MY BROTHER IS MY MATE

The Carter-Monroe household was quiet from the outside—polished, elegant, a picture of blended family perfection. But inside, it was a battlefield. Not of fists or flying objects, but of glares, slammed doors, and constant snide remarks exchanged between two boys who shared nothing but their parents’ last names.

Alex Monroe, seventeen, an omega with soft features and expressive eyes, had perfected the art of looking disinterested while secretly watching Brian from behind his curtain of fluffy hair. He didn’t like Brian—at least, that’s what he told himself. It was easier to call it hate than admit to the tight feeling in his chest whenever Brian entered a room.

Brian Carter, eighteen, broad-shouldered and commanding, had the kind of aura that made others step aside. He was the school’s golden boy—alpha, soccer captain, straight A’s—but at home, he was cold. Especially to Alex. He’d toss a careless insult, flash a smirk, and walk away like he hadn’t just left a bruise on Alex’s pride.

They weren’t always like this. When their parents first married, Brian was distant, but tolerable. Alex tried being polite, even friendly. But one awkward glance too long, one scent too strong, and everything changed. Now, any time they were in the same room, it became a show of disdain. They knew how to push each other’s buttons with surgical precision.

Their parents, Rachel and Daniel, remained oblivious—too in love, too distracted. Rachel would say, “Give it time, boys. You’ll be like real brothers soon.” But the idea made Alex’s stomach churn, and not because he didn’t want to get along with Brian.

He just wanted him too much.

And so the war continued. Silent stares at dinner. Heated arguments over laundry. A cold shoulder in the hallway. From the outside, they were bitter stepbrothers.

Inside, they were two fated souls waiting to crash.

HEAT AND HALE

Alex woke up in a sweat, clutching his blanket like a lifeline. His skin tingled, and the air felt too heavy to breathe. The sheets clung to his body, soaked. His heat had started early.

He hated this. The vulnerability. The cravings. The scent that clung to him like a neon sign screaming omega in need. He sprayed more suppressant than needed, then lit a candle, trying to mask the inevitable. But it wasn’t enough.

Downstairs, Brian stiffened when the scent reached him—soft jasmine, like spring rain and warm skin. His wolf stirred. His instincts flared. He dropped the orange juice he was pouring and cursed under his breath.

Brian avoided Alex that day, locking himself in the gym, pushing weights to exhaustion. Every whiff of Alex’s scent ignited a fire he didn’t want to admit was there. Alex noticed the distance. And it hurt, more than he expected.

When they finally crossed paths in the hallway, their eyes locked.

“You stink,” Brian muttered.

“You’re not exactly a bouquet either,” Alex shot back, voice trembling.

He stormed off, angry—not just at Brian, but at himself for wanting the boy who hated him most.