Episode 6 Wolf Among the Briars #3
Still, I think of the way she’d shut down on me when I’d asked if she needed a safe space. The absolute dimming of her light at the question.
I shift. “I just… I think we should be aware that she might have… some kind of trauma or something.”
There’s a long silent pause and then Forsythe gives a weary sigh. “We’ll treat her with as much respect and care as we would any other omega, Court. But we can’t be seen giving her any sort of special treatment. You know that.”
I want to argue. It's right there on the tip of my tongue to say if Florence does have some kind of trauma regarding other alphas, then we need to give her extra care. We need to…I don’t know. Help her heal from it? But if there’s a pack in this world less up to that task, I can’t think of anyone.
Especially when we all know how this is going to go, and it's not toward a sunshiny omega who glitters with pixie dust.
The beach is even more chaotic than the pool if possible.
The omegas are churning around in an excited lump, chattering and giggling with each other as we eye the obstacle course.
Most of the omegas dressed for something physical, likely warned by the crew that it would be in their best interest. So there’s a slew of tight yoga pants, tiny lycra shorts and sports bras.
My eyes find Florence, and I can’t help but notice she’s wearing the exact same thing as she was earlier, just with a white tank top thrown over her dusty pink sports bra.
She’s tossed a pair of well-worn trainers on her feet as well.
So there wasn’t really a reason for her to hurry off like she did. Other than to avoid answering my question.
The other omegas… well, they apparently decided to go for fashion over function. There are some girls wearing skirts that probably cost more than Florence’s entire outfit. Their hair is curled and they’ve got on full faces of makeup. I even see one omega wearing a pair of heels.
The producers finally corral everyone into a half-circle facing us, barking instructions about ‘team balance’ and ‘no favoritism’—which is a laugh—and ‘remember the cameras are rolling!’ as if any of us could forget.
The rule is simple enough—pick an omega, but once you work with them in a challenge, they’re crossed off your list until you’ve cycled through all the others.
It gives each of us alphas a chance to work with all of the omegas. Fair. Equal. Strategic.
Except nothing about this is fair, equal, or strategic.
Because we already know who we have to choose at the end.
My gaze drifts—again—to Florence. Small. Quiet. Standing at the fringe of the group like she’s not quite sure she belongs with the other omegas. Like she's not quite sure she belongs here at all.
She probably doesn’t.
It's clear she’s above all this bullshit. Too bloody good for it.
Her eyes aren’t on us, but on the course, like she’s mentally overcoming each of the obstacles we can see from our gathering point.
I’m still watching her when Cleo explains the rules of today’s challenge, collect the puzzle pieces at each obstacle and then complete the puzzle at the end. There’s a pause and then she calls Forsythe’s name to start the selection process.
To no one's surprise he calls, “Isadora.” Our once childhood friend preens as she saunters forward in her designer workout gear, hips swaying, lips curled into a smug smirk at being called first. Even though she had to know it was coming.
We have very strict instructions that she should always be picked first. Always.
“Thayer?” Cleo prompts.
In accordance with our well-worn plan, he should pick one of the other noble omegas in front of us. Which is what I expect him to do, what everyone expects him to do.
“Florence,” Thayer’s rough grumble sounds across the distance. The cute little blond, my pixie, steps forward looking… confused? I’m confused too. And disappointed. It's only at this moment, I realize I had hoped to go off book and pick her first for my team. But Thayer beat me to it.
We all watch as she moves forward, none of the hip swinging Isadora gave us. There’s a slight hitch in her step, one so faint I doubt anyone else notices. A limp? Or did her meditation and yoga moment leave her with some pain, some stiffness?
I have the strange urge to lay her down and run my hands over her until her sore muscles are eased. Until she can walk without pain.
She stops next to Thayer, looking up at him with a quizzical brow. I wonder if she thought she wasn’t going to be picked until last. Maybe it has something to do with her being lower class, she just assumed we wouldn’t be interested.
She’s not wrong. We aren’t interested. But not because we don’t want to be, because we can’t be.
Still the last thing I want is for her to think we’d keep our distance from her because of something like class.
We don’t give a shit about that… Well, most of us don’t give a shit about that.
Forsythe does, but only because of his grandmother.
After all, Grieves is in our pack, and he was born the son of a brick layer and a primary school teacher.
I watch as Thayer leans down and says something in her ear. Her smile becomes more genuine, and again I have this feeling of… magic. Like she’s sprinkled a little bit of pixie dust with that smile and I could fly, so long as she keeps doing it.
Goddammit. This is so… bad.
But then why does it feel so damn good?