“So…”
I look at Miguel as we head toward the indoor courts. It’s nerve-wracking to speak to a larger alpha like this today specifically. He definitely can make some serious damage if he wants to and it would be difficult to defend if I make him furious.
Miguel truly looks like an apex. He acts like one too, socially. If I had been more akin to him, I would have had it easier, but instead I have all these stronger instincts that I can’t act upon.
And right now, my instincts are already close to the surface. Of course they are.
“…I’m taking Dexter from now on.”
I expect him to warn me, challenge me, or even try to correct me. I even chose to say it close to a wall so it would be less likely to hurt anyone else.
He gives me a glance.
“Huh.” He continues a few steps before he adds a simple, “Already?”
He’s not even surprised I’m claiming Dex for my own. Well, social apexes like Miguel are a different breed altogether. A regular alpha like Seth or Teddy or someone like Miguel’s trash cousin-in-law aren’t as perceptive as this apex.
Can’t be.
Even though I should logically be baffled about his lack of surprise, I’m not. I suppose I subconsciously just knew he picked up on my interest in Dex when it began. Perhaps not right away, but eventually.
“Well, not really. I’m just informing you that Dex is mine now. Just in case you are opposed to me taking your pack member.”
“Naturally I am against it. Who wouldn’t be against seeing someone under their care get stolen by someone else from right under their nose? But what should I do? I know better than to challenge a sleeping dragon, however at peace that dragon may be.”
I laugh incredulously. “Dragon?”
We’ve just reached the tennis courts a moment ago and stand on the side. We’re a little early, so people are still playing. The whacks and bounces are rhythmically irregular. The sound is something I’ve heard most of my life. It’s one of those consistent things in my life.
It’s calming.
I give him an amused look. “Dragon?” I ask again. It’s a bit excessive to compare me to a large, dangerous creature like a dragon, really. I’m not even suitable to have a pack, so hearing it from an apex who’s brought together his own pack is wild. An apex who started from no pack are the most brilliant ones in my experience.
I’ve been called many things in my life, but dragon? That sure is new.
And I’m not so sure about sleeping. My dark side wants to take over and still prove himself worthy of Miguel’s approval.
Or perhaps not his approval. Perhaps it’s more that the sinful part wants to show my sincerity by proving I’m stronger and Miguel has no say in the matter.
Those are essentially the same thing either way.
Deep down, I suppose I wished he’d challenge me. I genuinely never thought he would lie down and be the doormat I walk over as I pick my mate from his house. At least in tennis I could easily win. I usually adjust my level to his, so it’s easier to learn and keep motivated.
Not that my dark side wants an easy win.
“Yes, dragon. Or king. Rex, maybe. Even if you hadn’t been Edmond’s brother, I would have wanted to connect with you. It’s not often one meets a dragon, and a friendly one at that. I was so surprised when Edmond said he’d like to introduce his brother to me and pointed at you. I realised your brother likely doesn’t know.”
Wait.
Am I missing something here? What doesn’t Emmy know? Emmy knows everything and if he doesn’t it’s not worth knowing.
“That’s not to say I spend time with you to make connections to anything. I wouldn’t have brought members or my pack if I were. I just like you as a person.”
Back up. I’m lacking the foundational information to keep up with this conversation.
I see the courts are starting to empty to allow those who booked the next time slot to use them. Miguel was beginning to move to the court we always used.
I jog a few steps to catch up. “I have a question.”
A really dumb one.
“What’s up?”
“Actually, what is a so-called ‘rex’?”
Miguel pauses, eyebrows high on his forehead. Then he settles. “There are multiple levels of apexes, yes?”
“Well, social categories would be a better way to call it,” I point out. “A social apex can still be ‘high level’ even if social apex generally is considered a bit lower than, say, elites.”
Miguel is a good example of a formidable social apex, after all. Compared to many of my schoolmates, he would be higher “level” than they are. Sure, they’re more “refined” but weaker in many ways, including how flexible they are about social strata.
Dad is an elite. I technically am as well. Just abnormal.
I feel as if Miguel is higher “level” than both of us.
“It doesn’t really matter what we call them, there is still a hierarchy — strays, mutts, brutes, social, low elites, elites, ancestral.”
“If you put it like that, I guess I would think of them that way, yes. Brutes have lower social capital than mutts, though. Mutts aren’t as inherently violent and brutal.”
Miguel snorts. “Did you learn that in your fancy elite school? I had to learn it the hard way.”
“I suppose? Maybe in social studies.”
I take no offense about the jab. I did go to a private school for the wealthy and I am well aware of that.
“Dragons don’t fit into that order any more than a dragon would fit into a pack of wolves. We all have our instincts, but dragons have this aura to them. To most, they feel like any other alpha, but unusually strong or like a threat, depending on the alpha, but to an apex… only the reckless challenges the gods. They’re more sensitive, tend to be more physically fit or athletic, feel more primal than the rest. But from what I heard, it comes with downsides too. I don’t know the details. I thought it was heresy, to be honest until I did meet one. Maybe you’ve heard of them under a different term, Leo.”
Comes with downsides… like imprinting on a mate, I suppose. Like too strong instincts.
But it’s pretty ridiculous to hear about. I’m just an abnormality.
“Well, thanks for the compliment, I guess. I don’t really believe it, though.”
Miguel shrugs. “That’s up to you. I’m not trying to convince you. Time to begin?”
“Sure.”
I put my things on the bench, get the racket out of the case and begin warming up while Miguel move to the other end of the court.
Miguel isn’t bad. He’s been pretty quick on the uptake the entire time, so teaching him hasn’t been too difficult. It means it’s pretty relaxing to play with him now.
After warming up, we begin.
I don’t really think much about what I’m doing. I don’t need to.
I’m just pretty happy this thing with Dex is going to be an easy transition for him. No disagreements.
No problems.
No—
I haven’t even really registered what I heard yet when I feel my body shift from relaxed to completely honed in and ready for battle in a way I haven’t been in years.
Then I process what Miguel just said.
“If I get even one point, Dex stays with me!”
The fuck he is!
He’s!
Mine!
I’ll fucking ruin you for this, you big runt.
“I. Am dying.”
I take the towel Seth hands me before I look at Miguel who’s has laid down on the court. Emmy is squatting by his side, looking thoroughly amused. Despite being in the second half of his thirties, my second brother has a bit of a baby-face, and even for a beta, he looks delicate. Not that he is, he’s just tall and slender, but next to the large apex sprawled on the ground, he hardly looks different from an omega with some slightly harder lines in his soft facial features and the elegant and bony hands.
Moreover, although he’s being extremely casually dressed today for his baseline standards, he’s still wearing dress pants, dress shoes, a waistcoat and the most pristine shirt I’ve seen in my life. He stands out like a sore thumb among all the people at the sport centre dress casually.
Emmy lets out something that’s either a huff or a chuckle as he props his jaw in his palm, looking at Miguel. “I told you he would be a good coach, not a good opponent. If you die, that’s on you, but could you get yourself out of the facilities first? I believe there’s a ditch not too far from here. I believe it’s right next to a certain building with a firm run by a certain architect.”
“I wanted… to test… my skill…”
The fuck he was.
Seth hands me fluids. I don’t really care which one.
Emmy hums before saying, “I don’t mean to be rude, but, if I may use a colloquial saying that I may or may not have heard used among the common people: you got your sorry butt handed to you, Mr García.”
Seth, who just happened to see the commotion, doesn’t care to stay any longer, so I watch him leave to do whatever he actually planned on doing before stopping by the courts. Probably going to the gym.
Emmy stands up straight and walks over to me, and with absolutely no regard for the fact of how it will look, he flicks my forehead.
“You went over the reserved time. Don’t trouble other people. I will bar even my younger brother — you know this.”
I rub my forehead. It doesn’t really hurt. “I’m sorry, Edmond,” I tell him.
Having told one alpha to go die somewhere other than the business he owns (preferably a ditch, apparently), and flicked the forehead of another, Emmy merely wiped his hand on a handkerchief as he left to return to the office he has.
I walk over to Miguel and offer him my hand. “Sorry.”
“No, it was a good game.”
The fuck it was.
I absolutely demolished him. The only reason it ended at all was because I heard Emmy’s not-at-all loud, “That is quite enough horsing around for you. I am getting complaints, Leopold,” from the side, and that snapped me out of my white rage.