Chapter 6 Braiden
Braiden
The words You live here echo in the sudden silence, and my mind goes blank.
I stand frozen in the middle of the living room, water dripping from my hair onto my shoulders.
I clutch the towel around my waist like it's the only familiar thing I have left in the world.
Wes's face is hard, his jaw set in a way that makes my stomach clench.
This isn't a request. It isn't even a discussion. It's a fact he's decided.
"I—what?" My voice comes out as a pathetic squeak. "But I just got my dorm assignment yesterday. My RA is probably wondering where I am. I have all my things there, my books, my—"
"We're getting your things now," Wes cuts me off, his tone leaving zero room for argument. "All of it. Today."
I blink, trying to process his words. Five minutes ago, he was promising me breakfast, his eyes warm and satisfied after what we'd just done in bed. Now he looks like he's preparing for battle.
My stomach sinks. I take a hesitant step toward him. "Did something happen? While I was in the shower?"
Something flickers across his face—a shadow, a hint of something dangerous—before his expression smooths over into a mask of pure alpha control. "Nothing for you to worry about." Which is no answer at all. He turns and heads for the kitchen, his back rigid. "Get dressed. We're leaving in ten."
I stand there, dripping and confused, a sick anxiety churning in my gut. This isn't how it's supposed to go. I had a plan. Orientation. Dorm life. Study groups. A carefully plotted path to medical school that definitely did not include moving in with an alpha I literally just met.
But my stupid omega body is already on board with the whole thing.
My skin tingles at the thought of sleeping in his bed every night, waking up surrounded by his scent on the pillows, on me.
The mark on my neck throbs, a constant, possessive reminder of what happened between us. What's still happening.
With a shaky sigh, I retreat to the bathroom to get dressed. My clothes from yesterday are wrinkled and smell like campus dust and nervous sweat. I pull them on anyway, wincing as the fabric brushes against tender spots on my body. Reminders of what we did last night. And this morning.
When I emerge, Wes is waiting by the door, keys in hand, expression impatient. He's changed into fresh clothes—dark jeans and a gray henley that stretches across his broad chest in a way that makes my mouth go dry. His hair is still mussed from sleep and sex. He looks devastating.
His eyes scan over me, impatient. "Ready?"
I nod anyway, clutching my empty satchel. "Don't I at least get those eggs you promised first?"
The corner of his mouth twitches, almost a smile. He opens the door, gesturing for me to go ahead of him. "After. I want to get your things before the dorms get busy."
As soon as we step outside, his hand finds the small of my back, a warm, heavy weight that guides me forward. It's so possessive I should be annoyed, offended even. Instead, a shiver runs up my spine, and I lean into his touch without meaning to.
The walk across campus is excruciating. Every step feels like we're on display. Wes Chambers is campus royalty, the star quarterback, a golden god among mere mortals. And I'm… well, I'm the nobody freshman who somehow ended up with his claiming mark on my neck.
People stare. Of course they do.
Two girls sitting on a bench outside the library actually stop mid-conversation, their mouths hanging open as we pass. A group of guys in Westbridge hoodies nudge each other, eyebrows raised, whispers following in our wake. I catch fragments of their conversation:
"Is that Chambers?"
"Who's the omega?"
"Didn't know he was looking to settle down…"
"Lucky little bastard."
Heat rushes to my cheeks. I try to make myself smaller, less visible. Meanwhile, Wes walks like he owns the place—head high, totally confident. Either he doesn't notice everyone staring or, more likely, he's just used to it.
Then I see her. Zoe, the friendly omega from orientation yesterday. She's walking toward us, a bright smile on her face. Her eyes meet mine, and her smile widens in recognition.
"Hey, Statistics Guy!" she calls out.
My entire body freezes in mortification.
Her friendly gaze slides from me to Wes, then to the possessive hand he has clamped on my hip, then, finally, to the angry red bite mark on my neck.
Her smile doesn't just falter; it vanishes.
Her eyes go wide with shock. Her mouth opens and closes a few times, but no sound comes out.
It's a look I'll never forget—a mix of awe, disbelief, and maybe even a little fear.
She just stares, and in that moment, I feel like a zoo animal, a specimen pinned under a microscope.
"Everyone's staring," I mutter, keeping my eyes fixed on the ground.
Wes's hand slides from my back to my hip, pulling me even closer to his side. "Let them." His voice is loud enough for Zoe and a dozen other students to hear. "They should know you're taken."
The possessiveness in his tone makes my stomach flip again, but I kind of like it. It's terrifying how quickly I'm adapting to this, how natural it feels to be claimed by him.
"You don't even know my major." It's a last desperate attempt to inject some rationality into this situation.
"Biology. Pre-med track," he answers without missing a beat. "You mentioned it yesterday. And about fifty times this morning under your breath after I fucked you."
I nearly trip over my own feet, heat flooding my face so fast I feel dizzy. "Jesus, Wes! Keep your voice down!"
He chuckles, the sound low and warm. "Why? Everyone already knows what that mark on your neck means, Braiden. They can smell me all over you."
As if to emphasize his point, his thumb brushes against the claiming bite, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core. I suck in a sharp breath, my steps faltering.
"That's not fair," I protest weakly.
He smiles, looking way too satisfied with himself. "Never said I'd play fair."
We reach my dorm building, a red-brick monstrosity that suddenly seems a lot less appealing than it did yesterday. Wes holds the door open for me, his other hand never leaving my body as we step inside.
I breathe a sigh of relief when we find the lobby empty, but then we reach my floor and—great. Toby, my RA, is standing in the hallway, clipboard in hand. His head snaps up as we approach, his eyes widening behind his wire-rimmed glasses.
"Braiden?" Toby's gaze snags on my neck, his own scent sharpening with surprise. "You didn't come back last night. I was about to file a missing student report."
"I was…" I trail off. How am I supposed to explain this? Sorry, I was busy getting claimed by my fated mate…
"He was with me," Wes states, his voice flat. "And now we're here to get his things."
Toby straightens, his clipboard clutched to his chest like a shield. "There's a procedure for moving out," he says, his voice taking on that overly formal tone I recognize from yesterday. "You need to fill out the proper forms, schedule a room inspection, return your key—"
Wes doesn't say a word. He just stares, utterly still.
The air feels heavy suddenly, charged with something I can only describe as raw alpha power.
I should be embarrassed by how Wes is acting—all alpha dominance and intimidation.
Instead, I feel a weird mix of mortification and…
pride? Like watching a force of nature that somehow belongs to me.
Toby's words stutter to a halt. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously.
"I, um, that is—" he tries again, but Wes's silence is somehow more intimidating than any shout could be.
A sudden blast of electric guitar from down the hall breaks the tension, so loud I swear the walls are vibrating. Toby jumps, his clipboard slipping from his grip and clattering to the floor.
"For God's sake," he mutters, bending to retrieve it. "That's the third time today. I've already written him up twice."
Wes uses the distraction to guide me past Toby, his hand firm on my lower back as we continue down the hall to my room. I glance back to see Toby hesitating, clearly torn between following us and dealing with the noise violation.
The music wins out. With a frustrated sigh, Toby turns and marches toward the source of the sound, calling out, "Jionni! This is your final warning!"
"That was… intense," I murmur as we reach my door. My hands shake as I fish the key from my pocket.
Wes just cocks an eyebrow, unperturbed. "Just saving time."
The door swings open, and the faint smell of new textbooks and highlighter ink hits me.
My half of the room is exactly as I left it yesterday morning—pens lined up by color, sticky notes in perfect stacks, not a single paper out of place.
My laminated five-year plan is still taped to the wall above my desk.
My planner is still open to this week's schedule, every hour accounted for.
It's weird—like I'm looking at someone else's life. A life that vanished the moment I crashed into Wes Chambers on the quad.
I step inside, my breath hitches. The panic I've been fighting all morning finally hits me full force.
"Oh God," I whisper, picking up my planner with trembling hands. My whole body shakes. "This is really happening. I'm really doing this. Moving in with you. After one day. This is—this is insane."
I back away from the desk, away from the evidence of my old life, until my shoulders hit the wall. I clutch the planner to my chest so hard my knuckles go white.
"This isn't me," I choke out, my eyes darting around the room, from the color-coded bookshelf to the neat stack of syllabi on the desk. "I don't do spontaneous. I don't throw away my plans for—for—"
He closes the door behind us, his voice surprisingly gentle. "For what?"