Page 65 of Freeing My Alpha

My heart flips as I gaze into his vulnerable, aching eyes. Tears slip as I process what he just told me: he remembers how I told him I’d never see him differently for his trauma. From what I can see and feel, it meant the world to him that I accepted him too. Believed him.

And now that I let him in, he doesn’t see me any differently either.

Noah breathes me in, cradling my head in his palms as he catches my tears. My skin erupts in goosebumps as his lips ghost over my neck.

When his palm covers my hand over my chest, Noah whispers, “Keep holding it for me, but be gentle. You have the most beautiful heart.”

No, that's not right. He does see me differently. He loves me more than he ever has.

16

Kelsi giggles in my lap, dabbing a bit of green paint on my cheek with a chunky paintbrush.

I gasp. “Did you do that on purpose?!”

She breaks into rambunctious giggles, her nose scrunching from how wide she smiles. I hug her closer, playfully rocking her back and forth as we laugh together.

But as Kelsi slams her back against me in excitement, I wince, repositioning her to the side. My boobs are swollen and achy today, sending a thrill through my heart despite the pain. I’m supposed to start my period tomorrow, and these PMS symptoms aren’t too unusual for me—they just happen to also be early pregnancy signs.

I’m trying so hard not to get my hopes up that I’m pregnant. And failing: I’ve been secretly prodding my breasts when I use the toilet to check if they’re just as sore.

Kelsi’s excited cry redirects my attention. I’m relieved she’s enjoying herself, especially now that I know a bit more about what she’s experiencing at home.

A week ago, Kelsi’s aunt wasn’t the one to pick Kelsi up; Kelsi’s mom stopped by for the first time. She's struggling through the loss of her mate and on the brink of death, so she came to thank me after smelling my comforting scent on her pup.

I had no idea Kelsi was a Lycan pup either, but now I have full permission to cuddle Kelsi from her mom.

It sounds like Kelsi is the only reason her mom is still alive. I really hope she pulls through for this sweet baby.

My heart aches for Kelsi as she pauses her paint strokes. Whether she can tell I’m worried for her or simply craves more affection, she nuzzles into my shoulder, desperate for a deeper hug. I rub her back, holding her a little tighter. But it's not enough. After checking behind me for any human bystanders, I rub my scent on her head with a reassuring purr.

“What a great job you’ve done on your painting, Kelsi! What color are you going to add next?”

Kelsi gapes at the paint pots, her grin widening by the second. I giggle, relieved to see her so happy.

But I know it won't be the last time she's distracted by her need for comfort. She needs a lot more physical affection than she's getting, whining and gluing herself to other kids and teachers now that she’s growing more comfortable around us. I wish I could help her mom with babysitting after school to help Kelsi feel less alone, but that would extend beyond my boundaries as Kelsi’s teacher.

At least she seems content to be painting with me. She's the only one whose grown-up is late to pick her up from school, and I'm trying to keep her focused. It'd break my heart if she realized she's the only one left and felt extra abandoned.

Smashing her hand into her paint pot, Kelsi excitedly splatters bright red paint across the board.

“Oh, my goodness!” I burst into laughter, but Kelsi screams out her excitement, her voice echoing through the empty classroom.

Her sudden, magnificent force whacks paint beyond her mini easel, flicking onto the wall with a wet slap.

Which is right when the principal decides to approach.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Turner! Don't mind our educational mess!” I put on my brightest smile, setting Kelsi down so she can keep painting. But she eyes Mr. Turner warily, gripping my pants leg with her coated fist as her paintbrush clatters to the floor.

This is like a different kid. My stomach sinks at the thought of what else she has seen. Is it just my fears taking hold, or is she extra scared around men?

“Hello, Miss Matsuoka. And how are you, Miss Kelsi?” Mr. Turner bends, his face looming over Kelsi, and she flinches.

I squat beside her with a soothing hand on her back. “We’ve been doing some incredible paintings today, Mr. Turner! Kelsi is so creative.”

Kelsi tugs on my hands. She guides me back to the easel, pointing for me to show Mr. Turner the rest of the paintings.

“Kelsi, use your words!” Mr. Turner says.

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