They engulfed me, and it was frantic, the way their hands rubbed against my face. My hair. My chest. My back. They were talking over each other, each of them saying my name again and again and again.
Joe, Joe, Joe took my face in his hands. His thumbs brushed away the tears as he breathed heavily through his nose. He studied me with blue eyes, and I swore for a moment it was our mother who held me.
Joe said, “His eyes. They’re violet. He’s Omega.”
Kelly said, “Can you find it? Can you find him?”
Joe said, “He’s there. It’s faint, but it’s there. I can—”
Kelly said, “Do it. Make him hear you. Do it now.”
Joe’s eyes turned to fire, and white hair sprouted along his neck and face. And something shifted in my head and chest, and it felt alive, a mass of roiling, knotted threads. They shuddered. They quaked.
And then Joe roared.
It was the song of an Alpha.
It slammed into me and I—
“WHERE’S YOUR BROTHER?” a boy asked me.
“I don’t know,” I muttered. I looked back over my shoulder. A group of girls was following us, whispering to each other. When I looked at them they giggled, waving and blushing. I could hear the sounds of Caswell in the distance, the lapping of the waves from Butterfield Lake. But Joe was gone. He’d been calling to me to wait up, that he couldn’t run as fast as we could, Carter, Carter, I’m going to tell Dad!
“He’s always following you,” another boy said. He had a mean face, and I didn’t like him much. “Both of your brothers do. It’s annoying.”
I glared at him. “They’re not annoying.” They were, but only I could say that. They were my brothers, not his. “Don’t talk about them like that.”
“He’s going to be the Alpha of all,” the first boy said, shoving the second. “Better watch your mouth or he’ll kick you out of the pack.”
“Whatever,” the second boy said. “I’m not scared of him. He’s just a little kid. He’s not the Alpha of anything.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “My dad says that Bennetts don’t deserve to be in control. They ruin everything they touch.” His smile widened. “Can’t even keep their own pack safe.” He leaned forward. “What was it like when the hunters came? Did you see them kill anyone? Was there a lot of blood?”
My father told me the only time I could hit someone was when I was protecting myself. That I needed to set an example. People looked up to me because of my name. I had to be the better person, he told me. I had to be just and kind.
I said, “Raise your hands.”
The boy looked at me. “What?”
“Raise your hands. Put them in fists like you’re gonna punch me.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“I want to see your fighting stance. Dad’s been teaching us new stuff. I want to show you.”
The boy’s smile faded. “I don’t….”
“Come on, man. Do it. Let me see your stance.”
He spread his legs. He raised his arms. His hands curled into fists. “Like this?”
“Move your thumb. If you keep it like that, it’ll break if you punch someone.”
He moved his thumb. “Better?”
I nodded. I looked at the first boy. “Does it look like he’s going to attack me?”
The first boy shrugged. “I guess.”
“Good.” I turned back to the second boy. He stood there, fists raised. He screamed when I punched him in the goddamn mouth. His lips split, blood spilling and staining his teeth.