The Change I Notice

POV: Richard

I couldn't stop turning it over in my head. What the hell had I walked in on that day in the kitchen? And more importantly, what the fuck was going on with my Alpha?

That was the first time I'd ever seen James lose it like that over the kitchen Omega. The confusion followed me around for days, needling at me whenever things got quiet, surfacing at odd moments during meals, right before sleep, refusing to let me settle. I started keeping a closer eye on things after that. Aside from the obvious, James staring a beat too long during meals, the kitchen going strangely off-limits for forty minutes after lunch, nothing much seemed different.

Oh. Except for the biggest change of all.

Everyone called her by her actual name now.

I huffed out a laugh remembering the day that rule got enforced. A couple of pups, too young to know better, had called her Trash within earshot of the Alpha and gotten the fright of their short lives for it. James's aura had rolled off him thick and furious, enough to send the pups scattering and their parents scrambling to apologize. I still remembered how the air itself seemed to grow heavier in that moment, how even the seasoned warriors nearby had stiffened without quite knowing why.

Never seen him care that much about anything Omega related before. Interesting.

I finished my afternoon sparring session drenched in sweat, grabbed some water, and dropped onto the grass to catch my breath. The sun sat low now, painting everything gold, and for a while I just let my thoughts drift, content to watch the dust settle over the training yard. My mind was still wandering when someone called Trishelle's name across the yard. I looked up in time to catch her heading toward the garden.

Huh. Never really looked at her before. Actually looked, I mean.

She was fine to look at, tall or not. Something quietly graceful lived in the way she moved, unhurried, like she'd long since stopped trying to draw anyone's attention and had grown comfortable in her own skin because of it. Considering how little she socialized and how easy she was on the eyes, it genuinely surprised me that nobody had ever made a move on her.

Rowdy Ricky, and I've never even tried? My reputation's slipping.

I'd never been picky about who warmed my bed, man or woman, so long as they were willing. Glancing around at the other warriors sparring nearby, I could tell I wasn't the only one who noticed her shape when she walked. A couple of heads had turned as she passed, eyes lingering a moment too long before flicking away, like the men were afraid of getting caught looking. Yet none of them had ever made a move either.

Maybe everyone around here's lost their hunting instincts. The she-wolves throw themselves at anything with a pulse, so I guess the guys forgot how to actually chase something.

I tapped my fingers against my raised knee, a slow grin spreading across my face as an idea started forming, equal parts mischief and curiosity.

That gives me an idea.

I wasn't entirely sure yet what I planned to do with it. But needling my Alpha over an Omega James clearly wanted sounded like an excellent way to pass the time. And if it happened to get a rise out of Trishelle's admirers too, well, that was just a bonus.

POV: Trishelle

I woke with a gasp, sweat sticking my shirt to my back, heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to break out.

Just a dream. Just a dream.

I tried to piece it back together while my breathing settled, fingers curling into the blanket beneath me like I needed something to ground me in the present. I'd been young in it, still a pup, sitting in front of a cake with candles lit and glowing warm in the dark. I couldn't see any faces around her, the whole scene swallowed in shadow, but I could hear voices singing happy birthday, warm and familiar in a way that made my chest ache even now. The ache cut sharper the harder I tried to remember whose voices they'd been.

Then I'd leaned in to blow out the candles, and a sudden gust of wind sent the small flames roaring into an inferno. The singing twisted into screaming, the whole scene consumed in fire before I could even process what was happening.

I used to have nightmares like this all the time. Haven't had one this bad in years.

I clutched my chest and forced my breathing even, willing my pulse to slow. Then I crawled out of bed and made my way to the little tattered suitcase tucked in the corner of my room, the only piece of luggage I'd ever owned. Inside sat an old scarf, worn soft from years of handling, its edges frayed and its color long faded from whatever it must have once been. I pulled it out and buried my nose in it.

Rosie's scent still clung to the fabric, faint but unmistakable, and I let the tears come without trying to stop them. The same question circled my mind for what felt like the thousandth time.

What did I do to deserve this life? What crime did I commit before I could even talk?

I carried the scarf back to bed, nestled it under my cheek, and let myself pretend, just for a few minutes, that I was curled up in Rosie's lap again, that big rough palm stroking gently through my hair, humming some tuneless little melody the way she always used to when I couldn't sleep. With that memory wrapped around me like a blanket, I finally drifted back to sleep.