Page 45 of Psycho Alphas: Part Two
The best way to gain control was to learn a person’s drive. Once you knew their primary directive, they became predictable.
And that made them safer.
After the first brush with insanity, he’d found his footing, becoming more controlled than was reasonable for an Alpha in his position. That meant he was motivated.
I flinched as I pricked my finger with the sewing needle and had to fight my frayed instincts demanding I throw the whole project into the trash. I was doing a shit job, but Bunny would just have to get body positive.
I kept on, my thoughts running their course.
Ace Maverick didn’t carry the reputation he did for no reason, which meant everything he’d told me was information he was comfortable parting with.
But I was used to the glamourising of power. Self-flagellation. A thousand different ways to dress up horror by the monsters who traded in it.
And while he wasn’t like the others, I was used to the trends that sounded identical from every Alpha who bragged of untold power. The touchpoints they all hit. Which meant I’d noticed an insight. The moment they diverged, as they all did if you listened closely while they bragged.
The thing that drove them.
For Bella, it was control.
She would laugh over wine about an Alpha who’d tried to flee after biting into her pack.
“He thought he could escape, but I’ll have him on his knees, desperately devoted.”
When he’d been dragged back, she hadn’t killed him as one might if dominance was the point. Instead, she’d reformed him.
That Alpha had become the most eager to please.
It was the tell that wound into every sentence. Did they want to see them kneel, or die, or suffer, or beg?
And they could never quite help giving it up, not when they were comfortable with bragging, and Bella always made sure she bragged when I was in earshot.
But Ace’s divergence was not one I’d ever heard before.
And somehow it fit perfectly.
I stared down at Bunny—the toy Thistle took with her everywhere. I thought back to her cheating in Monopoly, the quiet hum of‘I hate Knox’on the balcony before sneaking down to find her scent match against my explicit command. The outrage she showed at the faintest hint of losing—of liking me when she wasn’t supposed to, as if it were a challenge.
Ace and Thistle weren’t just mates. They were soul matches.
I kept working on Bunny, who was almost in one piece now.
I almost laughed at how clearly obvious it was now with the puzzle pieces slotted together. Their drives were the same. Thistle, who’d been knocked down too many times in life—her instincts were a burden on survival, getting her into trouble if she couldn’t stamp them down. But Ace, he had a kingdom and a throne. He’d won by every metric, and so he’d defaulted to his primary directive.
It overrode thrill.
It overrode power.
It even overrode pride—which was the final destination for most Alphas.
“There’s nothing more entertaining than preying on predators.”
Those were the words that had given him away, because Ace’s primary directive was none of the things I was used to.
I was quite sure that Ace’s primary directive wasfun.
THIRTEEN
THISTLE
