Page 120 of Freeing My Alpha

“Just you being there is what he wants. He’s more of a sentimental sap than a physical gift lover. Actually, the last time I gave him a physical birthday gift, he turned bright red for two whole minutes. I timed it.”

We burst into laughter, slowing to a halt at the first red light we’ve come across in Greenfield. Once we cross the bridge over the river, we’ll be back in Westfield. It’s where I’ve worked daily for years, but now that I lost my job, it registers in my mind as “where my old apartment with Steven used to be.”

My stomach gurgles, and I shift in my seat in discomfort.

“You okay?” Yasmine asks.

I sigh, closing my eyes. “Yes. I’m just a ball of nerves, lately. It’s all approaching so quickly. And, to be honest, I have an idea of something sappy Noah might like at the Luna Ceremony. It’ll make me anxious as hell to do, but in the best way.”

Yasmine grins. “Besides fucking him in front of thousands of Lycans?”

I cup my forehead, letting out a nervous giggle. “U-um, yes. Besides that.”

“Oh, spill it, please. I want to know something the Alpha doesn’t.”

I laugh, fidgeting with my purse strap. “From what you’ve all described, the Luna Ceremony sounds a lot like Noah and I are getting married in front of the whole pack. So I was thinking, at a human wedding, I’d vow myself to Noah in front of everyone I love, letting them hear me pour my heart out about how much I love and devote myself to Noah. I’m not sure if that’s standard for Lycans, but— But I think it’d be special for us, at least.”

For the first time since I’ve met her, Yasmine is speechless.

I laugh, tugging on her arm. “What?! Yas, you have to tell me—is that a bad idea?”

“Dude, you have to! Please, do it! Oh, he’s gonna cry.”

I let out a bright laugh as we turn into a parking spot outside the tiny coffee shop. The Cozy Roast is cuter than I remembered it, crumbled brick accents and low lighting giving it an aged, sheltering atmosphere. We order lunch and drinks, settling at a corner table with our laptops.

Yasmine stretches her neck with a quick shoulder roll. “Alright, Luna, let’s get to work.”

I exhale, struggling to calm my racing heart. “Good luck!”

Hopefully Yasmine won’t notice I’m shaking. I didn’t want to tell her anything I didn’t have to, but Noah and I haven’t been able to think of anything to prove our dad’s deaths weren’t accidental. Yasmine thinks I’m planning for future Luna responsibilities, which isn’t a total lie. I’ll be working to protect us all this way, but I won’t be carrying out this investigation publicly.

Tapping the search bar on a fresh browser tab, I type in the first thing I can think of:

signs someone might be a murderer

It feels a bit silly, but I don’t know where else to start. But when I press search, my stomach plummets.

Article after article shares lists of “signs,” but they’re all online forums or gossip magazines. Just reading article titles and excerpts, my heart thumps faster. Not because of the content, but because my father’s potential murder never felt more like a joke to society.

I click on the most familiar source, hoping it’s less gimmicky, but no: it’s a linked summary to an “Ask Me Anything” question on one of the popular forum sites...

The forum Steven used to use, just before his behavior escalated.

I grip my head, unable to calm my racing heart. I’m not triggered as much as I am furious, scrolling through “real” accounts of people who claim they distantly knew murderers before they killed victims. Steven used to show me forums like these, laughing about twisted real-life issues he’d claim were proven to be true by moderators. This article has a similar air of mystique and excitement, as if killers are enticing, fantastical phenomena, not violent thieves playing God.

The general public might not put the pieces together, but with how intimately I’m haunted by the brutal aspects of Dad’s sudden death, there’s no way victims’ families wouldn’t know the crimes mentioned in these detailed comments were referring to their loved ones being brutalized. How must they feel, knowing their family members died an early, violent death, only for society to have some sick fascination with it? Wait, my dad might’ve been murdered alongside Noah’s too. How do I feel about this?

Wincing, I grip my grumbling stomach. It’s not just rocking with anxiety, it’s gurgling with intense nausea.

Yasmine’s eyebrows are furrowed. It isn’t until then that I realize she hasn’t been typing for at least 30 seconds, watching me from across the table. “You good?”

I sigh, closing the tab. “Yes, sorry. I just saw something messed up online.”

Yasmine’s lip curls in disgust. Plenty of humans are twisted as fuck, so that makes sense.

I’m part human. Am I twisted too? What if this is human nature, and I’m secretly a murderer?

Wait, I can’t answer that; that’s just OCD talking.

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