Alpha Omega

Alpha Female

I was back in the penthouse. Apparently, I was mistaken, so let me correct myself. Only the Royal family and friends are allowed in the penthouse. Take now for example. I was sinking into a ridiculously soft white couch across from Hunter who was seated in an identical fluffy-excuse of a couch and besides Al who was watching Ty and Dom like a teenager whose parents just found his stash. In other circumstances, I'd probably be glad that they're yelling at him. Better the deserter/tattle-tale than me. Unfortunately, I was busy glaring at the amazonian warrior princess perched on the low table between the two lounges. Even ripped up and bleeding, she still looks as elegant as a peacock. Also, I've discovered she has a slight Russian accent because her angel-blonde hair, Amazonian physique, and impressive status wasn't disgusting enough. It just makes her seem like some Scandinavian Villain in a James Bond Movie. You know, the hot one who seduces the hero before betraying him then ultimately siding with him to save the world? The comparison makes me hate her more. 

"Kiya, stop glaring," Ty commands. He has calmed down somewhat, but his words still feel hard as steel. 

I watch my hands resting in my lap. It's these sort of situations when my mind wanders to the most insubstantial yet relevant issues of our day. For example, how should I hold my hands to make me seem more innocent? Do I fold them like a lady or clasp them or hold my knees? 

"I still don't understand why she's here," I mumble, indicating Cassandra with my chin. 

Contrary to popular belief, wolves can't magically heal like in the movies. I mean, you ever seen a human or wolf do that? So why should a wolf-human be able to heal like that? Every "Supernatural" sense of ability we have actually isn't supernatural at all (Unless you count the whole multi-being thing, but the shifting is the only piece of magic wolves have). Our heightened senses are only as good as any wolf you might find in the woods, and our wolves are only as big as our human forms.   Think of it like having the best of the wolf and human traits, making us overall better humans than most humans and better wolves than natural wolves and, for some reason, myths have made that out to be supernatural. Like how my eyesight as a human can be enhanced to be as perfect as a wolf, but I can still see in color as a wolf thanks to my human eyes. Shifting at the full moon? Well, wolves do love the moon and so do werewolves, but we don't have to shift if we don't want to, and we certainly don't go on a savage killing spree. That's all human myths and the only truth of it might come from the elusive rouges who are far and few between since it's the responsibility of every pack to keep their territories clear of rouges. 

Anyway, so, as I was saying, we don't heal naturally. There is a legend of wolves saliva having healing properties but so far it only soothes wounds, not heal them. Therefore, no matter how painful all my little cuts and nicks littering my skin feel, I ain't letting nobody lick them away, even if Ty offered about a million times. Ew. 

Ty sighs in defeat. "We went over it Kiya. She's a friend."

Dom has finally stopped pacing and is standing stoically between the two lounges, facing us like the teacher facing his class. He looks like a drill Sargeant analyzing his troops before boot camp. He hasn't talked much since we left the courtyard, but I can feel the tension rolling off him in waves. 

I lift my face up to him, and up, and up. He's staring hard at Al. Apparently, Al didn't ditch me, but I still haven't decided if running to get the twins is really much better. I mean, we'd just started bonding you know? Then he goes and ruins it by calling my mates the minute shit goes down. Shame, and here I though we might be able to get along right after I kicked his ass for the whole "How dare you call her an Omega" comment.

"Dom?" I meant to maintain my firm facade, but the look on his face reduced my voice to a soft whisper. 

He looked down at me, arms crossed. His body is taut and stoic, but his tortured green eyes are enough for me to piece together why he's so mad. Guilt swamps me and I drop my head to the side, avoiding eye contact. He feels betrayed, and scared. I guess I can understand in some way. I mean, if one of them had promised not to get themselves into trouble with the Omegas and to call me if they needed help, then the minute I left them they challenged Maven to a position as my mate, sure I'd be pissed. Double so if Maven were a Zeta and they were untrained Omegas.