Mark My Words (Not My Neck)
“What, you’re not even going to mark me or anything?” Lacey demands, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she stands in Charlie’s bedroom, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and offense.
Charlie exhales sharply, shaking her head as she places a pair of pajamas on the massive king bed. Her fingers smooth over the fresh comforter, more out of a need for control than any real desire to fix the fabric. She needs a second—a single moment to cool down—before she snaps.
It’s been this all day. All of Lacey’s complaints and insults have chipped away at Charlie’s patience, whittling it down to a frayed, threadbare edge. Lacey had picked apart every single thing she did, from her cooking to her clothes, to the way she tied her damn shoelaces. And she hadn’t shut up about how Charlie wasn’t the kind of Alpha she expected—no, the kind she deserved. Hours upon hours of comparisons to the Alphas Lacey could have had, to the ones who would’ve been so much better.
And now Lacey had the audacity to wonder why Charlie didn’t want to mark her?
“Why would I?” Charlie finally replies, voice flat. “You obviously don’t want me to, and frankly, I don’t want to either.”
Lacey lets out an exasperated huff, tossing her hands up. “Why wouldn’t you? I’m an Omega. I’m really hot. So yeah. Why not?”
Charlie snorts, unable to help herself. She turns to face Lacey fully, arms crossing over her chest in a mirror of the Omega’s stance.
“Because I don’t,” she says simply. “And I’m not interested in any of that stuff.”
Lacey’s eyes narrow, full of sharp-edged disbelief. “Of course you wouldn’t,” she scoffs, snatching the pajamas off the bed with unnecessary aggression. “You’re not even a real Alpha.”
Charlie arches a brow, amused despite herself. “Oh, so because I don’t think with my knot, I’m not a real Alpha?”
Lacey doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, she rolls her eyes so hard it’s a wonder she doesn’t sprain something. Charlie just laughs tiredly, shaking her head as she moves toward the twin bed shoved into the corner of the room. She burrows beneath the blankets, letting the warmth soak into her aching bones, calming her just enough to get through the rest of the night without strangling Lacey.
She hears the sharp slam of the bathroom door and winces. “Careful! I swear, if you break the damn thing off its hinges—”
“Shut up!” Lacey shrieks from the other side, making Charlie sigh and bury her face deeper into her pillow.
Was this her life now?
As she listens to Lacey moving around in the bathroom, she lets herself decompress. If this was only day one, how the hell was she supposed to survive the rest of her life with her?
She prays it’s temporary. But if the price of screwing with SGPS was this, then Charlie figures she has no choice but to suck it up and deal.
The door creaks open, and Charlie instinctively ducks her head under the covers. If you can’t see the demon, the demon can’t see you. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil—
“Are you really not going to mate me? What’s your problem?” Lacey’s voice cuts through the air like a blade.
Charlie groans, peeking out. She’s momentarily stunned by how cute Lacey looks in the pajama set—a soft baby blue long-sleeve shirt paired with matching plaid pants. It contrasts so violently with her bitchy personality that Charlie has to bite back a laugh.
“My problem,” she says, rubbing her face, “is that you’ve literally insulted everything about me since you walked in the door. Why would I want to mate you? Plus, you don’t even seem into the idea yourself, sweetheart.”
Lacey scoffs, flopping onto the bed in a dramatic starfish. “It doesn’t matter what I want. If you’re my Alpha, then at least do it correctly. You won’t even sleep in the same bed as me?”
Charlie pauses, shifting to sit up. She looks at Lacey—really looks at her.
Beneath the snark and arrogance, Lacey is still an Omega. Still someone who went through hell at the Facility. No one deserved that.
“It does matter what you want,” Charlie says softly. “I can’t help being a woman, or being less than you wanted in an Alpha. But I’m not going to do something you clearly don’t want.”
Lacey blinks, turning her head to stare at Charlie incredulously. For a moment, she just watches her, gaze narrowing like she’s trying to find the joke.
“Real Alphas don’t care what Omegas want,” she mutters, voice distant. “Alphas take what they want. So if you don’t want me, then there’s something seriously wrong with you.”
Charlie exhales slowly, running a hand through her mess of curls.
“If that’s what a ‘real Alpha’ is, then I’m glad I’m not one,” she says simply. “And I don’t want you, so just calm down and go to sleep.”
A long silence stretches between them. Then, the rustling of sheets.
- + -
Charlie shuffles into the kitchen the next morning, dragging her slippers across the tile as she sets about making breakfast.
She’s not used to cooking for two, so maybe she went a little overboard. But hey—maybe Lacey would take it as a peace offering.
The scent of bacon sizzles in the air as Charlie flips eggs and listens to the waffle maker beep. A bowl of fruit sits on the counter, untouched, and she absentmindedly stirs sugar into her Earl Grey tea—probably too much, but whatever. She needs the sugar rush.
She groans at the sound of approaching footsteps and, in a moment of sheer desperation, tilts a can of whipped cream over her mouth. If she’s about to deal with another tantrum, she deserves a reward.
Lacey stumbles into the kitchen, looking nothing like the picture of perfection she usually strives for. Her hair is tangled, her eyes half-lidded with sleep, and she looks… almost normal.
Charlie swallows down the whipped cream and quickly averts her gaze.
“Good morning,” she says hesitantly, gesturing at the spread on the counter. “I made breakfast.”
Lacey stops short, blinking blearily.
“You… made breakfast?”
Charlie fidgets. “Uh, yeah?”
Lacey slowly moves toward the counter, sniffing at the food with suspicion before making herself a plate.
“…You’re messy,” she mutters.
Charlie huffs, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, well, I haven’t mastered cleaning while cooking yet. I was gonna get to it.”
“I’ll clean,” Lacey says abruptly.
Charlie stares. “What?”
Lacey glares. “Because you’ll obviously mess it up. If I want to use this kitchen, I have to clean it.”
Charlie exhales. “Right. Fine. I won’t complain.”
They eat in silence, tension thick in the air. When Charlie moves to clean her plate, Lacey shoots her a look so severe that she hesitantly sets it back down.
“Why did you do this?” Lacey finally asks.
Charlie raises a brow. “What, make breakfast?”
Lacey nods, completely serious.
Charlie shrugs. “I figured it’d be nice. You don’t know where anything is yet, so I thought you might like a break.”
Lacey stays silent for so long that Charlie wonders if she actually broke her.
Then, barely audible—so soft it almost doesn’t register—
“…Thank you. Or whatever.”
Charlie blinks, then smiles.
Maybe, just maybe, she’ll survive this.