MY PSYCHO ALPHA

CHAPTER 12

I should’ve been mad.

I was mad.

But it’s hard to stay furious at someone who just threatened to bite a table like that was a normal emotional regulation strategy.

We stood outside the mini-market with grocery bags swinging from Alex’s hands like they weighed nothing, Lina grinning like she’d just witnessed a live comedy show, and Bree looking like she was praying for a meteor to end the awkwardness.

Alex’s eyes were still locked on the direction Cap Guy had walked off, like the guy’s smile had personally insulted his ancestors.

I crossed my arms tighter. “Alex.”

He didn’t look at me. “What.”

“You’re not biting anything.”

He finally turned his gaze to me—storm-dark, too intense, and weirdly… offended.

“I didn’t say I was going to bite you,” he said.

“That’s not better.”

Lina choked on a laugh. “It’s kind of better.”

Bree whispered, “It’s… not better.”

Alex lifted the grocery basket slightly, like he was weighing whether to throw it into the sun. “I’m carrying everything. Let’s go.”

“Bossy,” I muttered, but my feet moved anyway.

We walked back toward the dorm, grocery bags swaying, sunset smearing the sky in soft orange and bruised purple. The campus paths were crowded with students heading to dinner, laughing like the world didn’t contain secret meetings and wolves and marks.

I tried to borrow their normalness like a jacket.

It didn’t fit.

Lina walked close to me, occasionally glancing at Alex like he was a dangerous pet she wanted to adopt.

Bree hovered on my other side, silent and tense.

We hadn’t talked about the basement meeting yet.

We still weren’t.

It sat between us like an unspoken monster.

When we reached the dorm building, Alex held the door open with one foot—still carrying an impossible amount of groceries—like he wasn’t even mildly human.

Lina whispered to Bree, “I swear he’s going to carry a whole car next.”

Bree whispered back, “Please don’t say that. He might.”

I rolled my eyes. “Stop hyping him.”

Alex’s gaze flicked to me. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re doing everything,” I said.

He didn’t argue.

Which, for him, was basically a love language.

In the elevator, the fluorescent light made my bruised cheek look worse. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror panel and grimaced.

Alex noticed instantly—of course he did.

“You’re in pain,” he said.

“I’m fine,” I said automatically.

Alex’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t fight me in front of Lina and Bree.

Progress.

We reached the fourth floor. The hallway was quiet, dimmer than the lobby, the kind of quiet that usually felt peaceful.

Lately, quiet felt like something listening.

Alex swiped the keycard and opened the suite door.

Lina and Bree stepped inside, and the space suddenly felt smaller in the way it always did when Alex was here—like the room adjusted around him.

He set the groceries down on the table with one smooth motion and finally exhaled like carrying the entire market had been mildly annoying.

Lina clapped her hands. “Okay! Grocery dinner! This is so domestic.”

I glared at her. “Lina.”

Bree shifted awkwardly. “I can help put things away.”

Lina pointed at Bree. “Yes. You do that. I’m going to supervise by eating snacks.”

Bree gave a small nervous laugh and started unpacking bags.

Alex stood by the counter, sleeves still down, wrists hidden, expression closed off again—like he’d put his jealous alpha mask back on because it was easier than feelings.

I stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, trying not to stare at him.

Trying and failing.

Because even when he was being ridiculous, there was something about him that pulled my attention like gravity.

Lina grabbed a bag of chips, ripped it open, and shoved one into her mouth. “So,” she said around the crunch, “we’re not going to talk about the grocery Olympics?”

I groaned. “Please don’t.”

Bree placed cereal boxes in the cupboard like she was attempting to restore peace through organization. “It was… intense.”

Alex said flatly, “It was practical.”

Lina’s eyes widened. “PRACTICAL? You nearly challenged a man to a duel with bananas.”

Alex looked at her like she was stupid. “He offered to carry her bags.”

Lina leaned forward. “And you felt threatened.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

Lina grinned. “That was a yes.”

I snapped, “Lina.”

Lina held up both hands, chips in one. “Okay, okay. I’m done.”

She turned to Bree. “Movie night later?”

Bree looked relieved to have an escape. “Yes. Please.”

Lina nodded, then pointed at me like she was delivering prophecy. “You’re invited too.”

I opened my mouth to say no—

Alex said, “No.”

We all froze.

I slowly turned my head toward him. “Excuse me?”

Alex didn’t look at me. He looked at Lina.

“She’s not going,” he said calmly.

Lina’s smile dropped. “Uh… she decides that.”

Alex’s jaw flexed.

My temper sparked instantly. “I decide that.”

Alex finally looked at me.

His gaze was steady, heavy, and annoyingly careful.

“You’re hurt,” he said.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t watch a movie,” I snapped.

“It means you need rest,” he said.

I stared at him. “You don’t get to dictate my bedtime.”

Alex’s mouth twitched faintly. “You should’ve been hit with the ball harder. Maybe it would’ve knocked the stubborn out.”

Lina gasped. “DID HE JUST—”

Bree’s eyes widened. “Alex—”

I lunged forward like I was going to throw a cereal box at him.

Alex didn’t move.

He just watched me with a calm face like he’d already decided he deserved whatever came next.

I stopped short, glowering.

“You’re impossible,” I hissed.

Alex’s gaze softened just a fraction. “I know.”

Lina’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay, that’s… growth.”

Bree quietly finished putting away groceries and cleared her throat. “We can do movie night another time.”

Lina glanced between me and Alex, then sighed dramatically like she was sacrificing herself for romance.

“Fine,” she said, grabbing her chips. “Bree, come. We’re going to be normal in another room.”

Bree nodded quickly, grateful. “Okay.”

Lina paused at the door, looked back at me, and mouthed silently:

Don’t die.

Then she winked—because Lina couldn’t stop being Lina even in a crisis—and dragged Bree away down the hall.

The suite door clicked shut.

Silence dropped.

Not the friendly kind.

The dangerous kind.

I stood in the center of the common room, arms crossed, cheeks warm with anger and embarrassment.

Alex leaned against the counter like he’d been built to look unfairly calm.

Neither of us spoke for a long moment.

Then he said quietly, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

I blinked.

It took my brain a second to catch up, because Alex apologizing was like the sun apologizing for being bright.

“What?” I said.

Alex’s gaze held mine. “I shouldn’t have said the ball should’ve hit you harder.”

I stared.

Then, because my brain was me, I said, “That’s the apology you’re choosing? Not the table-biting thing?”

His mouth twitched. “I’m not apologizing for the table.”

I snorted despite myself. “Of course you’re not.”

A tiny smile tried to rise.

I crushed it.

I kept my arms crossed like it was armor.

Alex pushed off the counter and took one slow step closer—careful, like he was approaching an animal that might bolt.

“You’re still mad,” he said.

“Yes.”

He nodded like that was fair. “Good.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Good?”

“It means you’re not scared of me,” he said.

My chest tightened.

“I am scared,” I admitted before my pride could stop it.

Alex went still.

Not stiff.

Not defensive.

Just… quiet.

Like he was listening with his whole body.

I swallowed hard, my voice dropping. “I’m scared of what you don’t tell me. I’m scared of what you do when you… change.”

Alex’s jaw clenched.

His gaze flicked briefly to his sleeve—his hidden wrist—then back.

“I didn’t want you in that basement,” he said softly.

“I know,” I whispered.

“I followed you,” he admitted.

“I know.”

He exhaled slowly, like the truth cost him.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

The words were awkward coming from him, like he didn’t use them often. Like they didn’t fit his mouth.

I stared at him, surprised.

“For what?” I asked carefully.

Alex’s gaze stayed locked on mine. “For saying you were mine.”

My breath caught.

He continued before I could react.

“For acting like I can… claim you,” he said, voice tight. “For being stupid.”

I blinked. “You’re calling yourself stupid?”

Alex’s mouth twisted, like he hated the sentence. “Yes.”

I almost laughed.

Almost.

Instead I whispered, “Why did you say it?”

Alex’s eyes darkened, and his voice dropped lower.

“Because he grabbed you,” he said. “And it did something to me.”

My stomach tightened.

“Like… anger?” I asked.

Alex’s gaze sharpened. “Like hunger.”

The word landed like a cold stone in my chest.

My breath hitched.

Alex’s jaw flexed like he regretted being honest, but he didn’t take it back.

“I don’t like it,” he said quietly. “But it’s there. And I can control it—until someone touches you like you’re nothing.”

My throat went tight.

I remembered his shaking hand.

The way he’d caught me.

The glow.

The vanish.

My voice came out small. “Why me?”

Alex’s expression shifted—something vulnerable trying to break through his control.

He didn’t answer immediately.

He stepped closer again, slow.

“You smell like…” he started, then stopped.

I stared. “Like what?”

Alex’s eyes held mine like he was bracing for impact.

“Like home,” he said.

My heart slammed.

That sentence didn’t make sense.

It also made too much sense.

I swallowed, throat burning. “We just met.”

Alex’s mouth twitched, almost bitter. “That’s what you think.”

My stomach flipped.

“What does that mean?” I demanded.

Alex didn’t answer the question.

Instead he reached up slowly, not touching me yet, just lifting his hand toward my face like he was asking permission without words.

His fingers hovered near my bruised cheek.

“Can I?” he asked, voice rough.

I froze.

Everything inside me screamed don’t.

Everything inside me also wanted to lean into the warmth.

I hated my body.

I nodded once, barely.

Alex’s touch was gentle—too gentle for someone who could carry half a market like it was nothing.

His fingertips brushed my cheekbone carefully, like he was trying not to hurt me.

The tenderness hit me harder than the basketball ever did.

My breath caught.

Alex’s eyes stayed on my face as he touched the bruise, his expression tight with something like guilt.

“I shouldn’t have let that happen,” he said quietly.

I swallowed. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Alex’s voice went lower. “It was my job.”

I frowned. “Your job?”

His fingers paused.

He looked at me like he’d said too much.

Then he pulled his hand back slowly, curling it into a fist at his side like touch was dangerous.

“You’re not a job,” I said quickly, because suddenly that sentence felt important. “I’m not your assignment.”

Alex’s eyes darkened. “I know.”

“Then stop acting like—like I’m a mission.”

Alex stared at me for a long beat.

Then he said, quiet and sincere in the worst possible way:

“I don’t know how.”

I blinked.

That honesty cracked something in me.

Because it didn’t sound like manipulation.

It sounded like a boy with too much instinct and not enough normal.

My arms loosened slightly from their crossed position.

Not fully.

But enough.

“Try,” I whispered.

Alex nodded once.

Then, awkwardly, like he’d rehearsed it in his head and hated every second of it, he said:

“I’m sorry I made you feel owned.”

My breath hitched.

He continued quickly, like he needed to push through before he lost nerve.

“I’m sorry I followed you. I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry I—” he swallowed, jaw tight “—said things that sounded like a threat.”

I stared at him, heart pounding.

“Was it a threat?” I whispered.

Alex’s gaze held mine, raw.

“No,” he said. “It was fear.”

My chest tightened.

“Fear of what?” I asked.

Alex’s voice dropped so low it felt like it belonged to the night.

“Losing you,” he said.

My body went still.

The room felt too quiet around those words.

I stared at him like my brain didn’t know what to do with them.

Because no one said that after knowing you for days.

No one looked at you like you were already something important.

No one—

Unless something was going on that I didn’t understand.

My throat tightened. “You don’t even know me.”

Alex’s mouth twitched faintly. “I know enough.”

I let out a shaky laugh that wasn’t really laughter. “You’re insane.”

Alex’s gaze softened. “Yes.”

I blinked, and for the first time in days, the edge of fear in my chest loosened just a little.

Not because everything made sense.

But because he was standing here—apologizing, awkward, sincere—and it made him feel more human than he had in a long time.

I swallowed. “Okay.”

Alex’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Okay?”

“Okay,” I repeated, voice softer. “I accept your terrible apology.”

His mouth curved faintly. “It wasn’t terrible.”

“It was bad,” I said.

“It was sincere,” he countered.

“That’s why it’s scary,” I whispered before I could stop myself.

Alex went still.

His gaze dropped to my mouth for half a second—

Then back to my eyes.

The air between us changed.

Not pressure like a storm.

Something warmer.

Something dangerous in a different way.

My heart started beating too fast.

Alex took one slow step closer.

I didn’t step back.

His voice came out rough, quiet. “Tell me to stop.”

My breath caught.

I could’ve told him to stop.

I should’ve.

But I didn’t.

My voice came out barely audible. “I don’t want you to.”

Alex’s eyes darkened.

His hand lifted again, this time brushing a loose strand of hair away from my face with careful fingers.

The touch sent a shock through my skin.

I swallowed hard.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured.

“So are you,” I whispered.

His jaw flexed.

He leaned in slowly, like he was giving me time to run.

I stayed.

I tilted my face up without thinking.

Our breaths mixed in the tiny space between us.

My heart pounded so loud I was sure he could hear it.

His gaze flicked to my lips again.

Then back to my eyes.

He was asking without words.

I didn’t answer with words either.

I just stayed.

Alex’s forehead nearly brushed mine.

His hand slid gently to my jaw, cradling it like I was something fragile.

He leaned in—

Closer.

Closer.

A millimeter away.

And then—

A howl erupted outside.

Not far.

Not distant.

Right there in the night, so loud it felt like the windows vibrated.

It wasn’t like the earlier howls I’d heard from my bed.

This one was sharper.

Angrier.

A warning siren made of teeth.

My whole body jolted.

Alex froze instantly, like someone had thrown a switch inside him.

The warmth vanished from his face.

His posture changed.

Shoulders tightening. Jaw locking. Eyes snapping toward the window like he could see through walls.

Another howl answered, fainter, but fast.

Then a third—short and brutal.

My blood turned cold.

“What—” I started, voice shaking.

Alex’s hand dropped from my face like he couldn’t afford softness anymore.

His expression hardened into something I hadn’t seen in daylight.

Not jealousy.

Not teasing.

Not awkward sincerity.

This was the version of him that belonged to the forest boundary sign.

The version that listened to the moon.

His eyes flashed—just a hint, like embers under storm clouds.

He looked at me, and the intensity of his gaze felt like a shield slamming into place.

His voice came out low and deadly calm.

“They found you.”