Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Larissa
He feeds me. Feeding me leads to fucking me.
Now I’m clean, again, having just showered, again, with a towel wrapped around me.
As I stare at my reflection in the guest bathroom, I wonder how the hell I ended up here.
Three weeks ago, I was living in a constant state of stress, awaiting the next terror to descend.
And then Ethan Black stormed into my life.
I still don’t want to think about what we did in that nesting chamber, or, worse, my reaction to him—how I wanted him, even though he was a mated alpha.
I doubt I’ll ever forgive myself, nor come to terms with the way my body betrayed me. Mistakes litter my past, constant iterations, so many terrible things that I have done. Ethan is probably the least damning, yet he is recent and lingers the most.
And then I arrived at Chimera, and it soon became evident that Ethan Black was going rogue and that a new kind of misery was waiting for me at the hands of a ruthless criminal with whom he happens to be friends.
But then, Lucian gave me to Rhett.
And Rhett? Well, that’s complicated. I’ve not scratched the surface of this man. He’s younger than me. By how much, I’m not sure. However, our potential age difference is the least of my concerns.
It’s a lot to wrap your head around, and that’s not even taking into account that episode of crazy monkey sex that just went down in my nest, and the couch, nor the fact that I wanted it… desperately.
He’s ruined my nest. And me. Yeah, he’s definitely ruined me. Only not in the way one thinks of ruination. This destruction is the softer kind that takes place in your heart.
Only animal instincts, I tell myself. This time I recognize them for a lie.
The man has skills and the way he knows how to make me climax is worthy of a gold star… a row of them… like, fill that page. And I’ve been so starved of intimacy of any kind that it’s not surprising it leaves me so enthralled.
The water has washed his cum from me along with his scent, but the deep bite mark at my throat, and the littering of bruises offer a reminder of my new status, of being mated.
Not only that, but a connection is burrowing in the center of my chest. Sometimes it tickles, sometimes it feels hot, and at yet other times, it pulses with discord.
It’s quiet now, a comforting awareness of him being close and dressing in the main bedroom, leaving me alone momentarily. But he’s not far away, and I can feel him. I would rather see him. I feel terribly clingy for admitting that.
The woman who stares back at me in the mirror has glowing skin and bright eyes.
I look alive. I feel alive. Like I’ve woken up from a terrible nightmare.
I’m still waiting, I realize, for the end date to arrive. Temporary: that’s what this feels like. Like I’ve stepped out of my designated timeline and I’m experiencing something extraordinary, all the while waiting for a divine force to shove me back into hell.
The gods. Fate. Just bad luck.
My life thread and all the horrors on it are waiting for me.
Perhaps it will be the Empire's minions who experiment this time. Soon, the interrogations will begin. And how can I blame them? I’ve been with the enemy for ten years.
They must suspect my assimilation, empathy for that cause, maybe that I’m a plant, or a threat.
I’m so tired of being strong, and of being alone.
The bathroom door flies open, making me start, and Rhett is standing there, chest heaving.
He’s wearing a faded orange T-shirt with a pop-art style gecko on the front. It has its tongue out. It’s doing a one-fingered salute. He appears to have an array of them in slightly different poses. Sweatpants and no shoes complete his look. Hair damp from his shower.
Hot. Scruffy. And bristling with anger...
“What the fuck is going on?” he demands looking around the bathroom like a threat might manifest out of thin air.
“What do you mean?” I’ve been in my own head too long. Maybe I zoned out?
He also looks young. It was easy to discount at first. He has a presence despite his leaner build. I catalog with growing alarm the absence of any lines on his face. “How old are you?” I demand.
“Old? What the fuck, Larissa?”
He stalks me.
I back up, a squeak escaping me when he grips me around the waist and drops my ass onto the bathroom vanity. His purring is loud and uneven. He crowds me back, insinuating his body between my open legs, his alpha pheromones swamping my senses.
“You’re upset. What is it? What’s happened? Was I too rough with you?”
He pushes my damp hair over my shoulder and then stills. His sigh is heavy. He leans back a little and opens the wall cabinet next to us. Rummaging inside, he takes out antiseptic and a sterile dressing, placing them on the counter beside me.
He tips my head gently to the side and traces his fingers gently around the sore flesh.
All I can think about is how close he is, how my breathing goes a little haywire, and his scent makes me slick and needy between my legs.
“I shouldn’t have bitten you again. It’s really bruised.”
This gentleness and tender care fill a place inside me that’s been cold and withered. A weight settles at the back of my eyes, and tears spill down my cheeks.
He stills, then turns me to face him.
“I’m sorry,” he says,
My eyes flash to meet his. “What are you sorry about?”
He releases my chin and rakes his fingers through his damp, messy hair.
“Whatever I did to upset you.”
“Did I say you upset me?” I sound cranky and defensive.
“You don’t fucking have to. I mean, you’re mated to me.” He gestures toward himself, his tone bitter.
My brows pull together. “Well, to be blunt, you could do with a wardrobe makeover, given you live in a luxury apartment. But, that aside, what was that tone about?”
“I need to tell you,” he says quietly, looking away.
Coldness seeps across the bond. My heart beats too fast as he picks up the tube of antiseptic and carefully applies it. Next, he applies the dressing, patting it down over the small wound. He’s so heartbreakingly gentle.
Who knew alphas came with a tender side? Who knew they could be vulnerable, because that’s what I sense, what I finally identify leaking through the bond.
When he’s done with the dressing, he scoops me up into his arms.
“I can walk,” I say.
“I like carrying you,” he replies. “You don’t weigh anything.”
There is accusation in his voice, like I need to take better care of myself. Yet I’ve lived in a perpetual state of stress. Some days, I didn’t feel like eating at all—especially if Jenda wanted to perform her tests… or Cohen was involving me in one of his twisted power plays.
In the lounge, he lowers me onto the couch and sits on the coffee table, facing me.
The door is still firmly shut on his mind, but whatever is coming, I sense I won’t like it.
“I can’t go outside.”
My brows pull together.
He looks away, exhales raggedly. “At all. Ever. I have a panic attack even stepping beyond what I consider my safe zone. I tried to go into the underground parking garage once…” His chest starts to heave, almost like he’s reliving the trauma again.
“I nearly got someone fucking killed because I couldn’t step outside the door. ”
His pain is palpable, reaching across the bond.
So much guilt.
I put my hand on his knee.
He flinches back. “So, now you know,” he says. “What you’ve mated to.”
I shake my head.
“Agoraphobic,” he says, drawing the word out.
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“I’m a fuck-up,” he says. “I can’t leave the building. Period. I sweat, I shake, I get tunnel fucking vision. I feel sick. Sometimes I am sick. I’m completely debilitated by it. I’ve had regular therapy. Regression therapy. You name it, I’ve given it a go.”
“I understand what an agoraphobic is,” I say gently. “But what I don’t understand is why you appear to be blaming yourself for something you can’t control.”
His laugh is derisive.
“You think I won’t want to be mated to you?” I say slowly.
His eyes snap to mine. The block that was in his mind shifts away, and a scene plays out—
He was out of his seat, slamming through the door, and racing along the corridor at a dead run. The teams he had sent to the basement were too far away. They wouldn’t get there in time.
He skidded to a stop as he reached the doors that would lead into the underground parking garage.
She was out there, and he needed to go there to get her back.
“It’s just a fucking door!” He gripped his hair, angry with himself. He was a useless piece of shit. Why couldn’t he step outside and collect one helpless little omega?
As he palmed the plate, the door slid open, and he stepped outside.
His head started swimming the moment his foot passed beyond the barrier.
His pulse spiked, the air outside feeling thinner, sharper, like sandpaper lining his throat.
A prickling heat crawled over his scalp and into his neck, the kind of creeping flush that heralded a full-blown panic attack.
The weight in his chest became crushing, as if unseen hands were pressing him back toward safety.
His face swung left where the elevator opened with a ping, a hundred paces away. She stopped dead as she spotted him.
He shook his head. Willing her not to run. His heart was racing at double time, and his chest heaved with the strain of pulling enough air into his lungs. A cold sweat enveloped his body, and he began to shake violently.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about being outside. It’s not even properly outside. The parking garage was still technically inside, right?
Only his body was having none of it.
The omega’s countenance softened. Relieved. She was relieved to see him. Thank fuck! He didn’t know what the fuck had happened in Lucian’s apartment, but his brother’s mate was wearing regular clothes, and there was a backpack on her shoulder.