Page 97 of Freeing My Alpha

My shoulders loosen, although my heart still races. I’ve never shared my OCD diagnosis with a room full of adults. I’m not sure I’ll have to, but I’ve seen many people react to needing a therapist the same way—questioning if I’m stable enough to run my own life, let alone others’ fates. In reality, I might even have more tools to manage life stressors than they do thanks to therapy.

But Lilian grabs my hand, scooting closer. “Allow us to protect you. Share your thoughts.”

Yasmine doubles down, reaching over the table to rub my arm.

With Noah behind me, bending to kiss my cheek as he releases wave after wave of his protective scent, my shoulders turn into mush. I drop my neck for him, presenting my mark.

His breath brushes my neck. Goosebumps climb my arms with my body’s muscle memory of his affections there.

Just before he bends to lick the hell out of my mark—his wolf hungrily courting mine in our bond with hard nips—Lilian clears her throat.

“Noah. Pay attention.”

“S-sorry. My wolf is—” Noah’s anxious wolf slinks against mine in our bond, attempting to calm himself. “Share only what you want to, sweet Omega. We’re all here to support you however we can.”

Looking around the room, I have to stifle tears. He’s right. I really feel like I have a huge family now. Maybe I don’t have to hold this alone, either.

And maybe I don’t have to share everything, just like Noah said. Maybe I can trust them just enough to help us all feel safer.

“I-I go to therapy every week,” I mutter, testing the waters. When no one seems to bat an eye, I speak up. “And it’s a very specific type of therapy. One that uses the phrase ‘maybe, maybe not,’ to accept uncertainty in life. Especially ‘maybe I will, maybe I won’t.’”

Yasmine’s eyes widen. “Oh, fuck. And Mason said, ‘Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,’ when Noah accused him of having something to hide.”

I swallow hard. The absolute silence grates my nerves.

When it doesn’t change after 30 seconds, my voice comes out choppy and weak. “I-I could be wrong, but it felt directed towards me. It was just so specific. So pointed. And it was the only time he ever spoke to me, saying something only I’d feel uncomfortable from.”

As Noah jerks away from us, a burst of his raging scent doubles my breathing rate.

“Fuck. I don’t like that at all. Not at all.”

Everyone jumps up with him, chairs tossed aside in alarm.

Elder Terrence manages to keep some of his cool, holding out a steadying hand. “Wait, Alpha. Let’s go through this carefully to cover all our bases.”

But Noah isn’t the only stressed wolf. I’m suddenly crowded by protective-yet-stressed scents, twisting my stomach.

Rainn loops around Noah to join my side, cuddling against me. “Oh, Goddess, are you okay? I believe you, proof or not.”

“Let’s all take a deep breath. I believe we can find enough proof with this,” Elder Terrence says. He turns to me, softening his voice. “Future Luna, how do you know he isn’t just reading about your treatment somewhere on social media?”

“I don't post anymore. And I haven’t told anyone except Noah and my best friend about where I go for therapy and why. Not even my ex knows I have this diagnosis, or my parents before they passed. There’s no other way for Mason to find out because—” Dammit. If I remind Noah that Steven was the one who made me so cautious, he's really going to flip. “I-I'm a very private person.”

Growling, Noah paces behind me. “No, I don’t like this.”

Elder Aaron takes a step towards us. “Alpha—”

Noah’s incisors gleam as he snaps. “This isn’t just a protective Alpha thing! This is serious. She goes there the same time and day every single week. It’s too easy to track.” He struggles to catch his breath, letting out a pained whine. “If he hurts her while she’s alone there, or kills her, I-I’ll lose—”

“He hasn’t even touched her before. How do you know he’d go so far as to kill her?”

“We’re hoping to have a baby, and he wants to end my lineage. He already tried to intercept us when we met. What if he kills her when she’s eventually pregnant?”

Oh, God. That’s a disturbing thought—like Noah just blurted out my intrusive thoughts out loud.

Oh. Oh, shit. He’s having a PTSD episode.

I spin to track him, awkwardly holding out my hands as worried wolves scurrying between us separate me from my mate. I’m so frazzled by the chaos surrounding Noah that I don’t know what to do or say. How to help. The pained, rippling ache on Noah’s features make me want to sob; I know how awful it feels. How much it feels like you might lose your life, you’re so scared, and I hate that I might have to just let him suffer through it.

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