Rewired Soul, Broken Alpha Heart

Brendan POV:

The moment our hands locked, I didn't hold back. I channeled the raw, explosive muscle density of an Alpha werewolf directly into my grip. I was used to obliterating obstacles with pure, unadulterated violence.

I waited for the satisfying sound of shattering bone. I waited for Frankie to scream in agony and drop to his knees in front of June.

Instead, the flesh under my palm felt wrong. It didn't feel like human muscle and blood. It felt like I was gripping a solid block of glacial ice.

Frankie’s polite, gentle smile didn't waver. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes didn't even twitch.

Shock rippled through my chest. I doubled down, clamping my fingers tighter until my own knuckles turned bone-white from the exertion.

Frankie ignored my attack completely. He turned his head slightly to look at June. "The tuna is from that new deli on the corner. They add a special black pepper blend." His voice was perfectly smooth. He was fighting a death match with me and discussing lunch at the same time. It was the ultimate insult.

June had her back to us, organizing a pile of dust cloths. "That sounds perfect, I was craving something spicy," she replied, completely oblivious to the war happening two feet away.

The second June’s back was fully turned, Frankie’s eyes went pitch black.

He squeezed back.

A terrifying, impossible force clamped down on my hand. It felt like my hand was caught inside an industrial hydraulic press.

*Crack. Snap.*

The sickening sound of my own wrist bones fracturing echoed in the quiet shop.

Blinding pain shot up my arm, exploding into my nervous system. Cold sweat instantly broke out across my forehead. I hadn't felt physical domination like this in a decade.

I stared at the man in the gold-rimmed glasses in absolute horror. This wasn't a human history teacher. I had walked into my own trap.

Frankie leaned in a fraction of an inch. His lips barely moved as he breathed a whisper meant only for my ears. "Put your fangs away, stray dog."

Rage exploded in my brain. My left hand curled into a massive fist. I didn't care anymore. I was going to cave his face in.

"What are you guys talking about?" June turned around, holding the wrapped sandwich.

Frankie instantly released my hand. He smoothly shifted his movement, patting my shoulder like we were old drinking buddies. His transition was terrifyingly fast.

"We were just talking about the weather," Frankie smiled warmly at June. "Mr. Bren thinks it's a bit too cold in this town for him."

My right arm hung dead at my side. The agony in my crushed wrist was blinding, but I clamped my jaw shut, swallowing the groan of pain. I couldn't expose my violence in front of her. I had to eat the loss.

I shoved my trembling, broken hand deep into my jacket pocket, glaring at Frankie with the pure hatred of a wounded beast.

June looked between us, her sharp intuition picking up the weird energy. "Mr. Bren, you look incredibly pale. Are you feeling sick?"

I sucked in a shaky breath, forcing the corners of my mouth up. "I... I think the cold is getting to me. I should go."

Frankie naturally draped his arm over June’s shoulders. He waved at me with his free hand. "Take care, Bren. Stay safe out there."

I turned and walked toward the door. Every step felt like walking through wet cement. My pride had been dragged through the mud and stomped on.

As I pushed the heavy door open, I couldn't stop myself from glancing back one last time.

Frankie was leaning down, using his thumb to gently wipe a speck of mayo from the corner of June’s mouth. His eyes were full of sickening devotion.

I shoved the door open so hard the brass bell slammed against the glass.

I practically ran down the street. Once I was ten meters into the dark alley, I collapsed against the rough red brick wall, gasping for air like a drowning man.

I pulled my right hand out of my pocket. It was a horrific shade of purple and black, the bones visibly deformed beneath the swelling skin.

My werewolf healing factor finally kicked into overdrive. The bones snapped and ground back into their proper places with sharp, popping sounds. The physical damage was repairing itself, but the humiliation burned like acid in my veins.

I pulled out my phone with my good left hand and dialed Marcus. My voice was a block of solid ice.

"Dig up every ancestor of that man's entire bloodline!"