50. Red
Chapter fifty
Red
Bona fide actress. That’s me.
I mean, I’ve been one for years, but this time I’m getting paid for it. To prove it, real dollars land in the bank account Rickon helped me set up. Rickon says it’s a lot of money, but I’m afraid I don’t know. Never had a bank account before, and so far all the things I’ve bought were on someone else’s credit card.
First thing I do is take Rickon to dinner out at a nice restaurant. I considered inviting Callisto, but we haven’t spoken much since my outburst. I wasn’t real fair to him, but just the thought of walking back through those memories gave me the shakes. It’d destroy everything I’m trying to build as a functioning omega and as an actress.
During the table readings, I meet the rest of the cast, and we listen to the original book’s author on all the ways he envisioned his characters. Every moment of it helps me slide into Ashana’s skin in preparation for the filming, which starts in two weeks. He’s really pleased with my interpretation of a gutsy, spitfire omega. So’s the director.
But it’s not all roses and happy days. I can’t escape the faint tingles of coming cramps and the roaring alpha inferno buzzing inside my mind, both of which have made me more and more restless all day.
I sit on the couch, watching the setting sun attempt to slice through dark rain clouds. Spears of light puncture through to hit the ground. I need a divine ray like that to find my missing mate. If he’s not in the scent book, then he hasn’t registered.
I wonder how the other omegas are getting along with their packs, and the thought leads me to Rose. She said she was rescued from an underground fighting ring by an OCB agent. Her words ring in my ears. If you ever find your way to Darinian, get in touch.
I tap one fingernail against the armrest. There’s an idea. Rose and her pack mates would know about other alphas who don’t get a chance to register.
Only problem is, my heat’s on its way. I say only problem like it’s a small thing and not a catastrophe that’s about to wreck my life.
The warmth in my veins makes me restless and I get up to pace.
Rickon pads down the stairs. “Wow, sunset already? I lost track of time.”
I throw him a wobbly smile, trying to cover up the way I’m fragmenting inside. “How’s it going?”
“Great. Got all the sheets changed and the rest of the washing in the dryer.” He grins.
His enthusiasm cuts at me, needling a waspish aggression low in my chest. I cross my arms and turn back to the window to hide my mood. It’s not Rickon’s fault I’m broken, and he’s just trying to take care of me. So why does the act grate on my nerves?
Maybe because I’m not sure I’ll be here after this weekend. I mean, a good man like him will only put up with so much, right? During my heats, the other Red elbows her way to the surface and takes over. I fucking hate losing control.
I place my hand against the glass, letting the cold windowpane soak up some of the early heat rushing through my skin. Just the thought of that nest upstairs digs deep into my bones. I hate it.
Rickon steps up behind me, the glass reflection showing our doubles as he wraps his arms around me. “Something wrong, Biscuit?”
If I lift my arm, the reflection obeys me, but that obedience vanishes during my heat.
I press my hands against his. “Just a bit nervous.” That much is true.
He kisses my neck, grip tightening around my waist. “Hmm, I know a few ways to distract the mind.” His fingers quest under the knitted sweater I borrowed-slash-stole from him.
I slap his hand away and pull free of his embrace. He tenses, but I refuse to notice the hurt expression he’s bound to be wearing. Sex will bring this lingering temperature to full blaze, and I can’t have that.
“Not now,” I mutter, stalking into the kitchen for a drink of water.
“Oh, okay.” His tone falls, like a smacked puppy whining softly.
Shit, I’m such an asshole. My hands quiver, rattling the glass as I drop it into the sink. But I need him at arm’s length today. Too much kindness and I’ll really fall apart.
“Want me to make a pasta bake for dinner?” he asks, following me into the kitchen.
“No. I think I just want some toast and an early night.”
I catch him looking at me, his brow furrowed. I spin away and pull out the loaf of gluten-free bread. Don’t cave, don’t soften, or they’ll eat you alive, Red. The other me lingers below the surface like the iceberg under the water, ready to capsize my ship. I tug on my collar, relieving the pressure against my throat.
“How about cheese and tomato toasties?” Rickon asks softly, getting butter out of the fridge.
My mouth waters. He’s been paying attention to my lunch orders over at the studio. “Yeah, that sounds good. Can you show me how to make them?”
He hesitates, the fridge door releasing a pleasant draft of cold air as he holds it open. “You’ve never made toasties before?”
I roll my eyes. Did he really have to put it that way? I dip my finger in the butter and lick the glob on my finger. Not bad, though clings to my mouth and I can’t get rid of it. Like the rising fever. “Not much chance for culinary practice when you’re a prisoner in an illegal Bitch House.”
He places two luscious tomatoes on the bench. “Shit. I’m sorry, Red. You always seem like you can do everything, so I forgot.”
I shrug, resting my ass back against the stove. “I listened a lot. Stole logins and tablets a few times to research shit. Unlike the other omegas, I knew what that place’s deal was, you know? I didn’t want to stay ignorant. When I watched TV, I practiced what I saw people doing. It’s the other omegas who will struggle out there in the world.”
Like the gentle and accepting Rose, or O-18, who was younger and knew she was missing memories.
Rickon washes and chops the tomatoes before moving on to slice cheese and onions. “Yeah, but you struggled too, Red. You don’t have to pretend you’re okay.”
I snort, because he’s right, but it sounds like Doc Woods speaks through his mouth and that irritates me even more. “Sure.”
His lips press tight together and he glances at me from under his lashes. It’s cute, but if I soften now, I’ll morph with the wild woman seething under my skin. “Well, first off, we need the sandwich press, which lives under the bench. Come ’round here and I’ll show you.”
We layer on tomatoes and cheese, and Rickon adds thinly sliced onion rings. A bit of salt and pepper, a spray of cooking oil on the hot plates, and ten minutes later we have steaming toasties. Rickon makes a few extra sandwiches, which he says are for Callisto. We barely ever see the workaholic, but food disappears from the fridge if we label it with his name. Kinda like some mysterious goblin lives in the house—an alpha goblin who leaves wisps of cherry wood scent scattered around.
“Should we be looking for our own place?” I ask after I blow steam from my bread triangle.
“Sure, if that’s what you want.”
Burning hot tomato juice drips to the bench. I stare at it for a moment. “May as well wait for now. We’re pretty close to the studio here and it’s going to be hectic once filming starts.”
Rickon brightens like I knew he would. “Okay, good thinking.”
I’ll probably need to find my own house after this heat. If I even survive this warmth spiraling through my belly. Fear closes my throat and I choke.
Rickon leaps to my side, pounding my back. “Red?”
Fuck, the worry lacing his tone stabs at me. My armor’s melting off in the face of my rising heat. I leap off the stool, abandoning the sandwich. “Gonna take a shower.”
A cold one, even though I know it’ll do no good. Nothing can stop the apocalypse. But I can delay it with one of those fancy pills from the pharmacist, for omegas in emergencies. Maybe if I take a few of them, it’ll go away altogether.
A cold shower does the trick, allowing me to settle enough to climb into bed with Rickon. I stir a few times in the night, to take more heat-delay pills, but somewhere near dawn, I wake burning with fever and gasping for breath.
It’s not fair. Did I ask to be an omega? Did I ask for my heats to get ruined?
Rickon’s scent fills the air, and my pussy weeps slick in response to my alpha’s presence. If I touch him, shake him awake, I know he’ll do everything I ask of him. But a radiating, quivering force stops me. Alphas have never been good to me during heats.
Instead, I throw myself out of bed and stalk down the hall.
I stop halfway to the stairs. That damned nest lurks between me and my freedom. The door’s closed, but I can feel its intention to devour me through the wooden barrier. Like a mouth, just waiting to snap open and close on me.
I’m losing control.
Someone who’s not me walks my body forward, step by shaky step, to the door. It slides silently open under my hand. Better to know my enemy before it can take me by surprise. Shadows on shadows weave a patchwork quilt of darkness inside the yawning mouth.
Fingers shaking, I switch on the light. Big trap of a bed, cushions to smother me and cut off my airway, strings of lights that could wrap around my throat or lock my wrists down.
A nest is supposed to be my sanctuary at times like this, but all I can see is that table where they tied me down and fucked me over. Everything bad that happened to me started in a nest.
A tiny shriek erupts from my mouth.
It needs to go.
The other Red races back to the bedroom, heedless of noise, to grab Rickon’s sewing scissors. My feet thunder like my heartbeat, and I slip in some of my slick on the floor as I race back to the den of horror. With a scream I drag the pretty pictures off the wall and drive the scissors down into the heart of the deadly cushions. They can’t smother me if they’re in pieces.
Stuffing swirls around me like snow, sticking to my tears as I drag the fairy lights down. The scissors catch as I cut through the cabling, grunting with effort to sever the wires. Just being inside this space gives me cold sweats. It feels like the wall close in with every second.
It all has to go.
I thunder down the stairs and throw open every drawer, scrabbling through the contents for a lighter. For good measure, I grab some of the cooking oil. That flares up in the pan during those cooking shows, right?
Voices register as I plow back up the stairs and splash the oil everywhere. That fucking bed leers at me like a maniacal grin, the carved posts looming tusks in the cruelly laughing mouth. The lighter wheel clicks, the beautiful flame glowing on the end of the long stick.
Thick vanilla fills the air. “Fucking hell, Red! What are you doing?” Arms circle my waist, and I drop the lighter.
I scream and kick as I watch it fall, flame extinguished the second it leaves my grip. “Get off me! Let me go!” I refuse to be pinned down this time. “Let it burn!” Let it all go to hell, and my heat with it.
Rickon shouts for Callisto. My body moves without my permission, biting down on his restraining arm. I moan as my teeth sink in deep and the taste of his skin and blood floods my mouth. My alpha’s so delicious. I want to climb him, bury myself on his knot so deep it comes out my throat. But alphas deny their knots.
I fling myself free, screaming again, only to slip on the oily floor. The room’s relentlessly trying to drag me down into its claws. The alpha in the room reaches for me again.
“Fuck off!” I scream, shoving him aside and running through the open doorway. I have to get out of here. Have to flee to safety.
A small, sane part of me clings to the other Red, begging her to calm down. I’m not in the bad place where they locked me up and stole my haze. But she won’t listen. I’m a passenger on a runaway train and all I can do is hang on.
I flee through the house, crashing into doors and slipping. Everywhere the wooden floorboards seem wet, and I can’t manage to keep my footing. Pain lances through me as I crash into a display cabinet, sending dishware and awards flying. A bird squawks, sounding hazy and far away.
It’s too open, too exposed, out here, but I can’t go back to darkness. I dart through the next doorway I find and slam the lock into place. My chest heaves as my breaths burn through me, and cramps squeeze my body without mercy.
My heat has arrived, and I think this one really might kill me.