Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
SIMONA
A fter spending my life up to now in a veil of manufactured expectation, days of studying subjects that genuinely interest me—followed by longer hours with my new group of girlfriends (officially dubbed the Scorned Girls)—leave me feeling like a different person.
And I love this version of me.
Never before would I have the freedom, or courage, to keep messaging a freaking rock-star, but it’s happening. Daily too. His newest DM brings a blush to my cheeks.
Koded.R.Genuine—thinking of you today.
SinDaBella—Just today? ouch.
Koded.R.Genuine—IMAGE
Two photos come through. First a milkshake glass overflowing with copious amounts of melting cream and tiny Oreo biscuits. The second image is pornographic. Well, it makes me blaze in lust. A heavily edited image of a man’s mouth, he’s sucking on messy fingers, ice cream and cream dripping down his hand and covering his chin.
SinDaBella—I’d mess you up more than that ;)
I act on impulse, sending a response straight back, not even thinking if I should. Hiding behind this persona is liberating but at the same time every message we share, I also feel he’s getting the real Simona.
I sound like a broken record, but I am giving myself the freedom to chase whatever I want. Whether it’s right or wrong, that includes chasing him, or this thing we share. Back home I never would have engaged, heck, I probably wouldn’t even admit to anyone I like Koded because that music is not what they listen to, at all.
In the span of a few weeks, everything has changed, and I’m embracing it my way. My way includes having different personas, each one a genuine part of who I am. I’m not pretending to be anyone else. I’m just not giving all of me to any one person—everyone gets a piece instead. That includes the salacious Simona that Koded.R.Genuine sees, the loyal and compassionate Simona the Scorned Girls get, and the studious Simona the teachers at Unity recognize.
The Omega Mothers, unsurprisingly, are encouraging of my newly acquired zest for life. They help me work around all the endless subjects, electives, and committees I want to be involved in. I know the Scorned Girls buck against the ideology of attending Unity. Heidi and Raney are particularly cynical of the government’s requirement for Omegas to attend, but I’m one of those students absolutely overflowing with gratitude at the chance I have been given.
In a sense, I’m lucky the founding family are so elitist and driven by pretension. They were insistent on me attending the very best/most expensive finishing school available. If they’d sent me to a school closer to home, I wouldn’t have found the girls. And I never would have been on that flight, and somehow crossing paths Mel and then with Koded.
Lost in thoughts about a certain rock star’s mouth, I push the doors open to the small study rooms without thinking. The chatter of other students reaches my ears, but their voices register only as noise. As I step farther into the room, something shifts—my vision flickers and my eyes struggle to adjust.
Nothing really makes sense, until it does.
Every cell in my body locks on to the Alpha standing in front of the class—like a bloodhound catching a scent, surging forward into the hunt.
His presence pulses off him, bright like a shooting star streaking across a clear night sky. The draw is so intense, I nearly fold in on myself, the only thing holding me upright is his scent. It’s dense in the room, thick as clouds of candyfloss. But it’s not sweet, not gentile. It’s brash and impulsive, dangerous and lethal—like the crack of thunder before the storm breaks.
I shut my eyes, willing my racing thoughts to slow, but until I can figure out exactly what his scent is, I’m at the mercy of my designation. One heartbeat and I breathe more of his scent in. And then it clicks—he smells like the image that formed in my mind the instant I stepped inside.
He is the threat of a thunderstorm itself.
His scent hits like a sledgehammer, sending me spiralling and lost in a series of abstract visuals; where claps of thunder rattle through me, and I’m blinded by bolts of pure white lightning. It is that consuming, but there remains a part of me not lost, more focused and anxious for the immediate period after the initial violence of a storm breaking. The time when the rage has passed, and the air is clean, full of beautiful, gentle notes of fresh rain on the earth, and oakmoss.
The longer I keep my eyes shut, the more aware I become of how he’s unwittingly rewriting who I am. His scent isn’t just a presence—it’s an aspiration. Something to strive towards, even as it unravels everything I thought I knew.
I don’t have an Alpha; I have an obligation.
This man is pack. He is my obligation too, but it’s an obligation based on the beautiful, heart-rendering promise love whispers, driving the person who shares the love with you to always be better.
I should turn and walk away, but that in itself is impossible. On so many levels. I made a vow to myself to live every day to its fullest while I was at Unity. If this is the only chance I have being with him, then I will damn well be present and brave enough to face the fallout.
Peeking through my eyelashes, the rest of the class is as enraptured with our visiting Alpha as I am. Though it is on a much different scale, it would be like saying we all like blue. Every one of the other students are smiling up at him, none of them even aware I am here, but I’ve seen them looking like that at the other Alpha who runs this program as well.
“Sorry I’m late,” I offer quietly. Keeping my eyes anywhere but in his general direction. I’m worried I’m going to trip on my own two feet, but I manage to sit without embarrassing myself.
Turning slightly to watch him interact is the first real chance I see him for who he is. Before it was his presence and scent that drove me half feral.
He’s tall—even leaning against the edge of a spare desk his height is impressive. His dark grey trousers fit like a glove, unmistakably made to measure. With the collar of his white cotton shirt left open, he’s aiming for relaxed and approachable. I’m not sure he realizes, or maybe he does, but somehow it only makes him even more attractive.
I miss when his attention shifts to me—I’m still caught up admiring his hands. But maybe that’s a good thing. It gives me a chance to feel his focus settle on me, and from that alone, I already know—his eyes are going to be spellbinding. Life changing.
Using the chance to shore up similar techniques I use when having to interact with Brody, I slip into an altered version of Simona Vanderling. And it is just as well, because as I trail my eyes slowly up his body and then I study his features, I can feel myself responding on every level to and at him.
Taking a leap of faith, and testing my control, I look into his eyes. Deep into them.
I knew it would be as poetic as meeting Rye, and I’m thankful I prepared myself because how I hold the mask of indifference when all my insides ripple in realignment, I’ll never know. His eyes are vibrant green, like the electric, vivid green of a peacock’s feather. With dark eyelashes, and mixed with his deep tan, the green shimmers in the light.
My eyes fly back to the paper on my desk, but in my mind, I’m still locked in his gaze.
And then he takes a step towards me. I can feel him come closer. I see him in my peripheral vision, and I don’t have enough time in this lifetime or the next to ready myself. He squats next to my desk, and I clench my teeth hard so I don’t whine in protest—or in encouragement.
He pushes the Unity supplied scent blocking spray into the middle of my desk, making it impossible to ignore. “You missed me introducing myself to the class. Your usual professor was in a car wreck and is out of action for the rest of the semester. I was telling everyone, I’m not a teacher, but I have a passion for photography. ”
“Okay,” I answer without looking at him.
I feel bad, but I just need the opportunity to bolster my defences for a few extra seconds.
“I take it you’re Simona Vanderling?” he asks, and his voice soothes the newly acquired jagged edges on my most private parts.
His voice carries the faintest hint of playful teasing. I wish I could meet his gaze so he’d see that I’m laughing with him, but I’m frozen—locked in place like a statue, eyes fixed on the assignment he left on my desk. Out of necessity.
“You know you’re going to have to look at me eventually. I promise I won’t bite.”
My lips pull, and I only manage to keep my giggle to myself, but he’s not finished his gentle teasing. Inappropriateness be damned. We’re more than teacher and student, besides he just said he wasn’t a teacher.
He taps his finger on the top of my desk as he speaks. “Can you imagine the coronary Omega Mother Beatrice would have if she saw her most capable, and favourite, student this year unable to even look at the substitute teacher, who isn’t really a teacher?”
I bite my lip.
And perhaps it was the wrong move, because he hisses under his breath, then stands and turns away. With his back to me, he addresses the class, outlining the task.
The longer he speaks, the more settled I become. By the end of his outline, I’m watching him, and waiting for the instant he turns to face me. It’s as monumental as the first time, but now I pine for his attention instead of hiding from it in shock.
The smile that breaks over his lips as he faces me is the type of smile that is undoubtedly about to test my panties. My pussy throbs in time which each step he takes. I have to open my legs slightly to relieve the smouldering pressure, or I’ll be rubbing them together in messy desperation.
He walks to the front of my desk, and if I ever had any doubt about whether he could similarly feel anything between us, the way he subtly kicks my feet back together, closing my legs, is the answer I need.
“Again, I’m sorry I was late. I missed your introduction,” I manage. Although manage is a stretch, talking with him is as easy as breathing. Clearly, thinking is outside of what I can manage, though.
“We’ve done introductions already.”
He moves, intentionally placing himself between me and the rest of the class. Then he leans on my desk—near enough that his breath fans against my cheek, cementing the undeniable truth: he is mine.
“While we’re here, you will call me Mr. Torres, or Hendrix like everyone else.” He dips down lower, his words meant just for me. “One day, outside of here I want to hear you moan my name. Now be a good girl and use some more of that spray Unity so generously provides before you start on your assignment. I’d hate to have to ask you to stay behind after class.”
“Yeah, I’d hate that too, sir.”
I literally slap my hand over my mouth, stopping me from saying another freaking word.
But it doesn’t stop him. “Four minutes. And in that time, you’ve already learned how to push my buttons. Keep up being a brat, and I’m sure I’ll come up with something that will fit the crime.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Torres.”
We’re both saved by another student. He moves to them without hesitation, but my awareness of him doesn’t waver. What I get as I completely eavesdrop on his conversation with her is a kinship of sorts. Just like me, he has these opposing forces inside of him, and I could say the same about Brody, but Brody hides his and still does. Hendrix has shown me already who he is. And as for me, I’m only finding out.
An abrupt knock at the door snaps me back to reality.
“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Torres,” Omega Mother Beatrice appears, her eyes on me immediately.
My stomach dips, a slow rising burn at the back of my throat feels like a warning.
“Omega Simona, if you can accompany me, please. Your brother is here to see you about your grandmother. He assures me she is fine though he still needs a quick word.”
And then my stomach plummets. My handshakes as I grab the spray and apply it liberally.
“Should I pack my things?” I ask her quietly.
“He said he only needed a couple of minutes. I believe you have a double lesson with Mr. Torres, so you can leave your things.”
Instinctively my feet drag. I desperately don’t want to go with her. I don’t have a brother, and my grandmother died a few years back.
Weeks is all it takes for Brody to come shatter the illusion of freedom and time away from him that I’d already lost myself in.
Omega Mother Beatrice walks next to me, slowing her step to match mine.
“Under normal circumstances, Simona, we wouldn’t encourage family drop-ins, however your brother explained it was an issue he needed to speak with you about face to face.”
Opening the door to the private meeting room, Omega Mother Beatrice stays in the corridor, and I come face to face with Brody. He’s furious but wears his mask with astounding control despite the anger burning in his eyes.
Watching Brody interact with other people is terrifying. People simply don’t see past his veneer. And if people can’t see who he is, what hope do I ever have trying to explain the way he is with me.
He listens intently, accepting her concern with the poise and grace you associate with used car salesmen or politicians. I wait next to him, letting him steer the conversation all the time, steeling myself internally. One glance in his eyes when I first arrived, and I already knew I needed to prepare for the worst.
“I won’t be long, five minutes max. I have a flight to catch, but our parents thought it best if I let Simona know face to face, as opposed to a phone call.”
“Of course.”
Brody circles his arm around my shoulder as he puts on a united front in family grief. The second the door shuts, he stares at me as he uses his fingers to do a silent countdown. On the count of one he moves with the force of a freight train and crowds me up against the door, his hand pushing hard against my face. So hard I can feel the shake of his muscles.
“Please, Brody, don’t do this,” I whisper, trying to keep the tremors out of my voice. Without doubt, I’m terrified of him hurting me, but I’m scared I’ll make it worse by making a noise.
The thought of making a sound scares me as much as his anger. I honestly worry for others if they were to interrupt him now.
Brody knows he snapped. With silent hands, he turns me so he can inspect my face, already worried he may have left a mark from his slip. His concern isn’t for me though, it’s for him.
He steps back once he’s finished looking—then another and another. The push of his presence still hangs like an unspoken threat.
He turns and walks towards another door, opening it to reveal a small janitor closet. Without a word, he points inside, never taking his eyes off me as I enter. In every blink there’s a challenge—and an expectation.
He doesn’t pull the door shut behind us, and I think that scares me more. It means his awareness stretches beyond hurting me—it includes not getting caught.
I walk past him.
“What do you think you are doing, huh? Not taking my calls, pretending you’re too busy to speak with me and then getting the staff here to call me and my parents, to tell us we can’t speak with you when I want to?” He’s snarling in my ear, low and foreboding. Something drops to the floor near my feet, making a thud, but I don’t risk moving a muscle. “And now you’re hiding things from me? Using sprays and doing whatever other bullshit they tell you to do. You’re forgetting something very important, Simona. I. Own. You…Me.” He strikes out, emphasising his words.
Pain radiates and he makes it worse as his fingers bury into the flesh and digging into the places he hit. I have to bite my lip to stay silent. I squeeze my eyes shut and lock myself in the one space he can’t reach me, my mind. He’s tried though, but so far I have managed to keep him out.
I guess in the time we’ve been apart, I have found new ways to protect myself against him. I can’t do anything about his latest attack, but today the pain is muffled. A whisper of a thunderstorm along with the mysterious paper and ink smell I know so well now keeps me company, while further in my delusion Ryder sings one of his softer ballads so clearly that I almost believe he’s standing in here with me.
Strangers provide the umbrella for me to hide under. I focus on them but don’t miss when Brody shoves me away from him. But his hands catch my hair, and he tugs me back to snarl. “I forbid you. Try telling anyone anything about me, and I’ll destroy them before setting you on fire.”
I hear the clip of his heel as he leaves the room. I can’t leave the janitor room yet needing the time to sort through my injuries and the horror of his visit. The ease at which he slid past Unity’s security measures scares me as much as anything about today.
Like when he was in here, time moves strangely. I have a near emptiness in my thoughts and I realise it’s the shock that has swiped my usual insights, but the lyrics of my favourite songs keep my mind active, distracted until the time is right for me to return to the real world.
I don’t feel anything either—no pain, no emotion. But I know when a spreading throb grows warmer on my side, that the time to return back to class has arrived.
Shuffling, I kick the parcel Brody dropped. I’d forgotten about it till then. Grabbing the parcel off the floor, I stand in the light and see what it is. I have no idea what he would bring or why, but as soon as I open the paper bag, I understand his earlier comment about hiding things, and his threat of burning me. He somehow found my pet rock, and by the toxic charred fumes wafting out the bag, he set fire to it. I’m so thankful I hid my journal in the bottom of my suitcase instead of leaving it behind. If I’d left it there he would have found it, and I wouldn’t be looking at his threat, I’d be dead.
Seeing what he did to my rock clarifies how mad he is. A rock! He set fire to a rock. Strangely though, seeing Peebles scorched black, with her googly eyes now melted like a macabre scream mask, returns to me the strength he tried to take away. Wrapping her back up, I hide Peebles on a high shelf, right at the back, to collect later, and then I walk to the nearest bathroom, washing my face and hands before returning to class.
Everyone is in the attached dark room, probably watching Mr. Torres demonstrate sepia developing for the practical component of the assignment he handed out. I sit alone in the class, soaking in his lingering thunderstorm scent which is as cathartic as standing in the rain. His scent floats around me, taking with it enough of the trauma of Brody’s latest stunt, allowing me the space to compose myself.
He is the first one out of the entry labyrinth of the lab. I’m already expecting the look of interrogation in his eyes. Since the second I took a lung full of his compatible scent, I was readying myself to face him because this Alpha is as diametrically opposite to Brody as possible. One look from the substitute teacher, and I’d go to water.
I don’t miss the creasing of his eyes, as a mix of frustration and what looks like disappointment makes his emerald eyes darken when he realises he’s got a different version of me. This Simona is complacent, softly spoken, polished and primped—she is perfect in every way—and she is not his.
He blinks his immediate reaction away, and becomes Mr. Torres, taking the obvious connection we shared before with his transformation.
I want to say his response is not a rebuttal. Maybe it’s bold to assume I know him so well, but if reading more into his expression than what’s actually there helps me cope, it’s harmless. In truth, I melt even more for this stranger—because he gives me space. Space to find my equilibrium without barking demands in my face wanting to know what is going on. His trust speaks volumes about our connection—and it only grows louder the longer he holds back on the questions he clearly wants to ask.
At the same time, he comes as near to me as possible, perhaps sensing I need something from him. He sits at one of the desks and faces the students talking about what he showed them in the dark room before he outlines his expectations on the assignment before us.
He dismisses the class. The lure of dinner has some of the girls rushing away while others take their time. I gather my things, unpacking them a few times to look busy until it is just us.
“I apologise for the interruption before,” I offer, standing up to face him. But face him is all I can do. I focus on his hands instead of his hypnotic eyes. I’m not sure I could handle any more Alpha manipulation.
He doesn’t answer straight away. Long enough for me to shuffle nervously.
“I hope one day you will trust me enough not to apologise for things that are not your fault. I also hope you will be comfortable enough to share with me the obvious burden you now carry, Simona.” He takes a deep inhale and swipes a hand down his face, muffling his voice. “And don’t read that as me being manipulative or as an attempt to draw out your secrets. It’s not that. I want you to understand me better. I need to leave now, not because I want to, but because I have to. And remember, I am not a teacher here. I am, no, we are, not looking at crossing any lines that bind a teacher from pursuing a student. On the assignment sheet are my contact details. I hope when the time is right you reach out.” He stands up but takes a step backwards, putting distance between us. “Otherwise, I will see you in class next week.”