“Oh my god.” She gazed at him. “You’re malfunctioning.”
He scoffed, shaking his head. A blond strand of hair fell into his eyes, and he brushed it back, patting the side of his head to make sure all the other strands were in place before he let his attention drift back to the lake. He stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle, his arms wrapped over his chest, his hands tucked in on the opposite sides.
“It’s just a theory …” He lowered his voice until it was almost inaudible. “But I think you’re absorbing most of the side effects that we should be getting. I think it’s an extension of your Sigma power.”
“Sounds about right,” she muttered, not nearly as surprised as she should have been. “Did you feel it, when …?”
When they tore out my light.
She didn’t want to say it out loud, but Gabriel seemed to understand. His mouth immediately tightened, his arms bunching like he had suddenly formed fists.
“Yes,” he gritted quietly. “But nowhere near what you would have felt. That’s not normal. We should have been incapacitated like you. You took more than your fair share. If anyone suspected any of us were your mates before, that suspicion has now decreased dramatically. We should have been hospitalised right alongside you. Elijah thinks we’re sharing the Anchor side effects evenly amongst ourselves, spreading it thin. I think it’s more than that. I think we’re sharing it with you, and I think you’re taking more than us.”
She shivered, and he surveyed her slowly.
“Let’s go. You need to rest.” He stood, stretching out his neck to the left, and then the right, that same lock of hair falling out of place again. He tucked it back into line with an annoyed flick of his fingers and started to walk in the direction of her dorm, expecting her to follow.
Oscar sat on the very edge of the rooftop—one long leg hanging and the other notched on the stone edge—long after Gabriel returned home. Mikel came up to find him after checking on everyone else. He could be like an ill-tempered mother hen with a mauled face sometimes.
“Need a session?” Mikel asked, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes trained steadily on Oscar.
“Those aren’t for me,” Oscar shot back. “Remember the part where we get paid at the end of them?”
Mikel rolled his eyes. “I’d prefer you try to beat me up, rather than the alternative.”
“What alternative?” Oscar challenged, swinging back over the ledge, and walking toward the professor.
Mikel scrubbed a scarred hand over his face, obviously frustrated at not being able to speak his mind. The camera trained on them was too close, now that Oscar had approached him.
“You hurting someone else,” Mikel finally gritted out lowly, before turning on his heel and stalking back to the stairs. “Go to bed, Oscar.”
Alpha voice.
Oscar grunted, falling still as he fought off Mikel’s influence. It was heavy and solid, like iron. It took him a good few minutes and a deal of discomfort, but then he was free to do as he liked, shedding the heavy power that had tried to wrap around him.
And he quite liked the idea of hurting somebody.
A very particular somebody.
His tread was light, silent, as he prowled downstairs, opening the door to Theodore’s room. He reached the sleeping Alpha in a few easy strides, launching onto his torso and capturing his right hand. Oscar slammed the captured hand down onto the pillow beside Theodore’s head, whipping a tactical pen knife from his back pocket and extending the blade to rest against the fingers that still faintly carried Isobel’s scent.
The memory of sticky cherry syrup thick in the air had black spots dancing before his eyes, and he wrested for control over himself.
The Sigma was fucking his.
Theodore had woken up at some point, but had quickly stopped fighting, and now kept himself very still, his breathing measured, his eyes narrowed and watchful.
“Oscar.” He sounded miraculously calm, his voice raspy with sleep. “Didn’t realise you felt that way about her.”
“She’s mine,” Oscar snarled, pressing the blade harder against Theodore’s skin.
He didn’t mean to say that out loud.
Theodore didn’t even flinch. “You want her? Want to date her? Want to take her to the movies on Ironside Row? Want to shake her asshole daddy’s hand and fetch her coffee in the morning just the way she likes it?”
“I kissed her first,” Oscar growled, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. Something wasn’t right. He felt unhinged—more than usual.
Theodore’s words were registering, but barely.
Fuck no, he didn’t want to do those things.
Shake her daddy’s hand? More like rip her daddy’s arm off and use it to backhand him until his face turned purple and blue.
“You resuscitated her,” Theodore corrected. “Moses kissed her first. But I saw her first.”
The door flew open, the light switching on. Moses stood in the opening, his sharp nose probably picking up the hint of blood in the air.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, getting an eyeful of whatever deranged look was on Oscar’s face and the blood dribbling down Theodore’s hand to soak into his pillow before he backed out of the room.
Oscar dismissed the open doorway, turning back to Theodore. “Touch her again and I will cut off your fingers.”
“Then I’ll touch her with fucking stumps,” Theodore growled back. “I didn’t …” He gritted his teeth, flicking his eyes to the doorway and lowering his voice. “I didn’t bond her, asshole. I just helped ease the side effects.”
“Oscar,” Elijah snapped, striding into the room, Moses and Gabriel close behind him. “Look at me.” The door clicked shut behind them.
“Piss off,” Oscar snarled. “I’m busy.”
“You need to level out,” Elijah said. “You’re surging. Focus, Oscar. Get your head in the game.”
Surging.
Dammit.
Surging was bad. Surging meant he had to stop whatever he was doing.
But he really wanted to cut Theodore’s fingers off.
“Theo isn’t a threat,” Elijah continued, his voice calm, deep and resonant. The know-it-all fuck. “He’s one of us. Part of the group, part of the pack. Family. Look at him, Oscar. He’s family.”
“He can be family without his fingers,” Oscar grunted, the feral, ragged edges of his mind smoothing over slightly. He pulled back, retracting the blade and recapping it.
Theodore finally winced in pain, clenching his fingers into a fist. “You’ve got a screw loose, Oscar.”
“What triggered you?” Elijah asked, pulling out his phone, ready to take notes.
Oscar breathed in deeply, resisting the urge to snatch Elijah’s phone out of his hand and punch it through Theodore’s teeth.
“I think that part is obvious,” Theodore grumbled, waving his bloodied fist before turning his glare back to Oscar. “Dude, get off me.”
Oscar shoved against Theodore’s chest, finding his feet, and running his fingers agitatedly through his hair.