Hunter #2
Callie’s the closest thing to a best friend that I have, and she’s one of the few people I’ve trusted with the knowledge of my dominant nature.
I didn’t really have much choice, since she’s also one of the people I spend my ruts with.
She’s funny and sweet, with a wicked mouth that can send me over the edge in minutes.
But it’s strictly sex, we’re too alike for anything more than that between us.
“Nice of you to finally join us,” she chuckles quietly as the lecture resumes.
Leaning back, swatting away Soren as he twirls my hair between his fingers from his seat behind me, I pull out my sketchpad.
He was a photographer and another omega who sometimes shared my bed.
All of it casual. That was one thing I liked about artists, we tended not to get tied down by feelings in the same way, pouring it into our work.
Unless it was love or obsession, then it consumed us, mind, body and soul.
I try to listen to Professor Sands, since I was enjoying the English part of my degree, but Shakespeare wasn’t the one for me.
It was supposed to be performed, and when I watched it, I enjoyed it but reading it was another thing entirely.
I hate that I have to dig deep for the meaning and the humor, it means that my mind drifts. Hence, the sketchbook.
The only plus side to this module was the new words it taught me.
It allowed me to save insults to use later on Evans girlfriend-not-a-girlfriend, Sadie.
I was just waiting for the day when I could whip out cream faced-loon or beetle headed flap eared knave.
If he thought I was flexing when I used words like harpy and siren well, he hadn’t seen anything yet.
Swallowing, I try to ignore the sour taste in my mouth as I think about Sadie Templeton.
The woman was a viper and she was just waiting for her opportunity to strike.
Evans wouldn’t know what had hit him when she finally did.
I often wondered just how far she’d go. Would she turn up at the house one day, pregnant?
Wearing an engagement ring? Probably. I scribble on the page, pushing my pencil into the paper harder.
Why should I care? Evans was my friend, but if he didn’t stop running away, would we even be that anymore?
Fuck him. If he wanted to treat me like I had the plague, then that was up to him. Glancing down at my paper I realise I’ve drawn a pair of soft longing eyes. Familiar eyes.
Fuck.
The professor drones on for an hour, talking about Much Ado About Nothing and The Taming of the Shrew, and I hate how my ears perk up every time I hear him say Benedict.
No one else in our house or even in our social circle seemed to know what Evans real name is.
It’s just another secret shared between us.
Maybe that’s how I needed to approach it—the weekend in Crest Haven was time I spent with Benedict and now we were back in Oakley, he was Evans again.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I shake my head. I was spending too much time on this. My mind was a mess, emotions and conflicting ideas fighting it out for dominance. I shouldn’t be fixating on this. On him.
And that itch beneath my skin grows stronger, those simmering embers in my gut burning a little brighter. A soft snap reverberates around me and it isn’t until Callie nudges my knee with hers that I realise I’ve snapped my pencil in half.
I needed to draw the line in the sand and be done with it.
Fuck him.
After class, we head out to one of the coffeeshops on campus.
We’re joined by Tiggy, a beta illustrator and Arlo, another alpha who liked to paint.
As Soren snags us a table and we get our orders in, I glance around the people I choose to surround myself with.
This was my very small select circle of artist friends.
Outside of my housemates, these five were who I spent most of my time with.
“Hey,” Soren says softly, as I take a seat next to him, letting his gentle lavender scent wash over me like a soothing balm. “Aren’t those your housemates over there?”
I’d been so lost in my own world I hadn't noticed the volume in the coffee shop had risen, and as I glance over I realised that the entire football team seems to have come for their caffeine fix after an afternoon class.
Across the room Blake lifts his hand in greeting when he spots me, nudging Zale, who flashes me a wide grin. Evans on the other hand…when his gaze crashes with mine, his cheeks turn pink before he glances away again.
Did he just ignore me?
Here I was overthinking every little thing, trying to figure out how best to approach him, how to force him to face whatever this is between us and get over it.
And he just ignores me?
I guess I have my answer.
Fuck him.
From now on I’m just going to do what I want, and if he has a problem then he’ll have to grow a pair and say something.
“So, there’s a party this weekend. I was thinking you haven’t been to a party in a while so you should definitely come.” Callie sits on my other side, pushing my fruit tea towards me with a grin. “Plus my heat is due, so a fun time is guaranteed.”
Was I in the right headspace to help her with her heat this weekend?
No, I wasn’t.
Sharing an omega’s heat wasn’t just about fucking and knotting.
It was about providing emotional support, soothing her with my pheromones, keeping her calm and feeling safe.
I also had to keep her hydrated and ensure she ate between waves, which was a difficult task when the omega in question often resisted.
It was different when we were both aligned in our cycles, the omega in heat and me in rut.
Then it became more intense, frantic and instinct led.
But that came with its own troubles. It was a constant fight against my alpha urges so that I didn’t do something silly in the moment, like accidentally claim one of my best friends.
“Maybe not this time,” I say, threading my fingers through hers. “Sorry Cal. I’m just mid-flow with this project and it’s consuming my brain, you know.”
I sip on my tea, still holding her hand, ignoring the way Evans’ now seems to be glaring at me as he waits for his order.
“Yeah Callie, you know better than to interfere with someone’s workflow.” Tilly says, tutting playfully as she eats her chocolate brownie. “Otherwise the inspiration might just dry up and since finals are rolling around, we wouldn’t want that.”
Arlo groans as she mentions finals. Trying to be creative on a deadline was a horrible feeling. That’s when doubts and imposter syndrome began to seep in, like ink staining paper.