Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
brIELLE
C aleb’s lips trace over the tattoo. Again. He pulls the skin between his teeth, biting just hard enough that I gasp and arch into him, tossing my head back. He chuckles, low in his throat, and a new wave of need rushes through me as if he hadn’t just knotted me and coaxed three— three —orgasms from me over the last hour .
“Why flowers?” he asks, his lips tracing over the sensitive skin.
I force a swallow. It’s the second time he’s asked about them. Nerves gather in my belly, but not nearly as strong as last week.
“I got them on my fifth wedding anniversary,” I whisper. Caleb tenses behind me, his hand flattening against my stomach and pulling me closer to him. “He was a Beta. Obviously there wasn’t a way for him to bond with me, so I thought it would be a nice symbol to have.”
His lips trace along my shoulder.
“Forget-me-nots are often a symbol of fidelity.” The words taste like ash on my tongue. I’d never had his fidelity, not once his ring was on my finger. He played the part, though, lured me into thinking we would last for our entire lives. “And I liked how they were a small enough flower to not get lost under my hair once everything healed.”
“They’re pretty,” he murmurs. “They look beautiful against your skin.”
“I forget they’re there most of the time,” I admit.
And thank God for that. Every time I catch a bit of them in a mirror, my stomach clenches. I hate that he’s managed to ruin part of my own body, too. As if ruining my marriage and my life wasn’t enough.
“I have something to show you,” he whispers after a while.
I smile and turn toward him, rolling us until I’m astride him. He raises an eyebrow as his hands settle on my hips.
“Something to show me?” I ask.
He lays hard and heavy against me, and I roll my hips to better feel him. He grunts and pushes up into me, his fingers biting into my skin. When I whimper, he pushes up without using his arms and pulls one nipple into his mouth. I suck in a breath and twist my fingers into his short hair.
“Caleb,” I gasp.
He hums, the sound vibrating against my oversensitive skin. He palms my thigh before letting his thumb flick across my clit. My knees give out, my body still too sensitive for anything more than a make out session. I suck in my breath, and he lets his touch fall away.
“You had something for me,” I say as he pulls away from me, my nipple hardening at the sudden rush of air against it. I can’t help but shiver, and he smirks. Without a word, he adjusts me so I straddle his thighs, my weight settled comfortably on him. In the same fluid motion, he pulls a nondescript envelope from his nightstand. The seal is already broken, carefully cut open rather than ripped.
Oh shit. Had a test come back positive? I start to lift off of him, but he tightens his arm around me, keeping me pressed against him.
“It’s from the Council,” he says, no more than a ghost of a whisper. “I had a chance to stop by the office in Boise while on the fire.”
My breath stops, catching in my throat, as nerves flare hot and bright in my chest and sour my stomach.
“It doesn’t require that we register as a pair,” he continues when I don’t say anything. “It’s just something I needed to have on file in case something happens and I need extra time off this summer.”
I take the envelope in a ginger hold, as if it’s a bomb ready to explode at the first incautious movement. Maybe it is. My swallow does nothing to dislodge the lump in my throat, and I lick my lips. A single piece of paper is folded inside, the Council’s insignia watermarked along most of the background—the official letterhead. The words take a minute to absorb, and then something deep within me relaxes.
“You had the bloodwork done?” I ask.
Caleb nods, his gaze locked on me, his lips turned down and his eyebrows furrowed.
The reality of what I’d done for Brett, for my doomed marriage, rushes through me in a singular, overwhelming wave.
“I filed as Matchless,” I admit, the whisper sitting like lead between us. “Shortly after my wedding.”
Matchless meant the Council couldn’t do anything about my status as an Omega unless I filled out a ton of paperwork to reverse the decision. They couldn’t suggest I go to a Matching Gala, couldn’t offer me time off for my heats, couldn’t run my blood against the ever-growing bank of samples from willing Alphas to see if my scent match were already identified.
Matchless meant I was alone in this world with no one to help me if things got too hard. I hadn’t minded that reality when I’d submitted the paperwork. Now? It was one more thing to lay at Brett’s feet and his unfeeling, indifferent heart.
The corners of his mouth tighten, and a flash of something that might be hurt crosses his face before he manages to hide it.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
The apology is just as quiet, just as heavy. He croons something wordless and kisses me even as he runs a hand up my spine, his touch soft and soothing. He spins us faster than I can track, pressing me into the mattress.
“It’s all right,” he murmurs against my skin.
“Really?” I can’t help but ask. Alphas are territorial and possessive. Knowing that he can’t claim me legally, that we can’t have standing with the Council without a monstrous nightmare of bureaucracy? It’s something that most Alphas would be incredibly angry about.
He nods, taking the envelope from my hand and setting it on the nightstand before sliding down my body, his gaze growing hot.
“I’ll take you however I can, Brielle,” he says against my hip. “Starting with against my mouth right now.”