What happened?
Elowen
Gray light is pressing against my eyelids when I wake up.
It takes me a long time to understand where I am.
Slowly, my eyes focus. There's a ceiling above me with a popcorn texture. There’s a ceiling fan that isn't moving, and lace curtains filtering pale dawn light into the small room. Everything smells like an odd mix of cinnamon and lemon.
I shift and my body aches. I’m so sore. It goes all the way to the bone, like I've been wrung out and put back together wrong. My thighs are stiff. My abdomen is tender with a bruised, hollow feeling low in my belly. My lips are cracked and my mouth is so dry it hurts to swallow.
Blinking hard, I look around, trying to remember.
I'm on a couch.
A squishy, old one with a crocheted blanket pulled up to my chin.
My fingers are curled around the edge of it like I was holding on in my sleep.
There's a TV across from me that looks like it hasn't been turned on in years, a recliner with a quilt draped over the arm, and wood paneling covers every wall.
There are framed photos I can't quite make out in the low light.
I don't know this place.
How did I get here?
I try to piece together the memories, but everything comes back in fragments. The Morder. The pharmacy tent. Milo's face. Then my heat hitting me like a freight train. I remember running. Being flung over someone’s shoulder. The smell of dirt and diesel. Then I was in a van.
It rocked over rough ground. Someone's chest against my face. Sage and sunflowers.
Gunshots.
My breath catches as I remember the sound of bullets pinging off metal.
I close my eyes and I can suddenly see Adam ducking behind the wheel. Perrin's white face as Raff held me tight.
Then Cliff.
There was blood on his face. His arms closing around me. His rough voice in my ear, telling me I was safe.
But my thoughts are interrupted as pain flares along the side of my neck.
It’s a sharp, throbbing pulse on the left side, right below my ear. My hand flies to it, feeling a wound. Two raised crescents of broken skin. It’s swollen and hot, the edges crusted over.
A mating bite.
I sit up so fast the blood rushes from my head and the room tilts sideways. My hand stays pressed against the mark as my heart slams into my ribs.
My breath comes in short, panicked gulps as I realize I’m mated.
Mated.
Someone mated me.
Cliff.
Right?
Yes. It was Cliff.
In that tent, he put his teeth in my neck and claimed me. And I let him because my body was on fire and I couldn't think. At that moment, I wanted it. I wanted it so badly I pulled his face into my throat and held him there while he did it.
The blanket falls to my waist, and I look down. I'm wearing a shirt that isn't mine. It's too big, and it smells like sun-warmed cotton and sea-salt.
Adam's shirt. I think…
Someone shifts, and my gaze drops to the floor beside the couch.
Perrin?
The beta is lying on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting on his stomach. A thin blanket covers him from the waist down. His honey-blond curls are crushed flat on one side and his lips are slightly parted, his breathing slow and deep. He's out cold.
And the rest of it comes flooding back.
I can clearly see the look on Perrin’s face when I grabbed him and dragged him into that tent. His eyes went wide when I pressed myself against his chest, and the sounds he made when I pulled his pants down and took him into my mouth were so perfect.
And then Cliff walked in.
I threw myself at him like an animal, and I didn’t even know his name.
Then I did the same thing to Raff in the back of a van, grinding against him while the guards were trying to kill us.
I put them all in danger.
Shame floods through me so fast it turns my stomach.
My skin crawls at the crystal-clear, unforgiving playback of every sound I made, every desperate thing I did, every moment I clawed and begged and rubbed myself against innocent men who were trying to help me.
They must think I'm disgusting.
My hands are shaking as I bring them up and cover my face. I want to disappear so badly that it aches. Maybe I can sneak out of here before anyone wakes up. I can be a nightmare they lived through, but vanished before morning.
I’m planning my escape when the floorboard creaks behind me.
I flinch and my hands drop from my face, my whole body going rigid. A figure moves from the dim hallway into the kitchen. Tall and thin. Broad shoulders wrapped in a worn flannel robe, with silver-white hair cropped short.
A she-alpha.
My pulse spikes. Every instinct I've spent years practicing to hide kicks in at once. Don't make eye contact. Steady your breathing. Keep your body still. Don't react to her scent.
And her scent is strong.
Rough, warm cinnamon with a slightly sweet edge that fills the small house as she moves through it. Thankfully, it's not aggressive or territorial.
The she-alpha opens a cabinet in the kitchen, pulls out a coffee filter, and puts it on the counter. Then she speaks without turning around.
"You're up." Her voice is soft and matter-of-fact.
I don't answer. I'm frozen on the couch, blanket pulled to my chin, staring at the back of this woman's head.
She glances over her shoulder. Sharp gray eyes find mine across the small room, but there’s something in her expression that almost looks friendly. "Coffee?"
The simple word hangs in the air. It’s so completely at odds with everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours that it almost makes me laugh.
"Yes, please," I say. My voice comes out hoarse, like I've been screaming. I probably was.
I push the blanket aside and slowly stand, my legs trembling. I step carefully around Perrin's sleeping form and make my way to the kitchen, lowering myself into one of the wooden chairs at the table. My whole body instantly curls inward, trying to look smaller. Easier to ignore.
The she-alpha moves through her kitchen quietly, filling the pot with water and putting grounds in the filter. The machine gurgles to life, and the smell of fresh coffee starts filling the room.
"I'm Odette," she says, pulling two mugs from the cabinet. "Raff's mother."
"Elowen," I say softly.
"I know." She sets a mug in front of me. It has a faded rooster on it. "Cream or sugar?"
"Black is fine."
We wait quietly for the coffee to be ready, then she pours for both of us before settling into the chair across from me. She wraps her long fingers around a pale blue mug then takes a sip, studying me over the rim. The clock on the wall ticks.
"So, Elowen." She puts her drink down with a quiet click. Her gray eyes are locked on mine and it takes everything in me not to look away. They’re not unkind, but not soft either. "What's your story, sweetheart?"
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
Because how do I answer that? Where do I even start?
I'm a late-transitioned omega who's been hiding her designation. I work at a black market pharmacy. I went into heat yesterday and sexually assaulted your son-in-law's entire pack. Oh, and your son carried me over his shoulder through a field of feral alphas while people shot at us.
I close my mouth, and look down at the rooster on my mug. My fingers tighten around the ceramic.
"It's a long story," I whisper.
Odette opens her mouth to respond, but heavy footsteps in the hallway stop her. Then Cliff rounds the corner into the kitchen.
He's wearing a pair of worn sweatpants and nothing else. His bare chest is broad and carved with muscle, his tan skin smooth in the kitchen light. Even battered and bruised, he looks like something sculpted from stone.
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I don't know where to look.
My eyes dart to the counter, the coffee pot, the rooster mug, anywhere but the expanse of bare skin in front of me. But my brain isn't cooperating. It keeps feeding me flashes from the storage tent.
The feeling of his teeth sinking into my neck, the impossible stretch of his knot locking us together, the way he filled me so completely it hurt.
A phantom ache pulses between my thighs, and I have to press them together, praying nobody notices.
“Good morning,” Cliff says to Odette, then he looks right at me and the hum between my legs intensifies. "I felt you wake up," he says, his dark brown eyes finding mine. “Did you sleep okay?”
I blink.
He felt it?
And then I realize I feel it too. The bond is faint. Barely there. Like hearing music from a room away. It’s too quiet to make out the melody, but there’s just enough to know it's playing.
My throat tightens, and I put down my drink because my hands are shaking too badly to hold it.
"Cliff, I—" The words catch in my throat. I swallow hard and try again. "I'm so sorry for yesterday. For what I did to you and your pack. I couldn't control—"
"I know," he says quietly as he pulls out the chair beside me and sits down. He doesn't touch me. He sits, close enough that I can smell his scent of dark chocolate and smoked cedar.
I want so badly to lick that perfect dip between his pecs.
"How long have you been hiding?" Cliff asks, cutting right through my thoughts.
"What?" I lean in, not sure I heard him right.
“You're an omega,” he says matter-of-factly. "But you were working at the Morder, clearly hiding your dynamic.”
The question lands in my stomach like a stone.
I should tell him the truth, but it’s hard to drop old habits…that, and I’m still picturing his gorgeous face as he pounds into me. “What makes you think I was in hiding?”
“Come on, Elowen,” he says, giving me a firm look. “Omegas don’t work real jobs.”
He’s right but his words still make me bristle.
“Second,” he continues. “You were soaked in blockers. It masked everything. I couldn't even smell you with my nose against your throat. People only cover themselves in that many blockers when they’re trying to hide.”
The blood drains from my face.
If Cliff figured it out, then who else has?