Chapter 44
forty-four
RHYS
Dawn slices through the library and my skull.
I muffle a groan, squeezing my eyes shut. Blocking out the stained-glass dome overhead. My Alpha continues his rampage. Tearing an agonizing hole in my gut, sending jolts of pounding pain to my head.
Fuck me.
It was too easy for me to forget how bad this is. Just one week without the constant battle raging inside me and I’m weak again.
The migraine hit the second my Alpha realized I wasn’t going into Briar’s nest with her. At first, the sudden swell of pain was so horrifying I thought I might pass out in the hallway. I nearly slid down the wall and tried to crawl to the stairs.
But I didn’t care what the animal inside me did out of retribution for keeping him from his mate. I would never assume I had my omega’s consent to come into her nest. Especially with all the reasons I’ve given Briar to hate me.
Somewhere under my self-loathing and dismay, I feel betrayed and furious. But I’m also weirdly grateful.
Yeah, Cillian hid my mate from me. But he also found her. And instead of giving in to his own desire never to be mated, he made sure she was ours in every way he could.
While also protecting her.
I’m not slow. I know what he did and why. The one remaining functional piece of my brain has been turning over the possibilities for a few hours, now.
And, damn it, I can’t say I would have done anything differently.
If I’d found her, would I have paraded her around? Put her in harm’s way? Whisked her out of her lunatic father’s house in a stupid blaze of glory—exposed her value for all the world to see?
No.
I would have done what Cillian did. Because I would have given my fucking life to see her safe.
Of all the reasons to be enraged, the most inescapable one falls squarely on me.
Because I should have known.
The signs were there. Undefeatable attraction. The way my insides seethed and flipped whenever she was around. My Alpha calming after the night I had her on her knees. The overwhelming urge to mark her with my cum.
I should have figured there was a reason why she made me burn.
And, fuck, even if I couldn’t… I didn’t have to be mean.
I let rage and bitterness color every interaction we had. Took my fears and pains out on her. Picked up the shards of my shattered dreams and tried to make her bleed.
All to satisfy the monster in my middle.
Why didn’t I see: there’s no way to keep a beast like mine full.
He’ll always want more blood.
Fuck, I wish it were still raining. The sun is rising now, but focusing on the sound of the rain helped before.
I’ve always loved storms. When I was a kid, they made me feel understood. Like someone out there might get the swirling darkness inside me. The desire to thunder and strike.
That memory brings a hundred others to mind. Mostly images of Cillian’s father and his mate. The woman who was not my mother.
I wondered how Cillian could ever agree to an arrangement like this, after witnessing the way my stepfather looked at his mistress. But now it makes sense.
Does he already love Briar that much?
Do I?
I haven’t let myself know her, I guess. Probably because I was afraid it would make me love her.
My Alpha nudges me, displaying an image of Briar on her knees. Marked by me. Streaming pretty tears and pressing her thighs together.
Jesus.
Isn’t this bad enough without the nine-hour hard-on?
I already came while I lapped her slick from the sweetest source. I couldn’t believe I could really taste her—and before I knew it, I had sprayed out inside my boxers.
Her scent was like finding a single spot of color after walking through a gray-scape for two years. I remember every detail so vividly—the sharpness, the depth. How sweet and tart. Stone fruit and black cherry juice and pure sex, God—
Wait.
Is that—
Is she here?
I stupidly forget my head has an icepick jammed into the side, lurching upright and instantly regretting it. With a choked gasp, I slump back into the chaise lounge.
When I don’t immediately get a dry snort in reply, I figure I’m imagining things. But then I hear a soft sigh.
“Rhys?”
Briar doesn’t sound angry. Or even annoyed. Her voice is quiet and small. Almost timid.
I know it isn’t smart, but I open my eyes anyway. Searching the empty, cavernous space around me until I spot her, all pale skin and dark hair.
Christ, my fucking heart. It aches when I see the apprehension on her face. A fresh bolt of self-loathing lodges itself in my throat. I did this.
My mate is afraid to come near me.
The last of my dreams—the hope that one day I’d meet my perfect match and give them everything I never had—scatters on the wind. I find myself clutching at my button-down, trying to contain the pulsing pain behind my sternum.
“What are you doing here?” I pant, smothering another groan. “Cillian will go on a rampage if he wakes up without you.”
It’s a well-known fact that pack alphas lose their shit the first time they knot their omega. He must be passed out cold if she managed to sneak away.
Briar starts to drift closer, gently running her fingers along the nearest shelf as she pretends to scan the titles there. Her answering smile is sly, but soft. “Hmmm. Think he’ll punish me? Lock me up? Oh wait.”
He already has.
A low, cracked chuckle escapes before I can help it. Because—goddamn it—she’s funny. So quick and sharp, with the kind of sarcasm that makes it impossible not to laugh.
She gives another small sigh, finally stepping into the pool of pallid dawn at the center of the floor.
Moonbeam. Dane called her that earlier. I can see why he thinks it suits her, now. She looks like a celestial goddess, especially in her current silver nightgown.
The cool, metallic fabric sifts around her body as she tosses loose, raven hair over her shoulder. I can’t help but gulp down greedy breaths, hoping her scent will win out over the fading neutralizers. When a thread of tart sweetness hits my tongue, some of the pain in my skull eases.
Briar frowns, the expression ponderous. “I wanted to stay with Cillian,” she whispers, as if that statement confuses her. “But my Omega hated being in the nest without you. She was… worried.”
About me?
Is it possible, even after all my rejection, that her Omega might not banish me?
My insides stammer, my heart skipping several beats as my blood runs still. Making room for the breathless burst of hope expanding at my center.
It’s not a pleasant emotion for me. Optimism has always been met with swift repercussions; and the longing lining this desire slices deep.
The admission clearly costs her, too. I see how much when she winces, ducking her head to stare at her pointed toe while it draws circles on the marble floor. So fluid and lovely, just like everything else about her.
Pretty baby.
Jesus, even that name… I said while I had her on her knees, with a belt wrapped around her neck.
I mean, sure, she seemed to like it. But still.
I need to apologize. A million times. Forever.
Which first requires sitting up.
Hauling myself upright is more agonizing than I expect. Briar watches me gasp and grit my teeth. Her scowl deepens.
“Your head?” she guesses.
Fucking hell. Did I ever even tell her about my migraines? Or did she have to figure out the reason for my bad temper all on her own? Maybe someone else explained. Like Louis or Dane. Or perhaps she just thinks I’m an incorrigible dick twenty-four-seven for fun.
“I should have told you,” I heft out, hating that I have to squeeze my eyes shut and lose the image of her standing in front of me. “This happens a lot.”
“Can—” she starts and then stops, cursing under her breath.
I force myself to ignore the burn of the dawn light and chance another glance at her, just in time to watch her shoulders square.
“My Omega wants to help,” she says, lifting her chin. “Can I try?”
I don’t understand. She must hate me. And I deserve it. Why does she want to help?
As I open my mouth to ask, a blinding stab hits the side of my head. I tense, breathing harder, feeling her subtle scent roll into my lungs.
It’s like giving a starving man a Tic Tac. My stomach seethes and my mouth waters. My Alpha snarls. Between his feral intensity and the pain—I barely have any energy to hold him down.
For my mate, though? I’d die trying.
Turns out I don’t have to.
Cool fingertips brush my forehead. Muscles lock in place, bracing for a wash of fresh misery. Only—
Her chilled touch sinks through my skin, and the faintest wave of reprieve whispers under my skull. Some of the throbbing ebbs when she carefully skims over the hurt a second time.
When she follows my hairline to my temple and gently rubs a slow circle there, I moan. A loud, totally humiliating sound of sheer relief.
Because—holy shit—it really doesn’t hurt as much.
I don’t even care if she mocks me mercilessly over my noises. Or laughs in my—
“Here,” Briar says, her voice as gentle as her hands. One lands on my shoulder, holding me in place as she rounds the chaise and sits in the opposite direction. She tugs on the back of my shirt. “I want to talk to you. Lie down and put your head in my lap.”
Something inside me staggers as my Alpha falls silent. All the force I exerted keeping him contained is suddenly aimless; internal tension without a target.
My stupefied gaze finds hers and she frowns, consternation pulling at her plush pink lips. “We don’t have to discuss it,” she whispers. “But I—”
She’s afraid, I realize. Worried I’ll be angry with her for trying to comfort me. Because I’ve been that cruel to her.
Jesus, have I ever said anything nice?
She clears her throat. “My Omega thinks you might be touch-starved and she wants to help.” The purest, prettiest green spears into me. “If you hate it, I’ll leave you alone.”
I swallow over a hoarse lump. My hand shakes as I bring it to the one sitting limp beside her. I hesitate, searching for words. An apology or an explanation. Fucking anything.
“I—” Christ, there are no words, are there? “I won’t hate it.”
Briar nods, the motion a bit dazed. “Okay, then.”
Her hand drifts down my back, grasping my rumpled tuxedo shirt again. She starts to untuck it from my pants, visibly hesitating before she glides her fingertips over the skin at the small of my back.
Ahh God—
All the breath hisses from my lungs as my cock turns to stone. Pain scrapes my skull, kicking higher before it drops to a muted thump. The changing pressures in my body make me dizzy. I sway toward her.
Briar hums quietly, shifting to give me space to land with my head in her lap. For a moment, sensations overwhelm me. The soft cushion of her thighs, the feel of her hand resting on my crown. The very faintest trace of her scent, still smeared over the bare skin under her nightgown.
I blink, unable to compute the bliss tingling down my back. The lack of pain in my head. And the utter stillness at my middle.
It’s so… peaceful.
Am I dead?
No. Because I would be in hell.
And as Briar’s slender fingers begin combing through my hair, I’m fairly sure this is heaven. Dipped in Nirvana.
My knot throbs steadily as she scratches light circles over my scalp. The dull roar there recedes even more, crouching into the smallest whine of an ache. Barely audible over the pound of my heart and the way it echoes in my erection.
A rough groan tears up my throat when she rubs harder. “Jesus,” I pant, “Briar, please don’t stop.”
Our omega decides not to torture me—or maybe to torture me more—because her nails drag over the sensitized skin at my roots. Her other palm skates into my half-buttoned shirt, stroking a firm line along my torso. A hard shudder racks my entire body as the tension stretched through my center snaps.
Waves of heat spiral down my spine as my knot torques tight. Cum sizzles up my shaft, my balls tweaking. Pleasure bursts through my cock.
Shit. Fuck.
My back bows on a tormented moan. Briar gasps, her hands turning rougher as she witnesses my uncontrollable reaction to her gentle touch.
Mortification swarms my stomach as guilt swoops into my chest. I squeeze my eyelids, trying to catch my breath to apologize—
When I hear it.
A purr.
Tiny and kitten-like. But there.
Here—behind Briar’s heaving chest.
She gazes down at me, bright-eyed and bewildered. So goddamn beautiful and guileless and knowing all at once. An innocent siren. Luring me to my ruin, but not understanding why she likes it so much.
Christ. She really is perfect for me.
Every last thing I ever wanted. Seductress. Artist. Sin and salvation. But also ours in the most intimate ways.
I couldn’t deserve her less.
Or want her more.
Especially when she guides me nearer to her warmth, turning my face into her belly. She lets me nuzzle there while she purrs, massaging my nape as I hide my shame and try to breathe over the burn in my lungs.
Eventually, I come to my senses and curl myself closer, hooking one forearm over her hip. Anchoring my whole being around hers.
I drop a kiss to the place above her navel and lean my head there reverently. Prostrating myself at her altar.
“I don’t know how,” I vow, to her and myself, “but I will be worthy of you if it’s the last thing I do.”