Chapter Two #2
My vision goes fuzzy at the edges, and then someone is pulling me away from the table.
The omega elder. We enter one of the tents, and the woman ushers me to sit.
“You’re alright, darling. I know it’s overwhelming.”
The woman wraps her hand around mine and attempts to gently pry the shirt from my fingers. “It will be easier if you give this to me.”
I hiss and jerk it away from her.
Mine .
The elder raises her hands. “I’m sorry. You can keep it. Do you recognize the alpha’s scent? You seem to have a strong attachment already.”
I look up at her and blink my eyes.
Connor. It’s always been Connor. Of course it has.
He’s perfect. Beautiful, considerate, unwavering.
When the rest of my life was filled with turmoil, he was my one true constant.
The mast I lashed myself to to ride out the storm.
He knows me better than anyone else in this world. And now he’s mine.
“Where is he?”
“Everything’s alright He’ll be here soon.”
There’s something I ought to remember, some problem looming on the horizon, but my brain is functioning on a baser level now.
Alpha will come .
It feels right that it’s him. I’ve fantasized about us being mates more than I’d like to admit. We already loved each other platonically. This should be easy between us, right?
The woman sticks her head out of the tent, and there are a few quick, whispered words exchanged.
I pet my skin with the shirt, taking slow, deep breaths of his scent. I’ve always liked his scent, but this is something more. Something heady and drug-like that stirs my inner omega.
The elder ducks back inside and kneels in front of me.
“Omega. Stay with me. Who is your alpha? I need you to tell me his name.”
I blink slowly. Didn’t they know? Wasn’t he here? He will come for me soon. I need him.
“Connor.”
The elder’s eyes widen. “Connor Masters?”
I give her a fervent nod. “Of course.”
The woman swears, then pastes on a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “Okay. You’re going to be okay.” She reaches for Connor’s shirt again. “Are you sure I can’t take this, honey? There might be a delay. It will make you more comfortable.”
I yank the oversized shirt over my head and stick my arms through the holes. They’ll have to cut me out of it if they want it back.
“Shit. Alright.” She pats my knee and says, “You sit tight, okay? I’ll be back soon. If you need help, there will be an elder outside the tent.”
“Are you going to get him?” I ask. Something needles at the back of my mind. A warning like a klaxon blaring just out of audible range.
The elder gives a slow nod and a weak smile and leaves the tent.
I huddle atop the metal bench she sat me on, tucking my knees up under the roomy shirt and wrapping my arms around them. Wearing Connor’s scent is satisfying, but I’m beginning to feel feverish, my cheeks uncomfortably hot. It’d be better if his shirt was the only thing against my skin.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and fumble with the lock screen. Surely he’s responded by now. Surely he is on his way.
But when I pull up our text thread, all that greets me is my last message to him.
You promised.
I caress the tiny thumbnail of his contact photo, then tuck my chin under the collar, letting his shirt swallow me up.
I want to hide. I need more of his clothes.
Blankets, something soft to stretch out on, not this metal bench atop cold grass, with the scent of strange alphas and omegas all around.
Long minutes pass, and the heat spreads from my cheeks to my neck. Sweat beads on my forehead like I’m coming down from a fever.
The omega elder returns with a damp cloth and a bucket of ice, her face tightening when she sees me.
She mops at my sweaty brow with the cold cloth, and I lean into her touch.
“What’s happening to me? It isn’t supposed to be like this. No one said it would be like this.”
“I know, sweet girl. I know. Just hold on. We’re going to fix it.”
The elder tends to me until the scrape of the rag against my skin grows too sensitive, and I bat her away.
“Use the ice if you need it,” she says before exiting the tent again.
Time passes in a blur as I rock back and forth on the bench.
There are raised voices outside the tent.
“ Where is her alpha ?” the omega elder asks. Her voice is much less gentle now.
“We don’t know. He’s not here,” says a male.
“What do you mean, he’s not here? I’ve got a freshly mated omega going into rapid heat—with a nearly full-strength bond, from the looks of it! Where the fuck is he?”
“Lower your voice! You’re going to upset her.”
“She’s going to be a lot more than upset if he doesn’t get here soon. Which one of you idiots let this happen?”
“He was supposed to be here,” a new voice says. “I assumed he was just running late.” His scent and the tone of his voice is familiar. Connor’s father.
“I’ll have your head for this, Masters. Get him here, now . She’s not going to last long.”
I whimper. It’s too hot inside the tent. My jeans are soaked between my thighs and my nose is full of Connor’s scent, but the stark reality that Connor isn’t here is starting to hit me. He must have planned to come, if they had his scent, but changed his mind at the last minute?—
Because of Cassandra.
Anxiety shoots through me, and I rub the shirt against my glands again, seeking the relief of his scent.
Find alpha , my body urges me. Need alpha .
The comforting scent of the shirt fades as it mixes with my sweat and pheromones. I need him here in the flesh. Need to bury my face in his neck and lick his glands until he smells like mine . Need him to cover me in his scent, to mark me with his cum, just like he had this shirt.
The thought spawns a fresh gush of slick and a throbbing between my thighs. The wet patch of denim between my legs chafes.
“He isn’t responding to my calls,” Connor’s father says in a low voice. He must think I can’t hear him, but all my senses are in overdrive, seeking out signs of my mate.
I fumble for my phone again. Connor frequently screens his father’s phone calls, but he will answer me. I never call him, not unless it’s important.
He will realize I need him.
Will answer.
Will come for me.
His omega.
His mate .
His best fucking friend, supposedly. I may not be able to come right out and say the words ‘You’re my mate, I need you,’ but he can pull them out of me. Will sense something is wrong like he always does and make me tell him what I need.
I select his name from my favorites—it’s the only one there, besides the sushi place in town—and press call . I wait several rings. Then a click.
“Hi.”
“Connor—”
“You’ve reached Connor Masters. Leave me a message, and I’ll get back to you. Or better yet, text me.”
His voice, pleasant and toe-curlingly deep since ninth grade, is pure seduction now. I whimper and end the call, then immediately dial again.
Seven rings. I climb off the bench and pace around the tent while I wait, toeing off my sneakers and socks so I can sink my toes into the cold grass.
This tent is too tiny, too hot, too impersonal.
Too alone.
Everything that could go wrong is going wrong. I want to crawl out of my skin. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
“Hi, you’ve reached Connor Masters?—”
I fling the phone across the tent and yank the collar of his shirt over my nose, inhaling deep like a drug. I seek that calm it instilled in me at first, but the returns are diminishing, chased away by the growing fever in my body.
The beep of an incoming text message is like a siren’s call. I lunge for the phone where it lies face down in the grass.
Please don’t be broken, please don’t be broken .
The screen is badly cracked, but I swipe my thumb across it anyway, glass digging into the pad of my finger.
The text is long. He was probably in the middle of typing it when he ignored my second call.
Hey Lana. I’m really sorry I didn’t make it. I came over to Cassandra’s before the ceremony, and we had a long talk. She felt insecure about me attending because she’s a beta, and I want to respect that. I think there could maybe be more to this than just a casual fling for once, you know?
Forgive me?
I feel like someone slugged me in the gut.
I suck in deep, heaving breaths.
He isn’t coming. He isn’t coming, because he’s with another woman. His girlfriend. His beta girlfriend. He is going to fuck her tonight, instead of his mate who is going into heat.
He doesn’t know .
It’s okay. It’s okay.
I’ll call him again. I’ll leave him a voicemail, something I never do, and he will know I need him—know to call me back.
I mash call again, smudging blood and tears across the shattered glass.
The seven rings take forever. The voicemail recorder clicks on, and I heave in a deep breath.
“Connor, this is Alanna. I guess you know that.” I let out a shuddery laugh-cry.
“I need you to call me back. Please, it’s important. Like life or death important. I need you. Something—something happened at the ceremony.”
I draw the phone away from my ear and frantically press pound, a small sliver of relief trickling into me.
He will come.
Then a robotic voice crackles over the line.
“ We’re sorry, this user’s voicemail box is full. Your message cannot be delivered.”
I fall to my knees. All the breath in my chest is sucked away, leaving this clawing, grasping void.
I can’t do this alone. Riding out a heat unassisted is brutal for omegas who’ve been mated for years. Going solo for my first heat, with a bond as strong as mine and Connor’s must be? It’s insanity.
I send another text with shaking fingers, more slivers of glass slipping beneath my flesh.
I need you. Please call.
I heave in a broken sob as I wait for a response that doesn’t come.
Panic begins to take over, and I smash call over and over again, hanging up as soon as that fucking voicemail begins to play.
“Hi, it’s Connor Masters?—”
“Hi, it’s?—”
“Hi—”