The Human and the Alpha's son

CHAPTER 2

(Makayla POV)

I still can’t believe high school is almost over.

I’ve been counting down the days for years—but honestly, I’ve probably been ready to leave this town since the moment we arrived thirteen years ago.

Riverdale. Quaint name for a nowhere town tucked into the mountains like a secret it’s too ashamed to share. At five, I didn’t care about pretty trees or quiet streets. I cared that I was yanked out of the city and dropped into a place where everyone already knew each other, spoke in codes, and looked at me like I was made of glass—or worse, something to test.

The beginning of summer, right after the move, was the worst. I was painfully shy and socially awkward, the girl with big eyes and bigger silences. The local kids didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat.

It was Finn—loud, smug Finn—who dared me to climb the rock wall at the playground, his voice echoing with amusement as the other kids watched. I made it halfway up before freezing. My hands shook, tears burned behind my eyes, and I hated myself for being too scared to go forward or back.

Then Jared appeared.

Out of nowhere, like he’d just stepped out of some hero-in-training manual. Blonde hair, serious eyes, quiet confidence. He climbed up beside me, not with bravado, but calm. Gentle.

“I’m Jared,” he said. “Want help getting down?”

I nodded. He guided me, step by step, voice steady, presence grounding. When my feet hit the ground, everything shifted. That was the day I made my first real friend.

He walked me home that evening like a little gentleman and came back the next day with his bike and a mission: make sure no one messed with me again. And weirdly… it worked. Jared had this unspoken authority, even as a kid. Everyone listened when he talked. Or maybe they just respected him. Either way, after that, the teasing stopped.

We’ve been inseparable ever since.

But we’ve never dated.

Not once. Not even close.

And it’s not like I haven’t thought about it. I’m not blind—Jared’s gorgeous. Tall, with those ridiculous blue eyes and that relaxed, lean confidence, with a hockey player’s build and that kind of easy charm that turns girls into puddles. But we’ve always kept it platonic.

Mostly.

There was that brief Micah phase in sophomore year. Three dates, two awkward kisses, and one full-blown fist fight later—Jared didn’t speak to me for a week, and both boys got benched for two games. I never dated anyone else after that. Jared, despite having enough groupies to start a fan club, has never shown any interest in anyone. Not really. He's polite, kind even—but distant. Like he’s waiting for something… or someone.

As we screech out of the parking lot, I glance back and spot Lyra striding out of the gym, her face a stormcloud of fury. She stares after us with a glare sharp enough to slice steel. I smile to myself.

“So,” Jared says, glancing over at me, “what’s the plan?”

“I’m starving. Let’s hit the mall. Burritos. Then maybe the river?”

He nods. No hesitation. He knows the river’s our place—our hidden little haven far away from people and expectations. It’s where we go when the world gets too loud or too heavy. Driftwood benches, a hammock we strung between trees, an old shack covered in our dumb doodles and inside jokes. It’s home.

“Sounds good,” he says, smirking. “That way you can hop in the river and wash the stink off you.”

I gasp, offended. “I do not stink!”

He laughs, that infuriatingly smug laugh that always makes me want to slap him and also sort of… hug him?

“Kay, I could smell you from the second they opened the gym doors.”

“Liar,” I mutter, frowning.

But the way he grins at me—teasing, but serious—makes me pause. Could he really smell me from that far?

No. That’s ridiculous.

Still, I can’t help sneaking a glance at my armpit and subtly checking.

We reach the mall in under twenty minutes, and Jared parks like he owns the whole lot. Without even asking, he steers us toward my favorite Mexican place. The good one with the thick burritos and real guac, not the sad imitation in our town square.

“You know the way to my heart, JJ,” I say, sliding into our usual booth.

He orders without asking. Because of course he knows what I want. Pulled pork burrito, mild, extra beans, guac and sour cream. We split a jumbo Dr. Pepper. He gets a beef burrito, no guac, and two fish tacos. It’s always the same.

He comes back with the tray, sets it down in front of me, and smirks like he’s proud of himself.

“You’ve got me trained,” he says.

I grin and unwrap my burrito. “You love it.”

And maybe he does. Maybe we both do. There’s comfort in the familiar, in someone who knows you better than you know yourself.

After lunch, we head for the river. The trail leading down to the water is worn from years of secret visits. Birds chirp lazily overhead. The water sparkles in the light like liquid glass, the air crisp and pine-sweet.

I duck into our makeshift hut and emerge a few minutes later in my swimsuit—a black two-piece I left here last summer. Jared is mid-shirt removal when I yell, “Race ya!”

“Hey! No fair!” he yells, one boot still on as I take off running.

“You snooze, you lose!” I call over my shoulder, feet pounding the worn path.

I reach the riverbank and dive in without hesitation. The water bites at first, sharp and cool, but soon it feels perfect. Like home.

I surface, laughing and spinning. “Jared?”

No answer.

I frown. “Jared?”

Suddenly, something grabs my ankle and yanks hard.

I shriek as I’m pulled under, bubbles exploding around me. Strong arms wrap around my waist, holding me close as I flail and sputter. We break the surface together, laughing, breathless.

“You’re evil!” I gasp, water dripping into my eyes.

He’s right there, inches from me. Shirtless, soaked, and smiling like the devil. Water glistens on his chest, and his eyes—normally sky-blue—look darker now. Hungrier.

“You cheated,” he says, voice low.

I try to ignore the goosebumps that have nothing to do with the cold.

“Fair’s overrated,” I quip, but my voice catches a little.

His gaze lingers on my lips for half a second too long. I feel it like static between us. My breath hitches.

“Kay…” he starts, quieter now.

Something in his tone makes my stomach flip. A different kind of flip. I laugh, too loud, too fast. “Don’t even try it, JJ. You already lost the race.”

He blinks, like snapping out of something, and forces a wolfish grin. “Right. Losing to a girl. Tragic.”

But under the surface, the air between us hums. There’s something there—has always been something—but I can’t let it grow. Can’t risk it. If we ruin this… I don’t know how I’d survive losing him.

So instead, I splash him in the face and swim away, pretending not to notice how he watches me.

Or how I kind of want him to.