you confirming that you, like... came? In the bathroom, in front of those lacrosse girls?"

For a beat, Brooke froze. Her brown eyes went impossibly wide and glossy, and her breath left her body in a hard, involuntary gasp that stuttered in her throat like she had been struck. Her hand flew to her mouth like she was trying to hold herself together physically, because her dignity had already shattered on the tile floor between us.

And then, to my shock, the bitch moved.

Brooke lunged at me, her entire body turning into a projectile of teenage hysteria and humiliation as her ponytail whipped around like a rope; her nails glinted under the fluorescent light like a pack of tiny daggers that had never tasted blood but very much wanted to, and I heard the two hearts of the girls behind her stop in shock.

My body reacted before I did, and that was the problem; something older than me, older than my bones, older than my shitty life and shitty bloodline and shitty dream-sex with Roman Godfrey was pulling the puppet strings this time, because in return to her violence?

I went limp.

As Brooke grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked, I went completely limp, just like I had been taught to react in these situation. It was a survival tactic to preserve the secrets of our kind in front of normies, one that was imperative to keep my identity hidden and safe, but holy fuck it was humiliating every time.

Heat detonated behind my sternum like a match to gasoline, and I felt my pupils stretch to eclipse as Brooke twisted my hair and pushed me up against the shelves to make it hurt-- little did she know that it didn't. My vision shadowed at the edges, black bleeding in like an eclipse swallowing the sun, and I squeezed my eyes shut so hard that I started seeing white spots. I couldn't let her see them.

It was all happening too fast; I could feel my upir instincts coil down my spine like a serpent preparing to strike. As I opened my mouth to fake a whimper, to at least sell that I was human, I felt the usual pull of my fangs wanting to release, but I clamped my jaw shut with Brooke's next twist of her fist in my hair.

My hands, though, out of pure instinct, shot forward to clasp around her throat, to hopefully push her off with human strength and not the crushing push I knew I could go for-- I knew her friends were watching, could hear their frantic heartbeats, and there was no way in hell I'd let them tell everyone I didn't even resist, not after how Roman had knocked me out during dodgeball yesterday. I didn't put much pressure around Brooke's neck, just enough to make her feel them there, squeezing enough to make her cough.

Her voice rang in my ears as she hissed something, careful not to alert the rest of the library, but I didn't hear her words-- I couldn't.

If I put any energy into listening to her nonsense, I'd snap, and I'd kill her. Brooke would die if I didn't contain my power and my rage. I'd crack her neck in half and be so overcome by hunger that I'd drink her right here, in front of her stupid little posse of friends.

My eclipsed eyes threatened to bulge out behind my lids, my teeth were screaming at my gums with pressure I wasn't sure I'd be able to hold back for any longer, and just as I was sure I'd kill this bitch, I felt it.

I sensed it.

Sensed him.

Roman appeared like he had been shot out of a gun, a blur of black sleeves and gelled hair, and he grabbed Brooke, one hand fisting in the collar of her stupid cheer jacket, the other outstretched toward me like he wasn't sure which explosion to diffuse first-- hers or mine. His chest heaved like he had sprinted here on instinct alone, like his body had known before his mind did that I was seconds away from going full eclipse and rearranging the architecture of the library with someone's spinal column.

At the same time--not a second later, not a beat behind--his loyal sidekick, Peter, crashed in from the other side of the aisle, not as fast, yet surprisingly sharp, and with a presence that hit like a sandbag dropped from a scaffold. His scent hit first, a scent of the woods, cigarette smoke, and... fur? 

Oh. 

A-ha.

Roman's grip on Brooke tightened so violently her shoes nearly left the floor, and it snapped me out of my realization. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he barked. "What are you doing?!"

Brooke let out a strangled sound and tried to yank out of his grasp, hands flying up to claw at his wrist before she realized who she was fighting. The moment the recognition hit, her expression changed-- it was fucking nauseating to witness. Her rage startled, then flickered, then shifted into something grotesque and syrupy, a performance she must've practiced in mirror; her lashes fluttered as her lips trembled like she was the victim here.

"Oh, come on, Roman," she choked out, voice dripping with a mock-softness that made bile rise in my throat. "You're seriously taking her side? Over me?" She shoved her chest forward like she was trying to break his stance with cleavage alone as she leaned in, desperate to rewrite the narrative. "We've--" her gaze darted to me, gloating, weaponizing history like a blade, "--we've been together before, remember? Remember those times at your house, when you... when we, y'know? You know I'd never!--"

She didn't get to finish whatever revisionist history she was about to spit out, because she reached up with a gluttonous hand and tried to stroke her palm over Roman's sternum, right along the line of buttons on his shirt, fingers splayed like she owned that terrain. She pressed, slow and sticky, like she thought she could melt him back into the version of himself she remembered.

However, Roman smacked her hand off him with a grimace.

Peter let out a subsequent snort of amusement.

The smack had been so hard that the sound echoed-- a sharp crack that bounced off the shelves like a smack to the face. Brooke's breath caught in her throat, shock overtaking her features for the first time today, and her bottom lip quivered like she was about to weaponize tears next. Ew.

I blinked over and over to make sure there were no traces of black in my eyes, and I felt Peter creeping next to me to join me by my side, holding out a wary arm just in case I were to faint-- I liked this guy.

Brooke took Roman's recoil as an invitation to try again--stupid, suicidal--and attempted to inch closer, her voice pitching upward into something thin and quivering. "Roman, she's insane, she!--"

"She what? What did she do?"

I gave it all a weak shrug, threading one hand through my messed up hair; I knew what would mess up her act. "Brooke claims I made her cum in the bathroom," I stated, clear as day. The fun part was that I wasn't even lying.

Roman's head slowly turned to me with the most confused, scrunched-up look I had ever seen. Peter joined in with a wide-eyed look, scouring the way everyone involved went quiet as to soothe his awkwardness at the unexpected subject. 

"You-- what?" Roman tried.

Brooke stuttered as her ears burned bright red, so furious that she could barely form words. "That's not!-- like, it sounds so-- okay, she's fucking insane, guys! She did something to me, I swear!"

Roman kept staring at me like I had wronged him in an alternative universe before this one. "You're into girls?" he grumbled.

I snorted at how offended he looked. "It's not like that!--"

"Then what is it like?" Roman snapped. "What is going on with you? You're always!--"

His words died out in a snap, because out of the blue, Mrs. Rutherford appeared from around the corner with her glasses hanging low on her nose. "Shh!" she hissed, the sound cracking through the tension, making all of us jump at the interruption. "This is a library!" she snapped, voice dripping with long-suffering disdain and caffeine withdrawal. "If you five are going to conduct a public meltdown, do it outside, and not between the YA fiction and the tax code manuals! Shoo!"

The silence that followed Mrs. Rutherford's exit was a vacuum.

Brooke's face contorted with humiliation, and then, impossibly, she stomped her foot. Actually fucking stomped, like a toddler denied candy at the checkout, the sound a making pathetic thud that made her ponytail bounce.

"You're supposed to be on my side!" she burst, voice pitching embarrassingly high as she gestured wildly between Roman and me, as if that would magically flip the script. "You and I-- we had-- and that means something!" Her voice cracked, splintering mid-syllable. "Are you seriously going to stand there and let her gaslight me?!"

Roman blinked once, very slow, like he needed the extra second to catalog how spectacularly unhinged this was. He looked at Brooke like he couldn't quite piece her tantrum together. "You think I'm on your side cause we fucked?" he asked. "I've fucked half this school. I'd even fuck Peter if I got desperate enough, if that tells you anything."

"Thanks, man."

"My pleasure," Roman muttered, turning briefly to his best friend half-amused smirk before facing Brooke again. "But I don't care that we fucked. That stuff doesn't mean jack shit to me. She, however--"

He pointed at me, then, and I found myself holding my breath. Stupidly. Ridiculously.

"She is my cousin's best friend. You know Letha, right?"

Brooke went silent, and I let my heart drop, no matter how weird that felt. Everyone knew Letha, and everyone knew that Roman was her watchdog, her pitbull terrier on demand whenever she needed. 

"You mess with Letha's stuff, then you mess with me," Roman continued, taking a threatening step toward Brooke.

I couldn't help myself; "Stuff?" I grumbled out loud.

Roman didn't hear me. "So I suggest you and your friends scram," he hissed, leaning down to get to Brooke's level with a low, dark sound. "Do anything like this again, and I'll make sure my mother kicks you off the cheerleading squad. My family basically owns this fucking school, remember? You want me to do that?"

Brooke's eyes had long glossed over. "No," she breathed.

"No," Roman repeated with faux-sympathy, before it turned into a snarl; "So fuck off."

That did it.

The girls jolted like he had fired a gun; they tripped over their own feet trying to get away, clinging to each other like drunks being kicked from the bar. One of them muttered something about not getting involved and nope, nope, I'm done, as they cleared the aisle like rats abandoning a burning ship.

As soon as she was gone, my body went slack.

With an emptying breath, I pulled my hand over my eyes and slumped against the shelves behind me, relieved yet heavy. Peter immediately steadied me, saying something soft that I didn't quite catch, until I felt Roman's scent stuffing my sinuses even more than it already had when he joined me at my other side. 

Roman took a second before he spoke, but clearly not to think through his words-- he never did that. "So, like... you're one of them homos?"

"Dude!" Peter hissed, elbowing him. 

"What? Am I not allowed to be surprised that she's suddenly making girls cum in bathrooms?!"

"You do that all the time, man!"

"Not all the time!" Roman huffed. "Come on that's different!"

Peter groaned, rolling his eyes. "I just don't think we can say that word in front of girls. Or, like, in front of anyone, you bigot."

"I'm not a fucking bigot, isn't that just what they call the queers nowadays? Homos? Fa?--"

"Dude!" Peter hissed again, this time sharper and through gritted teeth. "Language! This isn't the locker room, we have a girl here!"

Roman blew a raspberry at that, giving a dismissive wave my way. "You're really outdated, man. Y'know, girls watch porn these days, I think she can handle a being called a homo if that's what she is?--"

"Enough!" I snapped. 

Enough.

Holy fuck, these guys were more annoying than that donkey in the Shrek movie. So, so much worse.

"Enough, already!" I repeated. "Jesus Christ, just-- shut up, both of you! Please, for the love of fuck!"

Roman's mouth snapped shut, but the offence in his eyes didn't. Peter's jaw clenched shut, but his hand still hovered awkwardly near my elbow like he wasn't sure if he was supposed to be supportive or duck for cover.

I dragged my hands down my face, forcing air into my lungs like it was something I had to relearn. My heartbeat was still sprinting, Brooke's nails were still phantom-sharp at my scalp, Roman's scent was still scraping against my nerves like sandpaper, and Peter's... animal musk still lingered like a breadcrumb trail of forbidden knowledge.

I let my hands fall.

Then I glared at Roman so hard it felt like I could set his stupid, stupid sharp cheekbones on fire. "You didn't think to mention that your little friend here is a werewolf, by the way?"

Time slowed.

Truly. Slowed.

Roman blinked at me once, heavy and dumb, like I had just spoken in tongues. Peter froze beside me, posture snapping upright, shoulders tightening.

I scoffed, feeling the anger burn like acid up my throat. "Seriously? You've been showing up outside my house like a malfunctioning DoorDash order from Hell, forcefully paying for my food, knocking me out with dodgeballs--" I pointed a finger at Peter, jabbing the air near his chest, "--and somehow, the fact that your best friend sheds during full moons just never came up?!"

Peter bristled-- like, actually fucking bristled like a dog ruffling its fur, but whatever; he deserved the pointing. 

In turn, Roman did a little tut and proceeded to roll his eyes as he opened his mouth, ready to protest, but--

"Oh, don't even try get cute," I hissed at them both, point my finger at Roman. "I smelled it the second Peter hit the aisle. I guess I just haven't gotten close enough to your little friend here before."

Peter sucked a breath in through his teeth like I had punched him in the ribs. "Dude," he whispered to Roman like I wasn't right there. "She knows. She actually fucking knows, man, this is some freaky shit!"

Roman let out a sigh, surrendering as he glared at his best friend. "She's one of mine. She knows."

"One of yours?"

"Upir."

"Oh, I know that," Peter muttered with a shrug, like this was a completely normal conversation. "I smelled it on her out in the forest, when we were up at that hell-hole some weeks ago. Just didn't think you guys could smell my scent, too."

I blinked at Peter. "Did Roman not sniff you out when you first met, or...?"

"Well, I guess the guy didn't know what he was smelling. You guys are the only upirs in town, I think, and his mom's like a fucking vault when it comes to information, so how would he know? Actually, let me tell you!--"

"No, you're not gonna tell her anything!" Roman shot in, looking beyond fed-up with us both. "Can we stop talking about how inadequate I am, and focus on the fact that she's a lesbian?" He pointed an accusatory finger at me. "I feel like that's more important than the werewolf stuff!"

"How is that more important than the werewolf stuff?" I groaned.

At that, Roman puffed out his chest like that could make his statement true. "Just... because. It is."

Peter let out a loud scoff, rolling his eyes. It was clear that he was as fed up with our antics as I were with theirs. "Y'know what? I think I'm gonna let you guys sort this shit out by yourself. Draw blood or whatever it is you people do." Peter's exit strategy was instant and effective-- creds to him, honestly. He threw up his hands like we were both armed, turned on his heel, and backed away down the aisle with all the grace of someone escaping a hostage situation. "Have fun, you two," he muttered, already halfway gone. "Try not to kill each other. Or do. Honestly, at this point, I don't give a shit. Text me if one of you dies."

"Dude!" Roman barked after him, far from humoured.

But Peter just waved a lazy middle finger over his shoulder, disappearing behind a shelf and leaving me with the last person on earth I wanted to share oxygen with.

Silence fell like dust. No, actually, not silence-- Roman's breathing. Harsh, uneven, ego-bruised breathing, as he turned to me. "So," he blurted out, voice pitching up like puberty had boomeranged back to punch him in the throat. "You're just-- what? Gay? Like, full homo? Or is it like a part-time thing? Like... seasonal?"

I stared.

He kept going, rambling on; "Because, listen, I'm not a homophobe or anything, okay? Or a bigot, or whatever that is." I opened my mouth then, but Roman steamrolled on, that fucking pothead; "I guess I'm just-- maybe a little offended? Like, professionally offended, since we're in a pack, and all, and you grinded on me a few days ago. Super confusing, actually. Maybe you shouldn't have done that if you're playing for the other team, y'know?--"

"Shut up!" I snapped, further irritated by the mention of what had happened in the woods during our hunt. "Why are you so pressed about this? Why does it matter to you who I like or not?!"

Roman's jaw clenched around a sound he didn't know how to swallow. His hands flexed at his sides like he wanted to grab something but couldn't decide if it should be me or the nearest bookshelf.  "It matters," he snapped back, "because you keep lying to me while asking me to trust you. First you won't tell me why you smell so sweet in certain moments, so I'm working my ass off to please you and have you trust me and open up to me, but-- now you're a lesbian?!"

"I'm not a lesbian!" I hissed, hoping my volume wasn't grabbing Mrs. Rutherford's attention again. "Jeez, Roman, for fuck's sake! I couldn't be a lesbian even if I tried!" 

Something in him stilled at that; "Oh?"

"Yes, you idiot!" God, how I wanted to smack him. "I like guys! Male alphas, actually, exclusively! And they all usually have some anger or personality issues, usually too cocky, too tall, too arrogant, and with too much product in their hair which gets really annoying when you're trying to do stuff with them, and!--"

I stopped in my tracks.

My breath caught in my chest.

Roman's pupils had expanded-- not to the upir limits, but to the human limits. The normal limits. 

"Oh?" he said once more, but this time, with that stupid, stupid, ridiculous, cocky, arrogant grin curling at the corners of his mouth. "So you're telling me I'm your type?"

"You're not my type," I bit back, too quick to be natural. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"I'm your fucking type, aren't I?"

"You're not my type." You're not, you're not, you're not. I refuse it. I rebuke it.

Roman's grin had taken his face hostage, and his green eyes shimmered down on me with dangerously hot intent. "I'm your type," he repeated just to spite me, just to watch me suffer. "Does this have any correlation with when you start smelling sweet?--"

"None at all!"

A beat too quickly. A beat too sharp.

Oh, the Cheshire Cat was back, and he was standing right in front of me. Roman, with that eerie, creepily long smirk, bent down as he took a step toward me, making me instinctually back into the bookshelf as my breath caught in my throat. This was so awful. This was so, so stupid, this was--

"Gonna take good care of my omega, okay? Gonna-- fill you up real good. You want alpha's cum?"

I held back a horrifying shudder as Roman's breath fanned over my face, his victoriously evil grin intruding my sight, his intoxicating alpha smell intruding my senses. "I've figured you o-out," he sing-songed, poking my shoulder just as he had done at the playground before our hunt. "I make you horny, huh?"

"Fuck off," I barked-- yet it wasn't a bark.

It was a breath.

"Shit," Roman said, holding back an evil chuckle as he straightened up. "Well, that was easy. Took me, what, two days? You're not as tough as you think you are, sunshine."

That fucking nickname would be the end of him. I was already shaking where I stood from the force with which I had balled my fists. My ears were bright red, my heart was threatening to beat out of my chest, and worst of all? I was panicking. I was full-on panicking, taking in shaky breaths through my nose. My chest felt too tight to breathe. I couldn't breathe.

And there was only one way I knew I could get out of this.

"You're so full of yourself," I hissed, barely audible at first as my voice shook. "You're delusional if you think I'd ever like you."

Roman scoffed at that, still convinced. "Is that so?"

"Yep. You once said I wasn't your type, so let me tell you why you're not mine, okay?" 

It had to be done. I had to detonate this before I could get hurt by an alpha again.

"First of all, I think you're repulsive," I hissed. "You're like a public fucking toilet, in terms of every girl at this school having had a seat on your face. You think I'd ever want that? Someone so deeply insecure that they can't stop themselves from sleeping with whoever gives them attention? Someone who can't even sleep alone one night because they can't stand the thoughts in their head?"

There was no barking back. There was no push, no shove from Roman, and it made me continue.

"I like confident guys, who don't need tons of girls hanging around their neck to know they're worth something. I like guys who don't need me to tell them what to do every minute of every day! You think it's fun for me to have to teach you everything? You're a fucking dimwit, Roman! You couldn't even sniff out Peter, for God's sake!"

I had no idea what came over me when I gave Roman a shove, a proper one at that. 

"And lastly, I can't believe that you don't know how to be nice! You have to act it, with gestures that are half-hearted and annoying, and frankly, cheap! I don't need you to buy me lunch or drive me to school! That's not nice, you're just a nuisance, just like what you probably are to your own goddamn mother!"

The next shove barely moved him, but it did something worse-- it stopped him.

It stopped him dead.

Roman didn't move.

He didn't snap back, didn't sneer, didn't reach for another stupid line-- he just stood there for a second longer than made sense, eyes unfocused like he was looking through me instead of at me to keep himself together, his mouth parting slightly as if he had meant to say something and then thought better of it. 

Eventually, he looked away.

"Okay," he mumbled.

My heart dropped where I stood, swimming in the pool of horror that I had left behind with my cruelty, the cruelty I only weaponized because I thought it would keep me safe from feeling exactly this; soft and awful.

Roman reached into the pocket of his jacket then, almost sheepish, almost reluctant, and pulled out a folded piece of paper that looked like it had been handled too much already. He held it out to me without meeting my eyes, fingers tight around the edge like he was afraid he might change his mind. "I was gonna give you this later, while driving you home," he muttered. "Don't think it matters now, but... here."

I took it without thinking. The paper was warm.

When I unfolded it, my breath caught so hard it actually hurt. I had expected another heart, something beautiful as always, but this was was a drawing of me-- standing by my bedroom window, curtains half-drawn, morning light caught in my hair, my posture soft in a way I never seen or felt, my face turned just enough to look... beautiful, in a way that didn't feel sexual or smug or owned, but seen. My stomach dropped as the realization settled in, heavy and unmistakable: he'd drawn this in first period while I was yelling at him in my head, while I was busy hating him.

"You said something about not having woken up looking like something out of a jeans commercial the other day," Roman said, still not looking at me. "So I just wanted to show you how I see you... How you really look, or whatever." He stepped back, just one pace, creating space like he finally understood I was a lost cause. "Doesn't matter, though. I'll leave you alone."

The ball in my throat refused to let go of the guilt gnawing at every particle of my body. Had I dared to let it happen, my eyes would've probably welled with tears. "Roman--"

He lifted a hand before I could get another word out, and for the first time since I'd met him, there was no arrogance in the gesture at all. "Don't," he mumbled, finally looking at me then, and it was worse than if he hadn't. There was no accusation in his face, no bitterness-- just something folded inward, carefully contained. "You've already said what you meant."

But I didn't mean it.

Not completely.

I didn't.

My lips stayed parted as Roman walked down the aisle and out of my space, leaving me with warm paper in my hands and the sudden, crushing understanding that I hadn't just pushed him away-- I had stepped on something fragile, and it had stayed quiet while it broke.

I hadn't expected it to.

Neither did I expect the crushing guilt, or the way my body missed his scent when it left my system.

︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦︶

The next morning, there was no honking.

No whistling.

No car revving in my driveway.

I drove to pick up Letha with an empty feeling in my stomach, wondering where my heat-flashes had gone. I didn't feel like myself; I had felt it all night, how unlike myself I was actually acting. 

Ever since I had to move here, I hadn't been me. This wasn't me. Being this bitter and angry wasn't me. Who was this person? Who was this mean person looking back at me in the rearview mirror? I didn't like her. I didn't understand how I could've let myself become this person, this despicable thing. 

When I swerved by Letha's place at around seven-forty, I barely greeted her when she hopped into the passenger's seat, recalling how she'd texted with Jacob the other night. "He sent me an Instagram reel last night!" she chirped, fixing her lipstick as I pulled out of her driveway. "Something about Teenage Mutant... Teenage Turtles? Ninja Teenagers?"

I had no idea how the answer fell into my head; "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?" I muttered, on course for the highway. 

"Yes, that!" Letha beamed. "I had no idea what to answer him, obviously, but I said something about how cool I thought it was that the turtles were named after philosophers, and I asked him which philosopher was his favourite, but he said he hadn't heard of any philosophers except for Karl Marx, so I had to tell him that Karl Marx wasn't a philosopher, but a communist idealist, and!--"

"Your cousin hates me."

I gripped the steering wheel as hard as I knew I could before it would snap. The energy buzzing through me was beyond uncomfortable, and I shifted in my seat as Letha recalibrated the conversational topic. "Oh?" she said, turning to look at me. "Come on, I'm sure he doesn't hate you. You guys bicker all the time, that's just your norm?"

"I called him a public toilet."

Letha shrugged. "Well, he kind of is one. And you've called him worse, though, haven't you?--"

"I told him he was a nuisance, and that's why his mother probably doesn't like him."

For the first time in her life, Letha was quiet for about... two minutes. Two torturous minutes of the both of us locked in my car, with no music playing in the background; just the sound of my motor, and me swallowing hard over and over. And finally, just when I was about to lose it--

"You know he has a weird relationship with Aunt Olivia. I told you that in confidence." Letha's words were final and heavy, in a tone I hadn't heard from her before. "He's basically my brother. I know we make a lot of fun of Roman, and he makes fun of us back, but... I don't know, that was a bit too harsh. I'd rather you dialled it back a little, please."

I had never felt so horrified to be told off before. This was worse than when the slack would come from adults. My shoulders were so tight that I felt they were about to fall off, and my breath was so high that I felt it in my throat. "I feel awful, if that helps," I tried. "For the first time in a long time, I feel fucking awful. I'm aware I took it a bit too far--"

"Way too far."

"I know, but--"

"No buts," Letha cut in. "I like you a lot, and you know I do, but I love Roman. Even though he's a bit of a public toilet. Even though he's always late, and taking the piss out of me."

"I know, Lee, and I'm--"

"I know he seems awful, because he usually is, but he's a good guy." Letha stared out of the window, letting me sit in my discomfort as she leaned her head in her palm, looking out on the trees passing us by. "I swear he is. He just doesn't show it 'cause he thinks it's embarrassing, stupid boy... Like, you should've seen how he rushed to you when he accidentally knocked you out during dodgeball!" With that, she turned to me, waving a damning finger at me. "He practically flew over the court to get to you! Didn't care how embarrassing it was in the moment, let me tell you that much!"

Wait...

"What?" I breathed, taking a quick, shocked glance toward Letha before returning to the highway. "Say what?"

She sighed like she had retold this story a thousand times, slumping into her seat when she saw she had gotten through to me. "He refused to let anyone move you when you were all... limp and unconscious on the floor. Insisted that you get immediate care at the nurses', and picked you up and took you there himself. Did he not tell you? He was yelling like a maniac, and everything. Barking like a dog."

Oh my God. 

Had I not liked Letha so darn much, I'd have crashed this car just to get out of the misery of my own actions.

How many times hadn't Roman saved me by now? I also noticed that he had stopped smoking after I told him it could kill our kind to be set on any kind of fire. Roman wanted to be in a pack with me. He was willing to put aside his pride and let himself be taught, and I... attacked him for it. Him having taken care of me after knocking me out was a clear sign of territorialism, very common in alpha upirs, very common when there were other things involved between an omega and an alpha, things I hadn't dared myself to feel, and things I wasn't sure I was ready to feel either. 

Ugh, here I go again. Time to fix things.

But before that...

"One more thing, before you go back to being upset with me," I said, nudging Letha awkwardly with my elbow. This should help things. "Brooke yanked my hair yesterday. I think I choked her, in the midst of it, too. She blames me for making her cum in the bathroom, which is fucking obscene, but brilliant, because this means that all the unprotected sex-deceases have probably gotten to her brain."

Of all the things in the world that could make my favourite prim and proper princess smile, nothing could make her beam like unfortunate news about Brooke. Letha let out a joyous gasp as she adjusted in her seat, completely forgetting about my drama with her cousin as she basically squealed into my ear with the most high-pitched voice I'd ever heard from a human.

"Eek!" she cried out. "Maybe she dies soon, or-- even better, becomes bald?! Aah!"

I grinned a grin Roman would be proud of.

︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦︶

I hadn't expected myself to ever look for Roman Godfrey deliberately, but here I was, wandering around campus during lunch time like an idiot.

He wasn't with his usual gang of jocks-- I couldn't see him in the midst of them. He wasn't with Peter, because when I had asked around, Peter had stayed at home today for reasons unbeknownst and uninteresting to me. Letha knew I was about to go apologize to her cousin, so I had the green light to be wandering around like a cow looking for grass, no matter how stupid I felt and looked.

By the time I reached the bleachers, the space between my brows was starting to itch with how much I had been frowning today, but that wasn't the most important, most pressing detail of the moment-- because finally, I had found him.

Roman sat alone on the third row from the bottom, legs spread out in that careless way of his that suddenly didn't look careless at all, elbows resting on his knees as he ate from a paper-wrapped sandwich. No entourage, no laughter, no theatrics-- it was just him, chewing slowly, staring out at the empty field like he was trying very hard not to think.

The sight of him like that, all quiet and contained, hit harder than any smug grin ever had. I was suddenly aware that I hadn't actually seen him like this before, all... alone. The one thing I had accused him of not being able to be because I said he was insecure.

God, I'm fucking awful.

I stopped at the edge of the bleachers and stood there like an idiot, suddenly acutely aware of my own breathing, of how loud my footsteps would sound on the metal, and of how easy it would be to turn around and pretend I hadn't seen him. I could still escape, right?

That was until I remembered that Roman had told me he could smell my scent through walls. He could probably smell me in the air, and he had probably known I was heading this way for about three minutes or so.

With a sigh, I stepped up.

The bleachers creaked softly under my weight, the sound sharp in the open air. Roman didn't as much as acknowledge me as I neared him, and he kept on eating his sandwich-- I hadn't expected the rich brat to bring lunch from home. That was new. Maybe he wasn't as spoiled as I had initially thought?

When I finally reached his row, I walked with heavy steps until I stood beside him, my own lunch in hand. I swallowed rather meekly, quite uncharacteristically, before I mumbled; "I've been looking for you all over. Why are you sitting here alone?"

For a good ten seconds, I wasn't sure whether he was about to full-on ignore me, but Roman accepted my presence with a sigh, like he was already tired of me. His eyes stayed fixated on the field. "Peter's sick," was all he said before taking another bite.

"What about the jocks?"

Roman finished eating, exhaling hard through his nose. "Why do you always refer to them as one collective hive mind?"

"Cause they all clearly share one collective braincell?"

He didn't react to that-- it was like he was giving himself time to not say the wrong thing, and grumpily wiped his fingers on the lunch paper before folding it in half with almost surgical precision. "You have some mighty good one-liners," he mumbled. "Mean ones, usually."

"So do you," was my immediate, unfortunate answer. Curse my pride.

Finally, Roman looked up at me with a glare-- not a scorching one, but a tired one. "What do you want?" he snarked. "You wanted me to leave you alone, and I'm doing just that. Do you have something unsaid, perhaps? Something else that repulses you about me?"

My tight shoulders melted with my next exhale, feeling my guilt seeping through my every breath. "Can I sit?" I tried, small and meek.

"No."

Of course. "Just for a minute, Roman, I won't take long."

"I don't want you here."

"You don't miss my scent?" You're too much of an alpha not to. 

Roman's green eyes narrowed at me-- this was usually not the route I went to get what I wanted from him. "Are you here 'cause you missed mine?"

I bit my tongue before I could bark a no. "It's a nice scent," I mumbled, truthful for once. "Now that it's not covered in cologne."

"Col--" Roman stopped himself, brows furrowing. I had finally called it cologne, and not perfume, so he had nothing to correct. That seemed to open the gate; with one dramatized, elegant motion of his hand, he showed me to the seat next to him.

The second I sat down, I felt the pit in my stomach drop down to my pelvis. It was an odd feeling-- I wasn't used to feeling guilty. It was a rather new emotion, a new addition to my catalogue.

I sat stiffly at first, like the metal seat might reject me if I relaxed too much, my thighs barely touching it. Roman didn't shift away, but he didn't lean in either-- he stayed exactly where he was, close enough that I could feel the heat of him through the summer air, far enough that the space between us hummed like an electric cable.

Fuck it. Better get it over with. Just... say something. Easy as that, right? I was just a bit rusty when it came to apologizing, that's all. Maybe start with something else, then? Something light? Something that could butter him up so that he'd be more receptive to my eventual apology?--

"Why were you kicked out of your last pack?"

It took a good five seconds for me to recalibrate and adjust to the fact that Roman had spoken first, and then it took another few seconds for me to wrap my head around that question. I turned my head to glance at him, being immediately met and welcomed with a pair of green, scorned eyes. 

"Pardon?" I mumbled.

Roman turned his gaze back to the field, jaw set with my restraint to talk. "You've mentioned it before, but you've never explained it. I've had my theories, but now I'm starting to think it was because you're a bitch."

I took in a long, sharp breath, inhaling until I felt my lungs bulge at the sides of my ribs. In any other circumstance, I'd bite back, but now? I couldn't. Not when I was here to apologize. "That's... one theory."

"The most plausible one, at that," he grumbled. "Bet there was some guy there who liked you,  and you shut him down with something snarky and awful because you got scared, so he set himself on fire and died, because anyone could be driven to suicide by being around you for more than five minutes. I get it. And it would explain your behaviour."

The air in my body stilled as I let his words settle. It wasn't hard to see where his anger came from.

"... Right," I mumbled with a small nod. "I deserved that."

"You did."

"And that's why I'm here to apologize."

Roman's brows lifted at that, and he gave me a look that read like he didn't believe me. "Okay?" he said. "For what?"

"What do you mean, for what?" Was he truly as stupid as I had thought he had been all along? "For, like... yesterday. At the library."

"Huh? You don't have to apologize to me for being a lesbian."

"That's not!--" I was about to explain it all again, in full detail, about how I liked men, until I spotted the small, tiny curl on the right side of Roman's mouth; oh, he enjoyed watching me blow up, didn't he? I let out a loud ugh as I sat back in my chair, draping my arms across my chest as I no longer cared to look at him. "What I said back there was too... harsh, okay? I shouldn't have said that thing with your mom, that she thinks you're a nuisance."

I felt Roman shrug beside me; "She does, though."

"I still shouldn't have said it."

"Maybe not," he said. "But I don't really care about that part."

My brows drew together; "You don't?"

He shrugged again before running his hand through his hair in one lazy motion, and that was when I saw it again-- that faint trace of the stupid grin he always wore. "What I care about is that you gave enough of a shit to come here and apologize," he murmured, his voice dropping a bit lower as he peeled back the show-curtains. "And felt bad enough to let me say shit about your ex boyfriend, or whatever it is that happened to you back in your old pack."

Roman finally looked at me properly, then, like he'd been ten steps ahead of me this entire time and had just decided to stop pretending otherwise. His grin came back with full force then like he had finally slipped back into his own skin. "What was the killer, then?" he drawled, tilting his head, eyes skating over my face with open, unashamed interest. "The sad puppy-dog eyes after you were done shoving me, or the drawing? I knew that would be fucking genius to pull out at that moment."

For a good three seconds, I felt myself buffer. When my brain caught up to what had just happened, I killed the gasp building in my throat, only letting out a short, shocked breath. "Roman, what the fuck?!"

"You heard me." He leaned back with his hands behind his head, stretching his legs out in front of him. "You think I didn't know what I was doing? Oh, please."

I stared at Roman like I was deciding whether to push him off the bleachers or strangle him to death. The latter would probably be more satisfying, to feel the rush of blood trying to come to his head through my grip-- oh, yeah, that'd do. "This isn't funny!" I gnarled. "You're psychotic!" Had he seriously faked his hurt?!

At that, Roman grinned wider. "I kill people for a living, sunshine. This is to be expected."

"You don't kill people for a living!" I huffed. "You barely know how to draw blood!"

"Not anymore." Green, knowing eyes darted my way, way too smug for their own good. I hated how I noticed the shimmer swimming in them, the beauty of the colour around his pupils. "You've taught me well. You're a good teacher. Give yourself some credit."

"Roman, you-- this is you being nice?" I barked. "This is your idea of getting on my good side after knocking me out?! You said you were going to be good, or whatever, but you've tricked me into walking around feeling guilty?!"

Roman yawned then-- a real one, exaggerated and obnoxious, like I had bored him half to death. He stretched his arms up over his head again, bones cracking softly, and before I could register the movement properly, one of those arms came down and... draped itself around my shoulders.

Um?!

I stiffened instantly, every muscle in my body lighting up in protest as his forearm settled warm and solid against the back of my neck, his hand hanging loose near my upper arm. My first instinct was to shove him off, my second was to bare my teeth, but--

I found myself doing neither.

It felt like he had pulled a warm hood over my head filled with alpha pheromones, and I enjoyed the suffocation. Fucking masochist.

Roman shifted his weight slightly as he grinned, making himself more comfortable, like this was the most natural thing in the world. "Relax," he murmured, dangerously close to my ear. "I just realized halfway through the car-ride yesterday that you weren't gonna give into any of my attempts at being nice if you didn't respect me in some way. I had no idea how to do it, until Brooke and her sweetlittleass came into the picture, and you blew up on me. Pitying me for a few hours was seemingly enough to crack that shell of yours and have you come crawling right back to your favourite alpha."

My eyes narrowed as I glared at him, arms crossing tighter over my chest as I decided to ignore the alpha comment. "Don't you think this makes me respect you less?"

"Nope," Roman grinned. "I think you'll now go home and realize I can be just as unhinged as you are, and you're gonna go and get all horny about it. This was the only way for you to respect me, to see me as an equal."

There was sadly some truth to what he was saying-- to everything he was saying, actually. The horny part was out of my control, but I knew my body would conjure something disgustingly omega the next time I thought about this in private. "I'm not gonna get horny about it, don't be ridiculous!"

"Yeah, you are," Roman grinned. "Just like you get horny about tall, cocky, arrogant male alphas, exclusively, who usually have too much product in their hair. Your own words."

I wanted to kill him. Or, actually, mostly myself. That'd be a relief right now. Did Roman still walk around with a wad of cigarettes that I could use to set myself on fire? "You just admitted to being cocky and arrogant," I muttered, unimpressed.

Roman shrugged, his arm still hanging heavy along my shoulders. "I'm self-aware, at least. Another one of my wonderful qualities."

I let out a sharp, irritated breath through my nose and finally twisted just enough to look up at him properly. "Fuck off!" I added, flat and pointed, before one of the thoughts I had pushed into the back of my head slipped and arrived sounding beyond whiny; "And what do you mean Brooke's ass is sweet?"

Roman stilled for exactly half a second, and then--oh, that bastard.

"Aw," he cooed (fucking hell), dragging the word out like I had just toddled over while clutching a broken toy. His free hand came up and he gave my upper arm a patronizing little squeeze, not bothering to hide his grin. "Listen to you, not wanting to share. You jealous?"

I snorted, sinking more into my chair, not realizing that I was basically snuggling up to his stupid arm before it was too late. "I'm not jealous, that'snonsense!" I huffed. "Just saying, she's a bitch, and she yanked my hair! You should be on my side, since we're in a pack and all!"

Roman huffed a laugh at that, low and pleased, as his arm tightened just a fraction like it did whenever he decided someone belonged to him for the moment-- annoying habit, that. "I am on your side," he murmured. "Did you miss the part where I verbally eviscerated her and sent her scurrying off like a kicked raccoon?"

"You enjoyed that," I muttered.

"Immensely." He tilted his head, bumping his temple lightly against mine like it was an accident he'd practiced.  "But don't pretend this is about pack politics. You just don't like me looking at her ass."

"I don't care whose ass you look at," I snapped. "I just questioned it."

"Mhm. Because it bothered you."

"It bothered me because it was unnecessary and perverse!"

"It bothers you because you're getting territorial, sunshine," Roman grinned, squeezing my shoulder just to egg me on. "Because I'm your type, clearly, and you're in denial."

My laugh built before I could see it coming; "Hah! You're projecting so fucking bad, dude."

"Am I?" Roman shifted, legs stretching out further, his shoulder nudging into mine until the contact was undeniable. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're leaning into me, defending your territory, and invoking the pack card to keep me to yourself."

Ugh. "I'm not invoking anything!" I huffed. "And you're not my fucking territory!--"

"You literally said 'since we're in a pack' just two seconds ago," he pointed out. "That's invocation, sweets."

I ground my teeth. "I meant in theory."

"Sure you did." His grin softened-- not less smug, just warmer. "Relax. Brooke's ass is sweet, but yours is sweeter."

I made a face like I had just bitten into something rancid. "Ew. Don't," I said, shoulders scrunching as if that could physically repel the comment. "That's gross. You're gross. Don't ever look at my ass again." I wasn't about to let him know his stupid little add-on soothed me in any way, hell no.

"Can't promise anything, sadly." Roman's grin widened, slow and lazy, like he'd been waiting for that exact reaction. "Does it make you feel better at least, though?"

Yes. A million times yes. "Doesn't matter how I feel. There was just no need to state it at all," I snapped, despite my inner monologue. "You could've kept these thoughts in your head. Deep, deep inside. Buried. Preferably forever."

"Mm... but then you wouldn't have made that face," Roman replied, amused. His thumb tapped once, twice against my shoulder, maddeningly casual. "And I really like that face you make when you're mad."

I shot him a glare. "You enjoy being insufferable, don't you?"

"I enjoy you being insufferable," he said. "Big difference."

Of all the things that had irked me, set me on fire, pissed me off, and ground my self-worth into the floor like wheat, that shut me up. I took a deep breath, feeling my need to argue with him further come to a halt as something deep in my gut felt soothed by Roman's stupid words-- it was a weird, mellow feeling that I found myself enjoying with no bite or snark. "You do?" I mumbled. "Enjoy me... being insufferable?"

Roman's grin didn't sharpen this time, like I expected it to. "Yeah." He tipped his head, watching me from the corner of his eye instead of straight on, defending his stance on the matter with no shame. "I do."

I blinked, thrown, my instinctive defences fumbling for something angry to hold onto, but finding none. "That's... weird," I mumbled, because it was safer than admitting the truth. "Most people don't."

"I know," he said with a shrug. "But I'm not like most people, either. I like that you bite."

Oh. 

... Oh.

I hesitated, let the newfound warmth settle in my chest, then shifted--just a fraction--so my head rested more naturally against his arm instead of hovering above it like it was about to bolt. Roman noticed, of course; he always did, but he didn't comment, didn't gloat, didn't move an inch, as to not scare me off. He was being smart about this, oddly enough.

For once, neither of us filled the space with angry noise. The live wire between us didn't spark-- it hummed, steady, warm, and strangely... right.

"Pick me up again tomorrow," I said, feeling my heart thump with courage. "I like saving gas-money."

I loved that I could hear Roman's heart as well, speeding up just the smallest fraction with the win where he sat, grinning and gloating in the sun. "Same time as always?"

"Five minutes later also works," I murmured with a shrug. "If you stay nice."

Roman let out a chuckle, a light one, as he squeezed my shoulder one last time; 

"When am I not?"

(a/n: AHHHHH I AM SO HAPPY SO BE BACK OH MY GOOOOD!!!! this is my favorite story ever and I hope y'all are eating it up as much as I am;) would LOVE to hear from u guys in the comments as always, especially now that I've been gone for so goddamn long!!! MWAH EVERYBODYY<3)

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