Chapter 26
twenty-six
DANE
I wake to a quiet hum.
Before the sound finishes registering, I have my gun in my hand, pulling it from the back of the mattress and flipping off the safety.
My eyes fly open. I instantly toggle the switch back to safety mode and drop the weapon to my lap.
Briar.
The little omega is burrowed under my worn gray duvet, drooling on my pillow. Wearing one of my undershirts?!
What—How the hell did she sneak past me? And why is she here?
The soft morning light filling her pretty features reminds me that my own are uncovered. Fuck. Did she see me when she came in?
I set the gun on my nightstand and rush to slap my mask over my face. I have the first latch done and the second one pinched between my fingers when she mumbles, “I’m going to see you eventually, big man.”
Pausing with the last strap halfway fastened, I slide wary eyes in Briar’s direction. Praying she isn’t already looking.
But she is. Black lashes flutter over brilliant green, the verdant color somehow softer and more luminous in the gentle dawn. A quiet emotion brews behind her gaze, tugging the corners of her lush lips down.
Sadness, I realize.
I thought I was used to reactions like these. Usually from old ladies and the occasional doctor. They notice the edges of my scars and give me plaintive looks that quickly curdle into pity.
I brace, waiting for her features to crease into an inevitable wince. But, instead, she nips the swollen curve of her lower lip and slowly extends one of her hands.
It lands on my chest—the spot over my sternum where the burns on my right smooth into the unmarked flesh on my left. Delicate fingers trace the jagged line, stroking carefully.
Tingling prickles break over my skin, spreading faster than goosebumps. Sinking deep in an unfamiliar way. They wrap around my heart and squeeze until the charred, black organ flips. My pulse stutters and speeds.
I stare at Briar’s hand, half-bemused and wholly uncertain.
What is she doing?
Why does it feel like this?
And why is my Alpha moaning like she just pounded herself onto my knot?
Briar must read some of the wariness in my eyes. Her sorrowful expression quirks into a grieved smile. “You too, huh?”
I still don’t know what she means. Does she feel this, too?
Whatever it is, I know it feels good.
Better than good. Necessary. Like a deep drag of oxygen after drowning half to death. Or a glass of cool water sliding down a raw, scream-torn throat.
Like the answer to a problem I didn’t know I had.
Briar knows, though. She comes closer, slowly rising onto her knees, shuffling toward me. With a stunned blink, I realize—Jesus—she has my knife strapped to her thigh.
Cunning little girl stole it.
And she’s wearing one of my T-shirts. The thin white cotton doesn’t do much for her pale skin, but it clearly shows the outlines of her puckered nipples as her small breasts bounce.
The temptation to reach out and palm them is almost too much to bear, given I stroked off three times last night to the thought of feeling her body again. My fingers fist in the covers.
When she reaches my side, Briar blows out a trembling sigh. I freeze, waiting. Wanting. Breathing around the shape of something dangerously close to hope.
She places both palms on my bare torso, sliding them down to the tense ridges of my abs. Then back up to my mottled, half-melted pecs.
Fuck.
Sensation sweeps through my bones. The simplest kind of pleasure floods my veins. Every synapse snaps. My cock instantly jerks in my sweats. I groan before I can help myself, my head lolling back.
Craning my neck, I pant as I glare over my heaving chest. Silently accusing the little omega of witchcraft.
She smirks, her fine features utterly luminous. “There’s nothing wrong with you, big man. You’re probably just touch-starved.”
Those words swirl through my muddled mind. Before I can process them, Briar moves again, swinging her leg over my torso and settling her weight right above my navel.
Hell and damnation.
Warmth bursts inside my body. A wave of euphoria swamps my stomach, tingles frothing into my lungs. Another deep, serrated sound snags in my lungs. I try to clamp down on it, but that only turns the hoarse groan into a purr.
Briar’s pupils bloom. Her hands grow bolder, razing a heated path from the bottom of my ribcage to my shoulders.
Christ. The sun is coming up—she can see everything. All the discoloration and rippled scars lost to the darkness of her barely lit bedroom. Now on full display.
Her wide eyes rove over the marks. My stomach seethes.
But her expression only softens. “Here,” she murmurs. “Let me try something.”
Muscles coil as she begins sliding her hands toward my face. For a second, I worry she’ll try to unclasp the mask. Instead, she sinks her fingers into the hair at my nape, rubbing slow circles.
Good God.
It feels incredible. My teeth grit. Warm wetness seeps from the throbbing head of my dick as my eyelids grow heavy. The tendons in my neck bulge and she adds pressure, letting her long nails scratch gently.
Fucking—
My hips buck. I force them back down, hating myself for how powerful this is. How much I need it.
Briar must feel the frustration in my body, because she hums again. “It’s okay,” she soothes. “I won’t stop.”
Why the hell is she so damn sweet to me? Choosing me to be her first, seeing how fucked up I am and calling me strong. Coming in here, last night. Putting on my shirt and curling up at my side like I’m not a literal monster with blood smeared all over my soul…
I can tell she doesn’t have any answers, either. Confusion creases the space between her brows while she continues her ministrations, massaging the tension at the back of my neck.
I drag in deep breaths, focusing on her face. Remembering her sad smirk and muttered lament. You too, huh?
Did she mean she’s touch-starved, also?
It would make sense. Touch starvation is supposed to be an omega thing; a way for their bodies to tell their alphas they need more affection and attention.
Until today, I didn’t even know this could happen to an alpha. She did, though.
I’m not surprised. So far, the one constant with Briar is how consistently she blows my expectations.
My knuckles are numb from the desperate way I’ve been clutching my sheets. I uncurl them, slowly flexing my fingers before settling them on her hips. Briar’s lips part, pure bliss flitting over her face.
God. So fucking gorgeous.
Too elegant to be a ray of sun; too bright to be a candle’s flicker. Briar is all midnight light and magic. Soft and lovely. Warm, but mysterious. A constellation, or—
A moonbeam, I think, watching her milky skin glow.
My fingers press with more intent, sliding under her stolen shirt. By the time I reach the warm curve of her waist, slick has seeped into her panties.
I resist the urge to slip past the waistband or cup her breasts. Taking her example, I focus on kneading her lower back, feeling the way her body loosens when my purr grows louder. She whimpers, grinding her soaked center over my abs.
Hell, I know the feeling. Rueful amusement kicks my covered mouth into a half-smile. I redouble my efforts, snaking one hand up to her nape. Palming her blank throat. Caressing down to the place where my oversized shirt shows the valley between her breasts.
I press there, wondering if the firm pressure will feel as good for her as her weight on my middle. Briar moans until the sound breaks into a true omega whine.
My Alpha snaps to the surface, yanking my body’s reins from my grasp. My purr roars. Before Briar can finish her stunned blink, I have the stolen switchblade in my hand. Slicing the front of my shirt down the middle.
Closer, my Alpha demands. Drooling. All of her.
I barely have a choice—but even if I did, I think I would still decide to roll us onto our sides and pull Briar’s body flush with mine. Her naked chest molds tightly to my pecs. One of my arms hooks around her while the other guides her knee over my hip.
Once she’s situated against me, I tuck her weapon back into her garter. Briar notes the exasperated amusement in my eyes as I finger the blade’s pearly hilt.
She gives a breathless, genuine laugh. “You could warn a girl before you pull her own knife on her, you know.”
She really is funny. Something about her sharp intelligence and dry wit makes me want to laugh—and this time, I let myself.
The raspy chuckle rumbles under my purr. Briar’s green gaze warms as she traces the visible parts of my face. Her brow kinks.
“Dane,” she whispers. “If you won’t take off this mask… how am I ever supposed to kiss you?”
It’s a real question. She holds my eyes as she asks, waiting with the sort of patience that implies true empathy.
As she stares, I realize I haven’t spoken yet this morning. Not one word. And she’s still shown me more kindness than anyone else ever has.
With a sigh, I reach for the strap holding my mask in place. “Close your eyes, moonbeam.”