Run Away With Me

Chapter 41: You've said those words, own them.

One of the fundamental things to know about every werewolf: the rankings. From omega, to beta, to alpha, all with small letters mind you. The omegas aren't all that threatening, their wills not strong enough to impose on you. The betas aren't much different, but they do rank a bit higher.

When it comes to alphas however...

I like to call it alpha voodoo, when strong individuals with massive amount of wills drill their emotions into your body, either making you submit or cheer you on to fight. I've never been on the positive side of the spectrum, but I do know how imposing it is to have their voodoo on you.

It makes your heart skip several beats, sweat roll down your body in bullets, and sends your thoughts whirling in every direction. The only way you won't crumble is to have a will that can hold against theirs or appease there strong emotions.

At the moment, the one who is taking the full brunt of Nao's alpha voodoo, doesn't have either. Orla's own will is crumbling to dust, and I don't see a way for her to try and calm him down.

I want to try, but I don't dare.

Orla's hand tremble inside the other as a thin sheet of sweat makes her skin glow. The child in her arms couldn't look more distressed, lips curling into her mouth as she waits for the perfect moment to let it rip.

Yet I'm sure that crying in front of the irritated alpha wouldn't be the best choice.

Nao sits on the suspicious couch, arms locked in the other, and even while I can't see his face, I know it's hardened to stone. I shuffle my feet on the ground, looking down at my bare legs before turning to look at Jamaica.

The boy sits on the other side of the room, on one of the bar stools, occupying himself with the games on the tablet. Every now and again he would turn back, look at us and when I smile at him to reassure him, he turns back and continues playing.

I hear Orla breathe out and I take my attention from Jamaica, focusing it on the woman. She pinches her eyes close, wipes at them, opens them again and dares to look up. Her eyes dart around the place, to the ceiling, floor, the small table she's sitting on, to Jamaica and to me.

I only give her a smile, encouraging her on, but it doesn't seem to work.

I look in Nao's direction, noticing how tense his shoulders are. I shoot Orla a question with my eye, but she diverts her own, leaving me in my own confusion.

I twist my feet against the floor again, deciding that I've had enough of this deafening quiet. The little girl also seems to be at her limit, if the earthquake of her lips is anything to by.

"Orla-"

I feel the temperature dropping at least three degrees, as if a damn ghost appeared in here or something. I shiver and wrap my arms around my body, breathing out in frustration.

This is why I don't dare help Orla, because every time I try to, the mood shifts. Even when I don't see his expression, I know Nao's expression has hardened further, what I thought was impossible. And when I look up, I notice that Orla began to fidget more, which I also thought was an impossibility.

I heave a sigh, now sure that I'm going to stay out of this.

Several minutes go by like this, four statues sitting in the living room, doing every other thing but conversation, what we sat down to do anyway. The girl's lips tremble further and a streak of tear rolls down her cheek, promising more.

Just then, Jamaica walks forward and grabs the girl from Orla, places her in his arms and along with his tablet he marches into his room, closing the door behind him. I breathe out, careful to not make it too loud.