Chapter 22
chapter
twenty-two
Remi Skyes’apartment building slants to the left.
There are several reasons why I find that disturbing, both as a consumer and a property developer.
But, mostly, I’m just disturbed by myself.
For one, I am an irredeemable asshole for the way I’ve acted. I already know that. I knew it as it was happening. I’ve even considered slipping extra cash into the tip jar on several occasions, knowing she would get the majority of it if I did.
Which is also appalling.
Money? That was my solution? Throw some cash at the person I treated like trash?
Growing up, Cassian and I never had money. Our parents were lower middle class. We were lucky to have any cash to put into a tip jar. Let alone hundreds of dollars of hush money.
When I look back on why I’ve done what I have to get to this point, it all makes sense. It was logical, methodical.
Necessary? I told myself it was, at the time.
I’ve done what I was raised to do—be a good alpha. Provide, protect, secure our future, change it for the better. I didn’t realize it was changing me. I never expected to look up one day and realize I don’t recognize myself anymore.
For example, did I seriously park outside an omega’s apartment building for three hours?
Too proud to go ring her doorbell?
Too obsessed to leave?
I know the guys were here earlier. Cassian sent me a bare-bones text telling me they had tried to order her dinner, but she asked them to leave because of her building’s rules. The end of the conversation was succinct, but the words weighed heavy on my mind.
You have to fix this for the pack, or there won’t be one anymore.
I don’t even know that I blame him. The hours of reflection have given me plenty of time to remember my teenaged brother, clearly head-over-heels for the girl who used to meet him in the mornings to read with him. He barely described her at all—hell, he barely spoke in sentences, back then. But, often, his stories about her were the only glimpse of the real Cassian that I got to see, week in and week out.
I remember the relief and gratitude I felt whenever I listened to him talk about her—this angel who somehow made his time in that shitty group home bearable.
And now I’ve hurt her. Scared her.
So. Many. Times.
I keep seeing the look on Remi’s face when she recognized me. The utter devastation and… disappointment.
Fucking hell. That might be the worst part, after her fear. She thought today would be the day she met her soulmates, and I ruined it for her.
I’m not the pack alpha she wants or needs. She saw me at my worst. And now she probably can’t trust me.
I failed her.
I failed my pack.
I still am. Because this omega is no closer to coming home with us now than she was when I arrived. And what’s worse? She actually needs to. This place is a death trap.
The faint scent of mildew lingers, which means the air quality in here is poor. There are cracks in the plaster—vertical ones. Unacceptable. And I’m about 99 percent sure that if I opened a wall, I’d find lead pipes.
It isn’t safe here.
It’s built so poorly, I’m shocked it hasn’t just fallen over.
The thought has me half-crazed while I stare her down. I’m so incensed, I can’t even remember what we’re arguing about from one second to the next.
Oh, right. She wants to sleep in a house full of other alphas. Four of them.
Dear God.
Is this what a heart attack feels like? Should I be calling an ambulance before I fucking die from whatever this ache in my chest is?
Control, I remind myself. Maintain control.
It’s hard. Especially given the state of this tiny room.
She has the ceiling cracks, too. And a sloping pocket where her roof is distended, either from past or present water damage. I can’t smell the mildew as strongly in here, but that’s likely just because she’s currently all I can sense.
Delicious honeyed cake batter soaks into my lungs with every breath. My cock jerks, brushing the fist in my left pocket. I exhale slowly, willing myself not to chase the throb pounding down my length and into my knot.
I know the basics of scent-sensitivity, but I never expected this instantaneousneed. I feel like my heart might stop if I try to turn and walk away right now.
Remi trembles, sensing the aggressive pheromones I’m pumping into the small space. When a shiver skips down her spine, she straightens, thrusting her chest out and lifting her chin to expose her throat.
God, that graceful arc will look beautiful with my bite.
The thought startles me. I hate not being in control and, right now, I can’t even see my own reins anymore. How am I supposed to pull back from this tug in my middle? It’s yanking me toward her, tauter and tauter with every scrape of sweet-soaked breath.
She grasps her robe tighter. “P-please don’t look at me like that.”
Like what?
When I cock my head at her and raise my eyebrows, she blows out a hard breath. She has the softest voice, even when it takes on sharp edges. “What you’re saying—all of these demands—aren’t rational. You have no control over me, and you want to force me out of my own apartment? I know this isn’t much, but I’ve done the best I can with what I have!”
I can see that’s true. The fake flowers in empty jars. Her light pink paint. Old, well-worn books arranged in artful stacks, and pretty, hand-decorated picture frames.
She has nothing, but she’s still a lady. Standing before me, this omega is the epitome of grace.
What if she couldn’t go to school or get a higher-paying job because she didn’t have any guardians or any resources? What if she needed us? Me. And I wasn’t there?
Well, I’m here now.
I may not have much to offer in the relationship department, but Pierson Properties and our personal investments are thriving. As far as money goes, I can give her everything. All the things I never had. All the stuff I couldn’t give the guys when we were young.
We have more than enough, now. And I can spoil this omega to the point of excess if she’ll let me.
I can already tell she enjoys fine clothing as much as I do. The dress she had on today wasn’t designer, but it was a nice fabric, and she clearly took good care of it. In fact, all her things appear perfectly clean and well-preserved.
Is she so careful with her things because she’s a careful person? Or is she over-protective of her possessions because she’s not used to having much?
It could be both, the way it is for me.
The longer silence swells between us, the more uncertain she seems. Eventually, her nature gives in to mine, lowering her lashes over those blue-gold eyes in a demur gesture of submission that makes my blood roar.
God. This is so much more than I imagined it would be.
An omega was the final thing on my list for the pack. We have our successful careers, our pack house. A central bond is the only thing left for me to get for the guys.
But this isn’t some checked box on a list.
This is… her.
Our mate.
I feel it in a way I’ve never felt anything else.
And it’s terrifying.
I’m not prepared. I don’t know how to take care of her or what she’ll need. I don’t even know how to tell her how I feel. Or what I feel, for that matter.
I have absolutely no idea what to do. But I know I absolutely cannot mess this up.
“Remi,” I start, but then she shifts from one foot to the other, and I see through the door looming behind her, into what appears to be a bedroom. My eyes snag on the opposite corner, and I freeze, every nerve in my body prickling.
“What is that?”
Her head swivels, face falling when she discovers that I’m staring into her closet.
Into the small nest—on the floor of her closet.
“Answer me,” I warn, barely holding back a bark. “Is that what I think it is? Is that your nest?”
She tugs her robe closed tighter, her scent darkening with shame. “I—It’s—It’s dark and quiet in there,” she squeaks. “These units don’t have built-in nests, so it was either the closet or the bath?—”
I hold up my hands, unable to even hear her suggest that she could ever use a fucking bathtub as her safe space.
Jesus Christ. I’m the worst alpha ever. My omega has been nesting in a closet half the size of a refrigerator.
“That’s where you’ve had your heats?” I shout, a vein pulsing in my neck. “Alone? In a closet? For a week?”
Remi shivers at my rising voice. Instinct snaps her into “calm the alpha mode,” and she tries for a sunny tone. “It’s really not that bad,” she rushes. “My heats only last five days, and I only sleep in there a few nights a?—”
She sleeps in her closet?
Absolutely fucking not.
Absolutely. Fucking. Not.
“Enough,” I snap out. Aggression and dominance pour unwavering command into every word. “Pack a bag, petal. You’re coming with me.”