40. Colter
40
COLTER
I slide a hand down the front of my scratchy, uncomfortable white button-down as I wait for Brylee outside her dorm building.
Been waiting for over an hour, trying to ignore the stares of giggling omegas as they eye me speculatively before climbing the steps.
A part of me wonders if she decided to go back on her deal with Luka, but a second later, my doubts are assuaged when the back door opens and Brylee steps outside.
My heart…stops. Can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t do anything but gape.
My mate looks like a goddess made flesh. Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look more beautiful.
She’s wearing a fitted, deep blue dress that hugs her figure just enough to highlight her silhouette. The dress has delicate lace detailing along the neckline and sleeves, adding a touch of elegance without being overdone. Her blonde hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, so shiny it seems to reflect the moonlight itself. A pair of black heels click on the pavement as she walks toward me, carrying a small silver clutch. Her makeup is natural yet flawless, with a soft blush and a hint of pink lipstick. She looks effortlessly beautiful, and I can’t help the smile that curves my lips.
She stumbles on the bottom step, cursing the heels, and I reach a hand out to help steady her. Then stop myself.
She doesn’t want me to touch her. Still afraid of me.
Still afraid of all alphas.
I can see the demons in her eyes. Whatever happened in the past has changed her irrevocably.
Want to banish those ghosts.
Kill everyone who hurt her.
Brylee pauses when she catches sight of me leaning against a tree near the edge of the stairwell. Pink stains her cheeks—no doubt at having been caught falling—and she ducks her head, golden strands of hair obscuring her face from view.
“Hi.”
My omega…
So sweet, so shy.
Yet so fierce.
“Hi,” I reply gruffly, pushing myself away from the tree and moving toward her.
She shifts from foot to foot. “Do we have to…I don’t know…go to the front office and fill out any forms?”
Perhaps. That’s usually what alphas do when they’re courting an omega. But I don’t want to wait. Waited long enough for her already.
I extend my arm for her to take, and I’m moderately surprised when she does so, her tiny hand fitting in the crook of my elbow like it was made to be there.
“The rules state we need to stop at the office,” Brylee insists half-heartedly, and I flash her a smirk, one she can’t see perfectly with my mask in place, shrouding my face in shadows.
“Since when do you play by the rules?”
Her cheeks pinken, and I know she’s thinking of her little…alter ego.
Honestly, I don’t know how the other guys haven’t caught on to it yet. Don’t know how it took me so long in the first place.
It’s obvious.
Brylee may be wearing a bodysuit when she’s masquerading as Teddie, but her face… Her face doesn’t change. And those glittering blue eyes I yearn to lose myself in… They don’t change either.
A bunch of idiots.
The two of us are quiet as we walk toward the wall. With a furtive glance in either direction, I boost her over the stone barricade between campuses and quickly follow. We meander under the trees toward our cottage before Brylee breaks the silence, her voice tentative, “You haven’t told anyone yet.” It’s not a question.
I simply grunt in response, not sure what else she wants me to say. Of course I haven’t. She doesn’t want me to, and my mate comes first. Always. Besides, there’s obviously more to the story than what meets the eye.
“I…” She swallows and glances away. “Thank you.”
“Just want you to be happy,” I reply simply.
She blushes, and another comfortable silence expands between us.
I’ve never had this with anyone before—someone I can just be myself with, without worrying about making awkward small talk or asking about the weather. It’s nice. She’s nice. She smells nice.
“Can I ask you a question? And if it’s too personal, you can tell me to butt out and shut up. I don’t mean to pry,” Brylee blurts out. Then, softer, she adds, “I understand if there are things you don’t want to share. I…I feel the same.”
“About those alphas?” I question, my voice just as quiet as hers.
She blinks, momentarily taken by surprise, before she nods once. “Yeah.” That’s all she says, but I know not to push her harder. I don’t want her to break.
“Ask me,” I tell her, sliding my gaze toward her before quickly refocusing straight ahead, trying to get a handle on the anger that blazes through me at the thought of some alpha making her sad. I’m a two-hundred-plus-pound beast of a man with muscle upon muscle upon muscle. Yet this tiny, petite female’s heartache obliterates me more thoroughly than any enemy is capable of.
“I know it’s probably hypocritical of me to ask this, considering all of my own secrets, but…” She bites down on her lip, and I resist the urge to save the abused flesh. To press my thumb against the plump skin of her lip until her teeth release it.
Stop myself.
Remind myself that I don’t want to scare her.
“Why do you always wear a mask?” she blurts. “Is it because you have scars? Because of the drone attack?”
Ahh. It seems one of my brothers has been sharing. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say Ridge. He would want her to know why he is the way he is, why he’s gruff and no-nonsense and full of steel.
Hesitantly, I bring my hand to my face and run the pads of my fingers over the ridges of the mask. The skull is cool to the touch, with slits for the eyes, nose, and a larger one for the mouth. I know that I’m terrifying to look at. I’ve seen the fear in people’s eyes when they catch sight of me—the terror of the unknown, of what I’m going to do to them, of what my mask hides.
I must be silent for too long because Brylee begins to shift awkwardly and flex her fingers on my arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked?—”
“I have…scars,” I grunt out, my speech slightly stuttered as I struggle to articulate some of my most heinous demons. “Lots of scars.”
Brylee lowers her head. “So do I.”
A wave of fierce, indignant anger rushes through me, and I suddenly have the urge to turn around and hunt down everyone who dared to mark Brylee’s perfect flesh. Who hurt her? Why? Does it have anything to do with those alphas Luka told us about?
I’ll find them. Kill them.
Should be easy to find their location…
We reach the tiny cottage, and Brylee pauses just outside the door, sucking in a deep breath. It’s almost as if I can physically see the moment she dons her battle armor—her back straightens, her chin notches upward, and her hand uncurls from where it’s gripping my arm and lowers to her side. I’m not looking at Brylee the omega; I’m staring at the princess of our kingdom, and she’s a force to be reckoned with.
“Let’s do this,” Brylee says gravely, like we’re heading into battle, and I can’t help but chuckle. Cute. So cute.
I follow Brylee into the cottage, and we’re greeted with…chaos. Absolute chaos.
I lean against the threshold of the door as I watch my brothers lose their ever-loving shit over a damn turkey.
From the entryway, we have an unobstructed view of the kitchen, which bleeds into the living room. Kylian stands in front of the oven, wearing a hot pink apron with tiny hearts all over it. He holds a pan between two pot holders where a charred bird sits, smoke wafting off of it. Luka stands on a chair, attempting to shut down the fire alarm, which is blaring through the tiny home.
“I FUCKING TOLD YOU TO TAKE THE CHICKEN OUT HOURS AGO!” Ridge rages as he attempts to balance a huge bowl full of mashed potatoes and a second one full of macaroni and cheese in both hands. He’s shirtless and covered in sauce, flour, and what I really hope is some sort of frosting and not cum.
“FUCK OFF! AND IT’S A TURKEY NOT A CHICKEN, YOU IDIOT!” Kylian yells back as he slams the pan of destroyed turkey on top of the stove.
“For fuck’s sake,” Luka grumbles. He finally decides to get rid of the fire alarm completely and unhooks it before chucking it across the room.
“We can’t serve her this!” Ridge barks, no longer screaming now that the fire alarm has shut up. He attempts to point with his elbow at Kylian’s creation.
Kylian huffs and throws his hands up in the air. “You think you can do better?”
“I know I can do better.” Ridge gets right into Kylian’s face, looking about as intimidating as a toddler with his hands full of food and his face covered in sauces. Not that Kylian looks more fierce in his fluffy apron.
The two men glare at each other, the tension between them almost palpable, when Kylian reaches for the bowl of macaroni and cheese.
Ridge jerks it away. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Since we don’t have turkey, the mac will have to be the main dish,” Kylian snaps, reaching for it again.
“And that means you have to grab it… why ?”
“To put it on the table, dumbass!”
“I can put it on the table,” Ridge exclaims.
Kylian reaches for it again, and Ridge instinctively releases the potatoes to grab at the bowl with two hands.
Mashed potatoes fall in all directions, though both Ridge and Kylian seem oblivious to the mess at their feet. They continue to fight over the damn noodles like it’s the holy grail.
Luka pinches the bridge of his nose.
And Brylee? She begins to laugh. The noise starts quiet at first—tentative and unsure—before growing in volume and echoing throughout the cottage.
All three men freeze. Turn toward her.
In his shock, Kylian releases his side of the bowl, causing it to fling backward, gooey yellow cheese and noodles raining down over Ridge. Our fearless commander stands there in stunned silence, yellow sauce dripping down his face and a few noodles stuck to his blond hair.
Brylee begins to laugh harder.
Soon, we’re all laughing, even Ridge—who’s the ass of the joke.
I want Brylee to laugh more often.
I’ll spend the rest of my life getting her to.
I vow it.