Bella shakes her head firmly. “I’ve got enough to work with already.”
“Please, Bella. I know I can do better. It’s gonna kill me if I don’t get at least one more go at it.”
Bella hesitates, then nods. “One more, that’s it.”
She’s babying me, and I don’t like it.
Rationally, I can understand this is temporary. As far as she knows, I’m still recovering from being sick. Safety-wise, it’s the right call.
And if I really had been sick, it wouldn’t bother me so much. But I hate the idea of my…omega-nessgetting in the way of anything I care about, especially this job.
I hate that I only got one go at the fight in the plane, that I didn’t get to drill that one over and over until I could make it perfect.
This feels like a chance to show what I can really do. And I’m about to lose it again, all because I can’t manage the most basic aspects of my biology.
But I can’t tell Bella any of that. I can’t tell her even half of why this means so much to me, why I need the chance to prove that I’m not fragile, to prove that I can do the work as well as any beta can. As well as anyalphacan, for that matter.
If Bella says I only get one more take, then I only get one more take.
So I’d better make it count.
I roll my shoulders, ignore the sweat gathering under my arms, and nod to Bella.
Everything else goes quiet, fading out of focus, until I hear her voice again:
“Action!”
I am Melinoë, and I’m on a mission. I launch myself at the wall with crisp, smooth confidence. Each movement chains into the next, and I have utter faith in my own skill with every leap.
Power surges through my muscles—power omegas aren’t supposed to have—carrying me ever skyward. A jump carries me higher than before, and I choose new hand and footholds, effortless as a spider.
Twisting in the air, I spot the edge of the ravine, homing in on my target. My hands and climbing shoes find the rock, ready to push my weight up and over.
But my grip doesn’t feel right; it’s too slick. Then I’m tipping backwards, the rock gone from between my fingers, shoes slipping from their holds.
I’m falling twenty feet toward mats that may or may not make it in time.
The worst way to fall, the worst time to fall.
And it’s all my fault.
Instinct says to curl into a ball, but practice has my arms reaching back, my toes pointing, knees wide, as the ravine’s walls streak by me.
Earlier than I expect, I collide—but not with the stone below. Nor with a crash mat.
A wave of sea salt crashes through my senses, suddenly drowning me in heat.
I open my eyes to Christine looking down at me, cradling me in her arms, brow knit with concern.
Emotion knots in my throat as lingering terror buzzes in my veins. I’m too stunned to be angry, too grateful to be indignant.
“Put me down,” I whisper. It’s not out of rage, this time. It’s because if I’m here another second, I’ll grab her face and yank her mouth down to mine, and then I’ll have even more problems.
Christine eases me down to my feet, and Bella is already running to my side. I flash her a thumbs-up.
“Mylo, are you alright?”
“Thanks to Christine,” I say ruefully.
