Page 38 of Incompatible

And there is only one person who can help me understand it, and that person is my brother Snow.

The problem is that I have the weakest relationship with him out of all my brothers. Though honestly, I barely talk to any of them, especially after everything that happened to me.

Snow. The one everyone in the family considers so annoyingly… special, gifted with his fucking supernatural intuition. Duh.

Yup, that’s the envy talk.

One day, I force myself to visit him in his basement.

When I approach the door, I hear piano sounds coming from inside. Snow is probably composing. He always does that, and he is really good at it. Not that I ever told him, especially since I do something similar myself, so there is this quiet competition between us, although he has no plans to show his skills to the world and I absolutely do.

I raise my hand to knock, but the door opens before I can say anything.

Snow stands in front of me, towering over me. We are both still growing as young alphas, but he is three years older, so he has the advantage.

He fixes that rigid stare on me, the usual sign of ‘brotherly affection’ between us. We always scowl at each other like opposite poles.

"Hi Snowball, I have a couple of questions, if you would be so kind in all your immeasurable grace," I mutter with a sarcastic twist of my mouth.

"If I allow it," he throws back dryly.

"What’s with the face, do you have a problem with your younger brother knocking on your sacred gates?"

Snow folds his arms across his chest and tilts his head.

"If you want something from me, just say it. Here."

"Oh? Scared that if I walk inside, I will smell the bodily fluids off you and Denis?"

I see a slight twitch on Snow’s face. He probably did not expect that. He looks around, then opens the door wider and lets me in.

"Much better," I murmur.

"Keep your mouth shut about Denis," he growls.

"Sure, sure, none of my business, though I am pretty sure Dad would not be thrilled that you are down here in the basement sticking your dick into your teacher’s son."

"Jealous?" Snow says. "Don’t tell me Alex would not say yes," he adds with a smirk.

A wave of frustration rises in me, and I do not comment. I step inside and sit on a table near his piano, where I see sheets of his compositions spread out. I can play the keyboard pretty well myself, that’s how I create my own music bases for some of the songs I composed.

I tap out a part of the melody he wrote, trying to gather the courage to ask what I came here for.

The silence becomes too heavy.

I blurt it out reluctantly. "A few months ago, I started feeling itching on my arms, chest, back, and stomach. If I remember correctly, you had something similar at my age, and it ended with those weird white tattoos of yours."

Snow stays silent, leaning against the wall, staring at the floor.

I roll up my sleeve and show him the very pale pattern visible on my skin, something that looks like swirling lines, only unlike the soft ones he has, mine look like jagged lightning zigzags packed densely on my skin. They are still very faint, but I have this strange feeling they are going to turn red.

"Do you know what to do with this, since it seriously looks like the same thing?"

Snow steps closer and looks at my forearm. Something strange flickers across his face, almost dislike, then he shrugs.

"Maybe that is just how our family is. We are freaks who get spontaneous tattoos that mean nothing." He says it with a kind of pressure, as if he wants me to believe it more than he actually does.

"Stop bullshitting. Dad told me an interesting story about alien DNA and powers. So how do you tap into it?"