8. Unspoken Rules
Unspoken Rules
~ELIZABETH~
" I can do it myself, you know," I mutter, watching as Carter's large hands carefully wrap the bandage around my foot. His touch is surprisingly gentle for someone who looks like they could bench press a car.
After seeing him naked, this Alpha is hiding those muscles beneath the below-average uniform. I’m sure he chest presses daily.
He could surely bench-press me.
The shower had helped ease some of the tension in my muscles, but it did nothing for the electricity that crackles through my skin every time his fingers brush against me. Even through the bandage, his touch sets my nerves on fire.
It’s going to be hard to stem away from this feeling when he’s no longer around….
I try not to think about it.
"You're wrapping it too tight," I complain, trying to distract myself from how good he smells – that intoxicating mix of vanilla, aged whiskey, and spice seems even stronger now in the steamy locker room. "I won't be able to walk properly like this."
“I know you’re lying,” he notes. His hazel eyes flick up to meet mine, that infuriating smirk playing on his sinful lips. "And if that’s not the case, I'll carry you."
Heat floods my cheeks, and I hate how my body responds to the idea.
"Hell no. Everyone in this school already thinks I'm desperate enough without me getting carried around by an Alpha."
"Oh?" His fingers pause in their work, amusement dancing in his eyes. "And what would they think?"
I roll my eyes, fighting back a smile.
"That I finally snapped and resorted to voodoo or something.” I don’t know why it’s suddenly so funny envisioning half these bitches and the Alphas who join in the gossip reacting to the sight of us. “Oh look, the Forgotten One got so desperate she had to curse an Alpha into carrying her around.”
Carter laughs, the sound rich and genuine.
"That's actually kind of funny." His hands resume their work, but his eyes hold mine. "But trust me, no one will be worried about you hanging around us. If anything, they'll probably think you're the one who's been cursed."
Oh really?
The way his remark interests me. Honestly, I just fucked a stranger basically, which means he could be warning me of some secret he’s hiding. Then again, if he ended up being some serial killer, would I mind?
I mean…as long as he’s not killing me, I doubt I’d care.
"You don't look that dangerous," I say before I can stop myself, taking in his perfectly pressed uniform and artfully styled hair.
The look he gives me makes my breath catch. His eyes darken, that perfect mouth curving into something that's more predator than playboy.
"No?"
I huff, looking away.
"Never mind."
The silence that follows is charged, and heavy with unspoken possibilities. I try to focus on the methodical way he's wrapping my feet, but my mind keeps wandering to the fact that the usual post-audition crowd hasn't appeared.
Where’s the congregation of bitches ready to taunt me for my failures?
"Weird that no one's shown up yet," I say, glancing at the door. "Usually this place is swarming with Omegas by now, all fighting for the good shower stalls."
Carter shrugs, but there's something too casual about it.
"Maybe they're still trying to prove their worth on stage or something."
I narrow my eyes at him.
"You don't actually believe that."
"No," he admits, securing the bandage with practiced efficiency. "But does it matter?"
Sketchy.
I’m sure any sane person would see all the red flags around this hot sexy Alpha of a stranger, but here I am. Allowing him to be on his knees, wrapping my feet after we had the best shower sex of my existence.
God…I’d be doomed if this was a horror movie.
I just know I’d be those girls turned on by the psychotic killer planning her demise.
"I should get back to my dorm," I say, though the last thing I want to do is leave this charged bubble we've created. "Before whoever cleared this place out decides to let the floodgates open again."
"I can take you home."
The offer hangs in the air between us, weighted with implications I'm not ready to examine.
"I can get there myself. It's on campus anyway."
His brow furrows.
"You live on campus? I thought that was optional."
"Not for me."
I bite my lip, debating how much to reveal.
Something about him makes me want to talk – maybe it's the way he's still holding my foot, thumb absently stroking the arch through the bandage. Or it could be his overall vibe. An unexplained aura that makes me feel so comfortable in his presence.
It’s odd, sure, but it’s not something I’m willing to pass off.
Especially when no one ever talks this much to me…
"Unpacked Omegas can't leave once they're enrolled in Knot Academy. We're stuck here until someone claims us or..." I trail off, not wanting to finish that thought.
"Or?" he prompts, his hand stilling.
I sigh, leaning back against the lockers that are behind the situation bench I’m on.
"That's why they call it 'Hard' Knot Academy. Depending on where you are on campus, it goes by different names. Death Knot in the North Wing, where they keep the really dangerous Alphas. Savage Knot in the East Wing, where most of the fighting happens. Ruthless Knot in the West Wing, where the political games play out. I’m sure there are a few others, but I haven’t had the energy to explore the entirety of this place. All I know is there’s on average 2500 Omegas to account for on Hard Knot side and we’re the ‘low’ end of the pool of castaways."
"And here?" Carter asks, his voice is soft but intent.
"This is the South Wing. We just call it Hard because..." I pause, searching for the right words. "Because this is where they keep the difficult cases. The ones they need to break."
Understanding dawns in his eyes.
"The Omegas who won't submit."
I nod, trying to ignore how his grip on my foot has tightened slightly.
"Trust me when I say, I was far more…rebellious than I am now back then. I was heinous. Diabolical. Fights everyday that I swear the boxing coach is still trying to recruit me even though I’ve ‘retired’ from that era of chaos.” When he arches an eyebrow in surprise my way, I smirk and give him a naughty wink. “Okay, maybe I haven’t given up those hobbies cause they can be used in the bedroom if you know what I mean.”
“I’d gladly be a victim if its by your hands,” he hums and I’m laughing far too hard.
“God, no. Can’t be ruining that handsome face of yours.”
“Oh, so I’m up to your standards, hmm?”
“Shut up,” I brush him off, deciding to get back on topic. “Five years is usually the cut-off. If an Omega hasn't been claimed by then, they're considered..." I wave my hand vaguely. "Defective. Useless. A waste of resources."
"And what happens then?"
The question makes my stomach clench.
"Nobody knows for sure.” I have to shrug while I think about it. “They just... disappear. Some say they're sent to rehabilitation centers. Others think they're sold off to foreign packs. The optimistic ones believe they're released back into society."
"But you don't believe that," he says.
It's not a question.
I meet his gaze steadily.
"Would you?"
"No," Carter says quietly, his hazel eyes darkening with something that looks like understanding. "I wouldn't believe it either."
I give him a small smile, surprising myself with how genuine it feels.
"Then again, you could look at it from a different angle. In some twisted way, this place protects us from what's out there." I gesture vaguely toward the windows. "At least in here, we have walls between us and the real monsters."
His brow furrows.
"What do you mean?"
"Unclaimed Omegas don't last long out there." My voice comes out harder than I intended, bitter with remembered pain. "They get kidnapped, raped, left in alleyways to die. And they're lucky if the government even bothers to identify the body at that point. Most just end up as another statistic – another 'unfortunate incident' in the weekly reports."
"You sound like you're speaking from experience," Carter says carefully, his thumb still making those maddening circles on my foot. "Did you know someone who..."
The question hangs in the air, and suddenly I'm not in the locker room anymore.
I'm standing in a sterile morgue, staring at crime scene photos spread across a metal table. The fluorescent lights are too bright, making the images seem surreal, like a horror movie instead of reality.
Jessie's reality.
I don't realize I'm crying until Carter's warm hand brushes my cheek, his touch gentle as he wipes away a tear I didn't know had fallen.
"I'm not—" I start, then stop, swallowing hard. "I'm not usually this emotional. I'm not that kind of Omega."
"There's nothing wrong with expressing your emotions when your heart is hurting," he says softly, and something about the simplicity of his words breaks something loose inside me.
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I see past the dangerous Alpha exterior to something that looks almost...relatable. I find myself nodding slowly before looking down at my lap, where my hands are twisted together so tightly my knuckles have gone white.
"Her name was Jessie," I say, the words coming out barely above a whisper. "My best friend. She was..." I have to pause, searching for words that could possibly do her justice. "She was everything I'm not. Bright, optimistic, always wearing these ridiculous neon colors and telling me to 'live a little.'"
Carter stays silent, but his hand moves from my cheek to cover my twisted fingers, offering quiet support.
"I never got to see her body…not really. Just the photos." I let out a shaky breath. "They needed an Omega who knew her to identify her because her family... they didn't..." My voice cracks. "They didn't give a damn.”
How the memories sting. They bring back that overwhelming anger I used to carry into anything that let me physically let it out. Dance, fighting, any type of sport that I could use my unresolved rage to my advantage and win.
It was obviously negative and bad for my own mental health, but at least it was a form of grieving I could thrive off of since no one else cared to listen or acknowledge my pain.
“Can you believe that? Their own daughter…unidentifiable after the traitorous harm done to her just because she was an Omega. The least your parents could do is come see you one last time. Come tell the world that you were there and they were mourning the loss of their own."
A bitter laugh escapes me, the sound harsh and frustrated as I shake my head.
"Imagine being born into this world and no one giving a damn when you leave it. Like your existence meant nothing at all."
The words taste like ash in my mouth, but now that I've started, I can't seem to stop.
"They never showed the body at the funeral. Said it was because she was too beaten up, too mutilated to be viewed. But that was just another lie. Utter bullshit. We Omegas know better. I mean, if you don’t you’re just a blind fool asking for a reality check."
My voice hardens.
"They just did the proceedings to make some extra cash out of sympathy. Nothing more. My best friend was just another transaction to them, despite coming from a well-off family. They probably made more money from her death than they ever spent on her life. She wasn’t the favorite, but she was the prettiest. They hated that.” I can just remember her vibrant orange hair. “Vivid ginger hair with striking blue eyes. God, sometimes they looked green even. Like the perfect set of ocean eyes. She should have been a model if our world wasn’t so focused on hierarchies and all that other bullshit.”
I can feel Carter's hand tighten over mine, his warmth seeping into my cold fingers.
"The worst part?" I continue, the words spilling out now like poison from an old wound. "She was so excited about her first heat. Had it all planned out, which sounds fucking insane to me. Wanted to find a pack who would appreciate her art, her dancing, her fun lifestyle. She was honestly the golden retriever in life. She used to paint these incredible murals, all bright colors, and hope..."
The memory of her last piece hits me suddenly – a massive wall of swirling colors she'd done just weeks before her death. Blues, pinks, and yellows all blend together in a celebration of life.
"She never even got to finish her last painting," I whisper. "It's still there, in the old studio we used to rent. Half-finished. Just...waiting for its creator to return and finish what was started so the world could appreciate its completion. Like she just stepped out for a minute and might come back to add more color."
My free hand moves unconsciously to my thigh, where her memorial is inked permanently into my skin.
"That's why I got the tattoo. The skull…it glows in the dark. UV reactive ink. The moment I found an artist in the underground who would do it, I couldn’t say no. Because Jessie always said everything should have a little magic to it, and what better way than having a permanently inked work of art that glows brilliantly in the dark with just a hint of fluorescent lights? When in the clubs, oh…it’s a stunner. Catches looks like crazy."
I look up then, meeting Carter's intense gaze.
"You know what the really fucked up part is?” I offer as if some crazed philosophy I’m about to reveal. “The police report listed her cause of death as 'natural causes.' Because apparently, that's natural for an unclaimed Omega. To be used and discarded like trash. To be found in some alley with?—"
My voice breaks, and I have to take a deep breath before continuing.
"With evidence of at least six different Alphas having...having..."
I can't finish the sentence, but I don't need to.
Carter's scent shifts, taking on a sharper edge that speaks of barely contained rage. I decide to move on because I’m sure he understands her depressive end.
"The worst part was the media coverage," I say, my voice going flat, detached. "Three paragraphs on page six of the local paper. 'Tragic incident claims young Omega.' Like she was taken by a natural disaster or something. Not murdered by Alphas who probably went home to their families afterward as though nothing happened."
I pull my hand from his grip, wrapping my arms around myself.
"You want to know why I've spent five years refusing to be claimed? Why I'd rather disappear than submit? Because I’ve seen what happens to Omegas who believe in the system. Who thought if they just followed the rules, wore the right clothes, smiled the right way, everything would work out."
My eyes meet his again, and this time I let him see all the anger, all the pain I usually keep locked away.
“Watched how the hope is stolen from their eyes and is replaced with so much fear, I bet I can smell it a mile away. See the way their bodies tremble as realization settles in, and at that point, there’s no way of running from reality. No plan B, C, or D. They’re stuck in their predicament with no one shedding an ounce of pity, and their ends…they’re always tragic. Unforgiving.”
I let out a sigh and shrug.
"So yeah, maybe Hard Knot Academy is a prison. Maybe I'm just prolonging the inevitable. But at least in here, when I disappear, someone might notice."
I look into his eyes, my voice dropping to a whisper.
"Someone may care that the 'Carrion Crow' is no longer around to flaunt her talent like a swan with broken wings."
Carter studies me intently, his hazel eyes dark with something I can't quite read.
"Is that why you continue to audition? Knowing damn well they'll never accept you? Knowing they'll mock you endlessly, all because you're stuck here?"
A smirk tugs at my lips as I shrug, trying to inject lightness into my voice despite the weight in my chest.
"What can I say? I enjoy being a form of entertainment for these miserable Omegas most of the time." The words come out bitter despite my attempt at humor. "What other entertainment will stop them from thinking about their miserable lives and the constant anxiety revolving around whether they'll find the Alphas of their dreams or become a lovely five-year prodigy like me?"
I force a laugh that sounds hollow even to my own ears.
"I just motivate them to not become me. I'm doing a good deed in this world."
The movement is sudden – Carter rises from his position at my feet, his hands coming up to grip my cheeks. The touch is firm but gentle, forcing me to meet his gaze.
"Carter?" His name comes out uncertain, questioning.
He says nothing at first, his expression stern and intense.
Then he leans in, brushing his lips against mine with devastating gentleness. The kiss is light, teasing – his teeth grazing my bottom lip in a way that makes my breath catch.
"You're no one's form of entertainment," he says against my mouth, each word precise and heated. "That's not your role here. Get that shit out of your mind."
Confusion swirls through me at his sudden intensity, but before I can respond, his thumb is tracing my bottom lip, followed by another firm kiss that makes my toes curl.
"You know why they say all that shit?" His voice is low, dangerous. "They fear the day you'll tap into the real you. The empowered you that knows no one can fucking touch you." His thumb continues its maddening path across my lip as he speaks. "They're not afraid of you remaining here. No. They're frightened you'll finally find those puzzle pieces you need to be complete. Whole. A value in this society that has done everything to shun you away."
His eyes search mine, intense and burning.
"You know why?"
I shake my head, mesmerized by the darkness in his gaze, the way it makes my stomach flip with anticipation.
"Because you're the one who won't hesitate to fight back." His voice drops lower, taking on a predatory edge that should frighten me but only makes heat pool between my legs. "The one who will use every resource to ruin all those who enjoyed closing doors in your face and making you belittle your worth."
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry as he leans in close.
His breath fans across my ear as he whispers, "No one at Knot Academy is ready for you, Abbie, and trust me. All we need is a semester at this shithole and they'll see what it's like to try and belittle what's tainted with sin. Our sin. "
A shiver runs through me as his lips find my neck, teeth grazing that sensitive spot just below my ear that sends electricity down my spine. His scent surrounds me – that intoxicating mix of vanilla and whiskey now threaded through with something darker, more primal.
When he pulls back, I feel almost bereft, but then he's reaching for his blazer. The gesture when he drapes it over my shoulders is oddly intimate, his hands lingering longer than necessary to adjust the collar.
"Let's go," he says, extending his hand to me.
I stare at his offered palm – large, strong, capable of both destruction and the gentlest touch. It's a crossroads, I realize. A choice between maintaining my carefully constructed walls and taking a leap into something that could either save or destroy me completely.
Time seems to stretch as I consider his hand, my mind racing with possibilities.
Five years of isolation, protecting myself…of being the ‘Forgotten One’ – all of it could change with this simple gesture.
Or it could all come crashing down.
But as I look up into those hazel eyes, dark with promise and something that looks dangerously like understanding, I realize I'm tired of playing it safe.
Tired of being a form of entertainment, being forgotten, and…being alone in this big frightening world.
I don’t want to be stuck here forever…
Slowly, deliberately, I place my hand in his.
His fingers close around mine instantly, warm and prominent, and something clicks into place – like finding the first piece of a puzzle you didn't even know you were trying to solve.
I feel safe, which is crazy to say or admit when we’ve barely known each other for an hour, but would it hurt to trust him long enough to see where this leads?
Maybe it's time to stop being the broken swan and fight to be free.