11. Brylee
11
brYLEE
Grab a dunce cap and throw it on top of my head right this second because I’m an idiot. Why did I think that an ankle brace would make a difference?
Maybe it would have if Self-Defense wasn’t taught by Alpha Team X. Maybe it would have if my mother hadn’t informed that group that I tried to get them ousted. But…as it stands, the brace is nothing more than a hindrance, something to make me nearly trip as I try to block punches from an alpha that the professors deliberately paired me up with in their fury. A student who’s got five inches and at least eighty pounds on me that I’m supposed to defend myself against.
We’re in a giant gymnasium plastered with blue exercise mats that are supposed to soften our falls. But, if you ask me, those stupid mats start to feel like concrete after you’ve fallen on them 1.86 billion times.
A grunt erupts from my lips as Antonio lands another hit, this one in my solar plexus. If I weren’t wearing the bodysuit, that single hit alone would have taken me to the ground. As it is, even with the cushion, the air squeezes from my lungs and dark sparkles hover along the edges of my vision.
“Come on, Princeling! You aren’t even trying,” Alpha Luka snarls from beside me. With his close-cropped beard, brown hair, and guy-next-door features, he’s the least intimidating looking member of the Alpha Team X. But looks, apparently, are deceiving.
Luka has been in my face since the first-years were paired up for sparring. His clipped words have hammered me with critiques since the very first hit I took. And I’ve taken quite a few over the past hour.
“I am trying. You aren’t teaching,” I spit back, because it’s the truth. Other than vague generalities like “arms up,” he’s deliberately avoided giving me guidance. He’s punishing me, and it’s incredibly obvious.
“Can’t help if you’re too stupid to learn,” he retorts in a low, threatening tone. By the look in his eyes, if we were on the street instead of in this classroom, he’d be punching me himself instead of letting a lackey do it for him.
Mom really should have fired them.
Resentment gives the back of my mouth a sour flavor, but the thought of my mother’s betrayal only solidifies my decision to keep my parents out of the loop for this plan. Teddie is too important to risk.
“Yes, it’s me who’s stupid.” I agree, the fire in my tone lacing with disdain. I don’t point out that his team was clearly pulled from the battlefield and dumped here out of the way at Eros. But I don’t have to. Luka seems quite capable of following my implication. His teeth gnash together as he jerks his head at his puppet.
“Again.”
I raise my arms to block, but it does no good. Antonio’s reach is so long that I can’t do anything to stop him. The next punch to the gut rearranges my organs, and when I sputter out a cough, I’m shocked that droplets of blood don’t spray from my lips. The pain is so intense that my eyes want to water, but I blink hard, refusing to let anything resembling tears creep onto my face.
Blowing out careful, steady breaths to restore my calm, I glance at the clock. Thirty more minutes. Just thirty more.
My shoulders ache when I pull my fists up in the ready position. My stomach is probably a giant bruise. If face hits were allowed, I don’t know what I’d do. I’d have to tell the professors over at Darling that I fell down a flight of stairs. I suppose it’s a small mercy that we’re only supposed to try for body shots and this “guy” suit helps absorb some of the impact.
Every breath I take, I tell myself that it’s almost over. That I’m counting down. That this class will end soon. I absolutely refuse to think about the future beyond that or acknowledge the fact that I’ll have to be right back here in this torture chamber next week.
“Princeling’s never been in a fight before, huh?” Luka scoffs as he hovers nearby, as though degenerate behavior is something to be proud of.
“Why would I be in a fight? It’s not like there are Noths roaming the streets,” I retort, tired of his constant harassment. And then, that same impulsive whim that made me volunteer to take Teddie’s place takes control of my lips. I find myself saying, “And normally, I don’t waste my time on base bastards like you.”
That’s a mistake. The alpha immediately marches forward until we’re chest to chest.
I’m in the fighting fatigues that Eros requires—an all-black getup that I’ve supplemented with a full-length undershirt despite the warmer weather. He, on the other hand, looks dressed for the beach in a white collared shirt and board shorts. But the way he grabs my collar and yanks me forward until I’m nearly dangling from his fist is anything but casual.
I might not know how to punch, but my words definitely hit their mark.
His scent drifts over me and sends me into a daze even as my muscles throb with pain and anger pulses in my chest. He’s got a disgustingly clean, fresh scent that reminds me of a warm blanket just out of the dryer.
My mouth gapes slightly in response, omega instincts tickling up my spine.
No!
I want to hate his scent like I hate him.
“I’m surprised you haven’t been in a fight because you’re such a little prick,” he comments before dropping me and watching me stumble backward, disgust stamped across his features. “Antonio, go join that group over there. The little prince here doesn’t even know what to do when someone’s trying to choke him.”
I watch with panicked regret as the man who’s been pummeling me for the last hour turns and retreats, because I know whatever is about to happen now is going to be far worse.
Luka squares off with me, his deep brown gaze withering under his arched brows. “Grab my neck,” he orders.
My mouth dries out. Trepidation shoves the marrow from my bones and replaces it until the tremble running through me feels like it’s bone-deep.
I really don’t want to do this.
But I have no choice.
I poked the bear.
So, I try to lock out my fingers and keep them still as I reach up and slowly clasp them around the Adam’s apple of the professor in front of me. Immediately, the position feels intimate to me because his pulse thrums beneath my fingertips. Because the skin of his neck is soft while the slight scruff of his beard drags across the upper part of my hand. Because it’s been a very long time since I’ve actually touched another person outside of my tiny circle.
The fluorescent lights in the gym seem to shine brighter behind him, and I automatically breathe deeper, trying to pull more of his scent into my lungs. The urge to step all the way into him and press my body against his is as unconsciously innate as my own heartbeat—something outside of my control.
But, while the urge is there, I can fight against it.
I can’t nestle up to Professor Luka while I’m Teddie.
And I won’t ever nestle up to him.
Not to any alpha, but most definitely not to this asshole.
My fingers tighten as my resentment over my own instincts strengthens.
Luka’s eyes immediately narrow, the alpha male misinterpreting my gesture for a challenge. His lip curls.
And then, faster than a blink, one of his hands is around my wrist, the other shoving at the back of my elbow. My arm is twisted painfully until my entire body bends sideways submissively.
“See what I did? Break the hold.” He releases my arm but doesn’t step back, just waits for me to straighten. Once I’m looking him in the eye again, he says, “Your turn.”
Immediately, his hand shoots forward, and the next thing I know, there’s no air in my body. Unlike Antonio, who was forceful with me but clearly just practicing, I think the professor might actually be trying to snap my neck.
I can’t breathe. Can hardly think.
It’s suddenly impossible to remember what he did when my hand was on him. Of course, it’s not as if he walked me through it step-by-step. My hands scrabble at his arm, one of them banging against his elbow without having any effect. The other goes to scratch at his wrist, his fingers.
“Are you a fucking omega? Scratching? That’s what you’ve got?” His snarl should make me panic, should make my knees melt. His accusation should make my gaze dart around the room to see who’s noting the harm to Teddie’s reputation.
But I can’t get enough oxygen and tears are filling my eyes.
He shakes me by the neck, and that motion catapults me back in time.
Moonlight drips down the wall like candle wax, and I stare at it dully. Bright white drips of light, I think, vaguely noting that I rhymed. But my conscious mind is only half-aware. Most of me is floating around somewhere above my body as I hear the belt buckle coming undone behind me. As the thick fingers wrap tightly around my neck, and orders are whispered in my ear in another language. Orders I don’t follow.
And that’s when the alpha starts to shake me like a rag doll. Behind him, one of his companions yanks my dress up over my thighs.
“Theodore! What the fucking hell? Did you faint?” Luka’s derision calls me back to the present moment, where I’m hunched over, his fingers loose around my neck as I suck in gulping breaths of air.
“He piss himself yet?” Professor Ridge yells from across the room, calling attention to me and my pathetic state. The blond man stares over at us with an ugly smirk on his godlike face.
“About to,” Luka calls back.
And something inside me snaps. It might be my patience or my sanity—I’m not sure, and I sure don’t give a fuck as I sweep my hand and latch onto Luka’s wrist. Half a breath later, my other palm slams into his elbow, shoving forward until he’s bent over awkwardly just like I was.
I should stop. I know I should.
But the animal portion of my brain has taken over. Survival instincts activate, motivated by the awful collection of memories that ensure I’ll never trust an alpha group again. The belittling condescension of Alpha Team X is like a match to this kindling that’s been piling up inside of me for years. This unlit rage, this desperate build-up of dead undergrowth and cruel truths that’s simply fodder when I finally find that flame.
Bringing my knee up, I slam Luka’s face down onto it.
Fuuuuck.
A burst of punishing agony shoots from my kneecap up through my spine from the hit, right before Luka’s fist smashes into my knee and makes me collapse as he smoothly rolls out of the way and then stands up.
From the mat, I stare up at him looming over me, blood dripping from his nose, a few spots already marring his shirt.
And I realize that if he hated me before, that’s nothing to how he loathes me now.
I’ve just turned my scent match into an enemy for life.
Good.
I don’t want a match anyway.