Page 49 of Unhinged Alphas

I can't blame him.

I can hardly believe it myself.

"I've seen monsters," I continue, my voice barely above a whisper. "I've felt their… their cruelty, their indifference to suffering."

Unbidden, memories of the Center flash through my mind. The cold eyes of the handlers, the casual brutality. I push them away, focusing on the present.

"That's not you, Wraith."

He shakes his head, his eyes clouding with something that looks like shame. His hands move again, forming words I can't quite catch, gesturing to his mask, making rending motions, tearing, snapping. But I don't need to understand the signs to read the self-loathing in his expression.

"I know you've done things," I say, choosing my words carefully. "Terrible things, maybe. But that doesn't make you a monster. Neither does whatever is under that mask. It's... it's the choices we make now that define us."

The words surprise me as they leave my mouth. When did I start believing in redemption? In the possibility of change?

Especially for alphas.

Wraith's eyes lock onto mine, searching. I force myself to hold his gaze, even as my heart races. There's an intensity to his stare that makes me feel exposed, like he can see right through all my carefully constructed defenses.

My hand is still on his shoulder. I should move it. I should put distance between us. But I don't.Instead, I find myself wanting to offer more comfort, to erase the pain I see in his eyes.

"You're more than what they made you," I whisper, the words coming from some deep, hidden part of myself. "We both are."

Wraith's breath catches, a barely audible hitch. Slowly, so slowly, he raises his hand. I tense, instinct screaming at me to pull away. But I force myself to stay still as his fingers hover near my face. They brush my cheek, feather-light and impossibly gentle. I lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering closed for a moment. His skin is calloused, rough, but his caress is so tender it makes my breath catch in my throat.

When I open my eyes, I'm struck by the look in Wraith's eyes. There's a reverence there, an awe that makes my heart stutter.

His fingers trail down, following the curve of my jaw, the line of my neck. I stiffen instinctively as his hand nears my shoulder, old fears rising unbidden. But Wraith doesn't grab or restrain. Instead, his touch becomes even lighter, barely there as he traces the outline of my scar.

His eyes meet mine, a question in their depths. His free hand moves, forming a single word.

How?

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. My hand rises of its own accord, fingers brushing against his as I touch my scar. "My scar?" I murmur, though I know that's what he's asking about.

Wraith nods, his gaze steady, patient. There's no demand in his eyes, no expectation. Just a quiet invitation to share, if I want to.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. I've never told anyone this story before. Never trusted anyone enough to reveal this part of myself. But here, in the quiet darkness of Wraith's room, with his gentle touch still lingering on my skin, I find myself wanting to.

"I did it myself," I whisper, the words feeling strange on my tongue. "When I was thirteen. Just before I was captured." A bitter smile tugs at my lips. "Guess it didn't do much good. But I heard the horror stories from my mother, and the other omegas who'd escaped. I knew it made me an easy target. Identifiable. Not that my scent doesn't, but…"

My fingers trace the ridged, thickened skin where my omega mark used to be. "I couldn't stand the thought of being branded, of being reduced to nothing more than my biology. So… one night, I heated up an iron rod I found in the camp. And I branded myself on my own terms."

I close my eyes, the memory vivid and painful. "It hurt. More than anything I'd ever felt before. But it was also the freest I've ever felt."

When I open my eyes again, Wraith is staring at me with an intensity that should be frightening. But it's not. There's no judgment in his gaze, no pity. Just a deep, profound understanding that makes my chest ache.

"The others at the camp were furious," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Said I'd ruined myself, that no alpha would want me now. But I didn't care. I knew what alphas did to omegas. What they did to my mother. And I wanted no part in it. It was the first time I felt like I had any control over my own body."

I fall silent, suddenly exhausted. I've never spoken about this to anyone before, never allowed myself to be this vulnerable. But with Wraith, it feels... safe. Like maybe he understands. Like maybe I've finally found someone whocouldunderstand.

Wraith spells out the last word I ever expected to hear an alpha say about something like this.

B-R-A-V-E.

A laugh bubbles up in my throat, surprising me with its genuineness. "I don't know about that," Isay, shaking my head. "I was just scared and angry and desperate."

Wraith shakes his head emphatically.