Without discussion or apparent decision, the five of us drift between stalls together, Quinn inspecting random bits and bobs, Leif and Grady discussing a new author, while Emily examines metal fixtures at a craftsman’s booth. I hover nearby, not quite part of any conversation but somehow included in their orbit.
It strikes me how unlikely this grouping would have seemed a few weeks ago, with the reserved Alpha superintendent, the injured Beta, the imposing Omega tutor with his young charge, and me, the outcast Alpha no one wants to claim. Yet here we are, moving through the market as a loose unit.
When Emily catches my eye over a display of hand-forged hinges, the ghost of happiness lights her gray eyes, and I forget my flash of jealousy at seeing her attention directed toward Grady, or my uncertainty over whether Leif and I are friends.
Nothing else matters so long as I keep pulling more and more smiles from Emily.
The tentative comfort of our impromptu group shatters when we reach the food stalls. The air shifts, conversations dropping to murmurs as wepass tables of diners clutching steaming cups and half-eaten pastries.
I register the change before I understand it, a prickle along my spine that warns someone is tracking our movement through the crowded eating area.
Emily senses it, too, her stride faltering, her shoulder tensing where it brushes mine while we walk.
Quinn tugs at Leif’s sleeve, pointing toward a display of honey sticks in rainbow colors. “Can I have the cherry one? Please?”
Leif reaches for his wallet, but his attention remains divided, his broad frame angled toward our group as if sensing the same undercurrent.
Then a voice pitched to carry across the tables, rough with morning whiskey, reaches us. “Well, look at that. There’s the Alpha bitch and her pet predator.”
The fisherman who spoke leans back in his chair, his weathered cap pulled down over faded eyes, but not far enough to hide his smirk. He raises his mug in a mock toast, inviting reactions from his companions.
Laughter ripples through the nearby tables, ugly in its eagerness.
My throat closes, shame burning up my neck.The weight of every stare presses in, judging, condemning.
Part of me wants to step away from Emily, to spare her the association. But the part that makes me an Alpha, despite my inability to smell pheromones, wants to confront the speaker and defend her from the crude characterization.
I do neither. Instead, I find myself shifting closer to Emily, my shoulder meeting hers.
Emily’s body goes statue-still beside me, her jaw clamped so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath her skin. Her fingers curl into fists at her sides, knuckles whitening. She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t speak, but rage radiates from her in waves.
I lift my chin higher, fighting the instinct to duck my head and avoid eye contact. Heat continues to climb my neck, but I force my spine straight. This isn’t just about me anymore; it’s about Emily, who stood by me when no one else would. Who now faces mockery because of her kindness.
To my left, Grady shifts his position. Without a word, he angles himself forward, one shoulder ahead of mine, his cane tapping hard on the sidewalk. His face remains neutral, but his posture speaks volumes, the mild-mannered Beta vanishingto be replaced by a man who made a name for the famous author, Aurora Storm.
Most surprising is Leif’s reaction. The reserved Omega squares his shoulders and stands taller. His considerable height turns imposing as he steps closer to our impromptu line, forming a solid barrier that also places Quinn safely behind him.
The fisherman’s smirk falters, and his eyes drop to his mug as the laughter around him dies a quick death. He’d counted on the social instinct to distance oneself from contamination and packless Alphas having no famiy to back them.
Instead, he faces a group that, despite its unlikely composition, stands united, at least for now.
My heart pounds, surprise tangling with gratitude. At the construction site, no one stepped in. They’d let me wrestle plywood until I dropped it, laughing when I failed. Alone. Always alone.
But here, in the middle of Pinecrest’s market, three people I barely know close ranks around me without hesitation, Emily fierce as steel, Grady steady despite his limp, and Leif a quiet wall of strength shielding Quinn. I didn’t ask for their defense. Didn’t expect anyone except Emily to stand with me.
The awareness that these near-strangers havechosen to align themselves with us, withme, sends warmth spreading through my chest, easing the burn of shame.
One of the fisherman’s companions tugs at his sleeve, murmuring words I don’t catch. The group at their table shifts with discomfort, finding sudden interest in their food.
The moment stretches, taut as fishing line, until the man turns away with a muttered, “Not worth it.”
The tension breaks, and conversations resume around us. People return to their meals and shopping. The confrontation dissolves into nothing, leaving only the echo of solidarity in its wake.
Emily releases a breath I didn’t realize she was holding. Her fist unclenches, fingers flexing at her side. She doesn’t acknowledge out loud what just happened, but her shoulder remains in contact with mine.
“I’ll take three honey sticks,” Leif tells the vendor as if nothing happened. “Cherry, lemon, and…” He peers down at Quinn. “What’s your third choice?”
Quinn bounces on her toes, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around her. “Blue raspberry!”