Chapter 1 #3
“I offered!” I burst out, surprised by the anger and hurt exploding out of me.
But maybe I shouldn’t be. If he’d accepted me when we were seventeen, I wouldn’t be here.
And it’s not his fault—he had no obligation to accept me.
He couldn’t have known I’d be left without an alpha and in this situation not a year later.
And I don’t want a fucking pity bond, but I can’t stand this chivalrous bullshit from him when he rejected me.
“What?” he asks, sounding painfully unsure.
“I presented for you and you didn’t … you didn’t want it!” My chest heaves and I know I’m being way too loud, but clearly I’ve not dealt with my feelings about this.
He gapes at me. In fact, he looks a lot like he did when I presented my throat for him—dropped my head, arched my neck, met his eyes. It was a classic and traditional invitation to court me.
“I didn’t …” He swallows a few times. I can’t hear this.
“I know you didn’t, so just—”
“No, that’s not what I’m about to say, let me finish—”
“Everything all right in here?” Tristan asks, the curtain parting to reveal his hastily thrown on clothes, sweat-soaked pale skin, and the looming presence of Benji behind him.
Fear pummels me. If Benji hurts Leo, I’ll never forgive myself. Every time Benji has deigned to intervene, it’s gotten violent. He might not be mated to me, but I am his property by law, and he doesn’t like anyone going beyond the boundaries of the permissible with his property.
Leo’s eyes widen at my scent.
“Please go,” I whisper.
He clenches his jaw but doesn’t move.
“Please,” I repeat as Benji nudges Tristan aside and stalks into the room.
“He was just leaving,” I say to Benji. “Everything’s cool. We were just arguing about football. He thinks we’ve got a shot in the World Cup, ha ha.” That’s how I say it—ha ha—Jesus, an actor I am not.
At least Benji scoffs and some of the tension from his side leaks out of the room. “No one is beating France.”
“Right?” Tristan pipes up, clearly picking up on the need for this charade.
Leo hasn’t stopped looking at me. His nostrils flare with his harsh breaths, and his scowl is terrifying.
“Please,” I try to communicate with a look.
Leo takes a step back, his face contorting with pain, but he doesn’t leave.
He unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt, yanks it over his head and throws it at me. He does it in such a blur of movement, all I can do is catch it while Benji frowns between us.
Leo opens his mouth, closes it, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
I was right about his size—the singlet he’s wearing does nothing to hide how cut he is.
He’s got a new, sole tattoo of a surfboard tangled in what I think are cherry blossoms on his bicep.
All I can do is stare at the expanse of him.
His scent pummels me—heartbreak, anger, resignation. It feels like I’m caught in a set and can’t paddle my way out, can only duck, point the nose down, cling to my board, and hold my breath through each wave of his feelings.
He spins and disappears out the door, his scent trailing in his wake.
“What the fuck was that about?” Benji asks gruffly.
“Nothing, guy I knew from school,” I mumble and very deliberately do not hug the shirt closer to myself.
But Benji nods like that explains it. “Always weirds ’em out. You good?”
“Yeah, fine, fine,” I say breathlessly.
“Good, I’ll be back later to collect the take.” And with that, he leaves.
Thankfully, I have enough savings to cover the cut he’s referring to from Leo.
“You sure you’re good?” Tristan asks once Benji has definitely disappeared. “You smell all … sad.” He looks pointedly at the shirt.
“Yeah, yeah, course. Just, umm, embarrassing, I guess.”
I don’t know why I don’t tell Tristan the truth. He’d probably understand. But I can’t face the truth myself.
“All right, well, I got someone in my room, but I can stay if—”
“No, no. Go, go.” I smile reassuringly.
He nods, frowns, but thankfully leaves with a parting promise to get me someone else once he’s done. The thought of it makes me feel sick.
Once I’m alone, I lift the shirt to my face and inhale deeply. My eyes slip closed on the welling tears—that’s my alpha.
I don’t know how long I stand there, pulling that scent deep into my lungs, lost in a haze of Leo, but the sound of people coming up the stairs and Tristan’s voice snaps me back to the present, to my surroundings.
My room has a tiny walk-in robe, and in the corner I’ve constructed the world’s most pitiful nest. I rush to it, survey the stash I’d brought from home—two pillows, three cushions, Leo’s old hoodie, and the blanket that’d belonged to my omega.
With reverent hands, I tuck Leo’s shirt around the pillows where I rest my head when I sleep.
I never sleep in my bed—that’s tainted with everything else I’ve done there, what the omegas who came before me did there.
Most of us sleep in our nests. Not that I’ve seen anyone else’s.
An omega’s nest is for the omega and the alpha they bond with, and obviously none of us are bonded.
“Adrian?” Tristan calls.
I take one more hit of Leo’s scent, shove down the feelings of wrongness that have now multiplied to a degree that feels unbearable, and get my game face on. I re-enter the room and swallow down the nausea at the sight of the fit, middle-aged alpha standing beside my bed.