I do not have a weak stomach

I startle at the sound of leaves crunching under boots.

“Who’s there?”

“Mia? Is that you?”

I turn to find Cole picking his way toward me.

“Cole,” I breathe. “How did you—”

“I had a feeling they were going to come for you after what you did.” He finally reaches where I’m leaning against a tree, my body too weak to stand on its own. “So I kept a close eye.”

“On me, or them?”

“Both?”

I sigh. “I guess telling you I can take care of myself again isn’t going to convince you any more than the last time.”

“I guess telling you to stop provoking them again isn’t going to dissuade you any more than it did the last time.”

“Fair enough,” I agree. “However, I wouldn’t call it provoking. It’s more like strategic retaliation.”

Cole ignores that. He pauses to scrutinize me. His eyes widen.

“It’s not that bad,” I say quickly before he can get hysterical. “Just some scrapes and bruises. Nothing an ointment can’t handle.”

“Did he do this?” His voice is calm. Too calm.

“He rammed the tree,” I say, looking up and pointing. “I was up there.”

Cole’s jaw flexes, almost imperceptibly.

I don’t tell him about Damon shifting over me, but the mere thought of it makes me shudder.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

“A little.”

He nods, probably imagining the different ways he could maim Damon and his friends.

Now that’s a sight I would love to see. How I wish Damon didn’t have Alpha blood.

I look up at Cole and would have smiled, if not for the fact that my head hurts so much.

Cole has been my best friend for as long as I can remember, and he’s taken it upon himself to care for me even when nobody else would.

I have always wondered if Cole knew he was only a little older than me.

If he knew he should be allowed to be reckless.

If he knew he was allowed to be irresponsible sometimes.

He had taken responsibility at such a young age that he might have forgotten.

Sometimes I wonder what I would do without him.

Cole steps closer and, in one swift motion, I’m in his arms.

Instinctively, I wrap my arms around his neck.

“What are you doing?”

He doesn’t reply. He just starts walking—then breaks into a run.

I cling tighter to his neck, probably choking him in the process.

Cole speeds past trees and shrubs with his wolf speed, and soon we’re passing buildings.

This isn’t the first time I’ve experienced werewolf speed because of Cole, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.

Cole opens a door and comes to a stop in a second.

“I’m going to set you down now, Mia,” he says, not even a little breathless, while I desperately try not to choke on air. “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” I breathe. Then try again. “Yes.”

He sets me down on the sofa. I wait for the room to stop spinning before leaning forward and retching beside the couch.

Within seconds, a glass of water is in front of my face.

“Are you okay?” Cole asks, crouching in front of me.

I'm not, I wanted to say.

I'm not fine at all.

I'm so tired and fed up with the werewolves, the hierarchy, my weaknesses—Damon.

I'm so fed up of being in a system that treats humans so terribly.

“I’m fine,” I say instead.

“Still not used to the speed?”

I nod.

Then immediately regret it.

Pain explodes in my skull, and it takes all my self-control not to make a sound.

“Let me get the first aid box.”

I almost nod again, but think better of it.

“Okay.”

Cole stands and disappears down the hallway.

When I’m finally able to think clearly, I realize I’m in Cole’s living room.

The living room is neat, not spotless—but organized in a way that feels deliberate.

A dark leather couch sits in the center, facing a low wooden table scarred with faint scratches—the kind that come from years of use, not neglect.

The walls are painted a muted grey, and framed photographs hang in careful alignment.

My eyes linger on one of them.

Cole. Younger. Smiling.

Two adults beside him.

His parents.

Something tightens in my chest.

The curtains are drawn halfway, letting in thin strips of moonlight. A faint scent of cedar and something distinctly Cole—clean, earthy—fills the air.

There’s no clutter.

No chaos.

Just quiet.

Strange how this place feels so steady, even though it belongs to someone who lost everything too young.

Cole inherited this house when he was fourteen—the same year the strange sickness took both his parents within months of each other.

The pack scholars and healers had called it an anomaly.

A mutation.

Something rare.

All I knew was that it left him alone and forced him into the role of Gamma far too early.

He never complained.

He just… stepped up.

That’s who Cole is.

A minute later, Cole walks back in with a first aid kit. He resumes his crouch in front of me, setting it on the coffee table.

“Sorry about your carpet,” I say.

He looks at the contents of my stomach, now unceremoniously sitting on his floor.

Then he opens the kit.

“It’s fine. You’ve always had a weak stomach.”

“I do not,” I say defensively, punching his shoulder lightly.

“You probably shouldn’t do that. It’ll just worsen—”

“I do not have a weak stomach,” I interrupt. “This is just a one-time thing.”

“Sure,” he says in a patronizing tone.

“Okay. Name one time, other than just now, in which I failed to withhold the contents of my stomach,” I challenge.

He looks up at me with an amused smile, then clears his throat.

“That time Carswell tried to shift for the first time and got stuck half-shift.”

I cringe. “That was a very valid reaction. He was hideous.”

Cole nods. “That time you saw the scratches and bite marks Sandy got from sparring with Darren. That time I fell off that tree and my knee shifted out of its socket. That time—”

“Okay, okay. That’s enough,” I say, feeling sick.

Cole grins.

We’re quiet for a while as he works.

I try not to make any sounds as he applies the ointment with cotton.

I wince as he moves from my wrist to my shoulder. That one was particularly bad.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine,” I say, but he doesn’t continue—just goes still.

And knowing Cole, I know what’s coming.

“Mia, why don’t you talk to your parents about this? Why don’t you tell them what they’re doing to you?”

I roll my eyes.

“Cole, not this again. I’m telling you, I’m fine.”

“You clearly aren’t.” He discards the soaked cotton on the table. “This isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. You should do something.”

“I am.”

“You mean the harmless pranks you pull on them?” He sighs. “That’s nothing compared to how they treat you.”

“Cole,” I warn. “Don’t start.”

“Why don’t you want to tell them? I still don’t understand.”

“As I’ve told you a hundred times, I don’t want to.” I stare defiantly at him. “I’m handling it.”

He snorts.

“What do you want me to do, huh? Do you want me to burden them more than I already do?” I’m yelling now despite myself. “Do you want me to tell them all about my problems when Rafe is still sick and they’re doing everything they can to help him?”

Cole flinches.

Rafe—my foster brother—was his friend too. He knows as well as I do that Rafe’s illness has nearly broken Mum and Dad.

In a low voice, like he’s calming a frightened animal, Cole says,

“This has been happening long before Rafe got sick. I’ve been telling you to speak up for years.”

“So they can do what? Confront the Alpha? Confront the Alpha’s son, just for a mere human?”

It’s always been like that. Alpha Sirius, being the highest in the hierarchy, had everyone submitting to him. It was very rare to find an Alpha confronted by anyone except maybe by the Council. And that could only happen in major situations.

Being confronted over matters pertaining to a mere human—that would be unheard of.

It is generally known how humans are treated. Should I be any different because I was adopted by the Beta pair?

The truth of the matter is that, to everyone, I would never really be acknowledged as part of the beta family.

The room goes quiet.

Cole looks down, as if accepting defeat.

But only for now.

I thought as much.

I slump against the seat and close my eyes, counting the bruises on my arms, the scratches on my hands, the ache in my chest.

Pain made me careful. Anger made me dangerous. And I was feeling a good amount of both at the moment.

For now, I would just have to settle for planning the different ways I would make Damon pay while I let my aching body heal.

There was no way I was letting Damon have the last laugh.

No way.

Even if it landed me before the Alpha.