Page 4 of The Alpha Under My Bed

It smelled like him.

I barely had time to toe off my shoes before he nudged me toward the couch.

“Sit,” he said. “I’ll make tea.”

I sank into the worn leather, muscles aching as exhaustion curled around my bones. I didn’t realize how heavy my body felt until I was off my feet, the last few hours pressing down all at once.

The possible scent match. The waiting. The rejection.

I stretched my legs, letting my head rest against the back of the couch. From the kitchen, I could hear the soft click of the stove being turned on, the faint rattle of ceramic.

I cracked my eyes open just enough to watch him.

Mal moved with that same effortless ease he always had, pulling two mugs from the shelf and setting them down with a quiet clink. The dark ink of his tattoos peeked from beneath the pushed-up sleeves of his hoodie, stark against his skin.

It was strange, in a way.

Mal had been my best friend for years, but there were moments—moments like this—when I actually let myself see him.

All sharp angles and solid muscle, taller than most betas, broader. He looked like he should have been an alpha.

But he wasn’t.

And maybe that was why I always felt so safe with him.

“You shouldn’t keep doing this to yourself,” Mal said, his voice low.

I sighed, shifting to sit up as he crossed the room, two steaming mugs in hand. He set mine down before settling onto the couch beside me, his presence solid, familiar.

“Doing what?” I asked, curling my fingers around the warmth of my mug.

“Thinking you need one of them.” His arm stretched along the back of the couch, fingers resting just behind my shoulder.

I frowned. “I don’t—Mal, I just… I don’t want to be alone forever.”

“You’re not alone,” he said. Too fast.

I hesitated, glancing at him. His face was unreadable, his fingers tracing absent patterns against the worn leather of the couch.

I swallowed. “It’s not the same.”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. Then he exhaled, slow and measured, setting his tea down on the coffee table.

“They don’t see you the way I do, Ellie.”

A quiet laugh slipped from my lips. “You’re my best friend, Mal. Of course you see me differently.”

His fingers twitched against his knee before he smiled. “Yeah,” he said after a pause. “I am.”

I stared down at my tea, exhaustion creeping in, the warmth of the room pulling at my senses. My body softened, the weight of the day pressing heavy against me.

Mal shifted beside me, and a second later, I felt the slow, steady slide of his fingers through my hair.

Gentle. Careful.

The warmth, the exhaustion—it all blurred together as I sank deeper into the cushions.

“You should stop looking,” he murmured. “You already have me.”

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