Page 13 of Want It All

Having Byron Griffiths stare at me was the most electrifying, heady sense of power I’d ever experienced.

He’d almost jumped out of his skin when my hand brushed his, monitors shifting as he moved away. Despite that, his body still angled towards me, his eyes fixed on the side of my face, his gaze almost tangibly hot.

I shouldn’t have felt safe. I knew what those monitors meant, even if I didn’t know the details. No omega would trust a feral alpha.

Except … I did. Because this feral alpha had brought me food. He walked me to class and protected me when I’d needed it, even when I hadn’t known he was doing it. And here he was, trying so hard not to crowd me, to give me space. I was the one moving closer, ruining his good work.

I’d have liked to see anyone do a single thing differently. His hair was pulled back, still damp from the shower, and it brought the strong planes of his face into focus.

I wanted to map them with my fingertips.

I wondered what his lips would feel like.

‘Should we …’ I turned to face him, my eyes tracking the way his throat moved as he swallowed. My mouth went dry. ‘Should we look at the first assessment?’

The notion jolted me out of my pleasant daydreams.

Other than the nightmare of my failed attempt at art school, no one had known my designation during my undergraduate degree.

As an online student, there’d been no need for me to reveal it.

On the advice of doctors, I’d had a heat during my very first cycle to let my body adjust then taken suppressants ever since, so heats had never been an issue.

None of my lecturers or tutors had known I was an omega.

But here, everybody knew, including my teachers. And apparently it mattered – to Brandon Heathcote, at least.

‘I’m going to have to work my ass off, aren’t I?’

Byron looked startled for a moment, then his expression tightened into understanding. ‘We all are. That’s why we’re here. But you might have to work harder than most in Heathcote’s class.’

The rest of the week took on a rhythm. Byron waited outside my room in the morning and walked me to breakfast, where we sat with Sebastian and Tristan.

We went to class together, worked together, and we had lunch together, too.

In the afternoon, we went our separate ways: Byron to check in with his parents or liaison officer, Tristan for a walk, and Sebastian and I disappeared into our respective rooms. I usually watched something on a streaming service before joining Byron a few hours later in the First Year Library.

Then we studied – and I tried not to flirt – until dinner.

It was comforting. Nice . I woke up each morning already looking forward to it.

Sometimes, Alessia and Pravin would join us, either in the dining hall or the library.

Marina invited me for a coffee catch up, and we spent two hours talking about her research and my ambitions over a plate of cupcakes and a plunger of coffee.

I had friends .

But it was Byron I spent the most time with. When he was late one morning, I started to panic before he arrived, rushed and breathless, saying he slept through his alarm.

You’re there for a degree, not a pack , Chloe’s voice warned.

‘Who did you choose for the first assessment?’ I asked him, when we were in the library one afternoon.

The first main assessment wasn’t huge; it was only five hundred words, worth ten percent of the final grade. We had to write a short report on an anthropologist or archaeologist, and why we thought they deserved more recognition for their contributions to their field.

Byron flipped his laptop around to show me a journal article; he’d chosen an archaeologist who’d developed an open-source coding system where researchers from around the world could input measurements and descriptions to build an online simulation of sites they were excavating.

The system was new but had immense potential, not just for archaeology but for history education too, making sites accessible for students who otherwise would have little chance of seeing them.

And the archaeologist was a beta.

I smiled at him. He blinked, then cleared his throat. I inhaled slowly, but there was no hint of scent in the air. I couldn’t help but wonder what his might be. Something edible, like citrus? A woody scent like cedar? Or would it be sweeter, like lavender?

The possibilities were endless.

My gaze strayed to where his jaw met his neck, my teeth aching as I imagined raking them over his scent gland.

‘Did you end up choosing Nora Cummins?’

I shook myself. Nora Cummins was the only omega working in either field as far as I knew.

A few years ago, there’d been a huge controversy when she wasn’t nominated for an important prize after developing surveying technology that helped identify and map archaeological sites in protected environmental areas.

‘I finished a draft last night. I need to do some tidying up, and I haven’t finished the bibliography yet, but I think it’s okay. ’

‘I can look it over, if you’ll read what I’ve done?’ he offered.

I slid my laptop towards him in answer, then broke out in goosebumps when his hand brushed mine.

Keep it together, Rose , I begged myself.

It was immediately clear that he deserved his place at Banksia House.

His writing was eloquent and graceful, expressive without being flowery.

He addressed the topic of the report and hit every criterion on the rubric.

It was the kind of paper that was academic without being impenetrable, something you might have read in a magazine or a journal.

I shifted restlessly in my chair. ‘You misspelt her name in the second paragraph,’ I teased, pushing his laptop back towards him. I didn’t glance at the other tabs he had open; he’d trusted me with his work, and I wouldn’t do anything to undermine that.

One dark eyebrow twitched; his eyes stayed fixed to my screen. ‘I did not.’

‘No, you didn’t. It’s perfect.’ I fidgeted as I waited for him to finish, suddenly nervous. I felt exposed; only teachers and my parents had read my work before. It felt as if I’d been stripped naked and was waiting for him to comment.

I pushed that thought way, way down.

‘The other students should be worried,’ he said at last, sliding my laptop back to me, his grey eyes flicking up to meet mine. ‘If they want to top our class, that is. You’re a threat to every one of them, Rose.’

I flushed with pleasure. Compliments were nice, but there was something about being told I was an academic threat that really hit the spot for me. I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth.

His eyes narrowed in on the movement, immediately going dark. I froze in place, not knowing whether I wanted to lean in closer or flee. He shook himself, tearing his gaze away, and I exhaled, half in relief, and half in disappointment.

‘Should we look at the chapter for next week?’ I forced myself to say, managing to keep my voice from trembling.

He tapped my laptop. ‘Finish your bibliography first. That will give me time to read through the chapter and pretend I know what you’re talking about.’

Yes, alpha .

I’d always assumed I’d find an alpha through scent. That I’d catch his, and he’d catch mine, and twenty minutes later I’d be moaning around his knot while he sank his teeth into my neck. That was how it was supposed to be.

This – the talking, the loaded eye contact, the blushing, the anticipation – was unexpected, and it was wonderful . It was something I’d never imagined, something I’d never expected. And now I found that it was a kind of freedom – and a freedom I wanted .

After years of thinking I’d be claimed, was it possible that I could choose?

His scent still matters , my instincts reminded me.

I sighed and got to work on my bibliography.

I was woken by a flurry of buzzes.

It took me more than a few moments to realise that I’d left my phone on. My hand fumbled around my bedside table until I found it, then held it up as I blinked blurrily at the screen.

3:03am .

_byron_ followed you.

_byron_ sent you a message.

I tapped into my social media account, then clicked into my messages, reading the text.

I’m not sure what you like, but cats seem a safe place to start .

I watched the video he’d sent, huffing a laugh, then sent back one of my favourites.

Three dots appeared. What are you doing up?!

Me? I wrote back. What are you doing up?!

I’m always up , he returned, and I bit my lip against where my mind went. I hope I didn’t wake you .

I hit the call button inside the app; he picked up a moment later.

‘Rose? Are you okay?’

‘I forgot to put my phone on airplane mode,’ I said. ‘But I always like cats, no matter the time.’

‘Fuck, I’m so sorry.’ His voice seemed deeper at night. It made my muscles go loose in the best way, made my eyes heavy and my skin warm. ‘You should go back to sleep.’

‘Don’t want to,’ I said; it came out embarrassingly sleepily.

‘Uh-huh,’ he said wryly. ‘Sounds like it.’

‘Why are you awake?’

He took a moment to answer. ‘I don’t sleep well,’ he said at last. ‘I haven’t for a long time.’

My breath hitched. ‘What helps?’

‘Drugs,’ he answered bluntly. ‘I’ve tried everything. Meditation, CBT, yoga, more exercise, changing my diet, changing my bedroom, music, different pillows, cutting out screens, cutting out caffeine, chamomile tea, melatonin … If you have any other suggestions, I’m all ears.’

‘That sounds really hard, alpha,’ I said quietly.

I heard him swallow. ‘It’s okay, omega,’ he answered roughly. ‘I’m used to it now.’