56. Rickon
Chapter fifty-six
Rickon
Of the many dreams about Callisto I’ve had, this one seems the sweetest. When I stretch, he tugs me closer against his chest, as if unable to bear me leaving. I know it’s a dream, but I linger, running my hands over his firm pecs. Red warms my back, clutching us all together how a pack should be. I’ll stay as long as possible in this pleasant alternate reality, soaking it into my soul.
I press back into Red, but instead of a warm body, all I hit are blanket folds. Red’s not here. In fact, I can’t find her scent at all.
A jolt shoots through me as I wake fully. Red’s in heat. Shit, did we both fall asleep and leave her alone? Callisto stirs under my hands, and I freeze in place. I really am tucked against his chest, on the mattress we dragged down the stairs. Heat sears a trail to my cock, but it only lasts a second before all my hair stands on end.
I really can’t smell Red. Her heat scent ought to be blooming through the entire apartment.
Flipping the blankets off, I roll over and fling myself off the mattress in one move. The sawed-off door to Callisto’s library stands wide open, the cushions inside abandoned.
“Red?” I call, fear strangling my voice. Where is she? “Calli, get up!” I shout as I run for the stairs, pounding up them two at a time. Water lies on the bathroom floor and steam blurs the mirror, with no sign of the cause. Terror squeezes icy hands around my lungs as I check the nest. The room’s dark and quiet, the towels I threw down to dry the floor stained darker shades. Also empty.
“Where is she?” Callisto shouts groggily from downstairs.
I run through all the upper rooms, but her scent’s faint.
“What in the blazes? Get over here,” my friend roars from downstairs, and I skid down to the first floor, my heart in my mouth. Callisto stands, arms akimbo, in front of a message scrawled in blue pen on the wall near the front door.
Gone to see a man about an alpha. Will come back a better omega, if you’ll still have me.
Tears pool in my eyes, blurring the strange message. “Shit,” I mutter, blinking them away.
“What does she mean?” Callisto asks, a strange timbre in his voice.
“She’s gone,” I reply numbly, leaning both hands on the narrow hall table. “She’s gone to look for someone.”
Only now do I recall the terrible day spent with her throwing up repeatedly as she tested every single alpha scent at the Omega Center. Red’s been searching for someone this entire time, and her heat increased her desperation. We’d gotten so busy with lessons and table reads; I overlooked her search. But Red never forgot.
The apartment feels cold and empty in her absence. It’s hard to believe she walked out of here on her own two feet after enduring such a chaotic and grueling heat. Where could she go, and how long since she left?
I massage my stiff neck, thoughts muddled with fatigue. “She said her heats only ever last for three days, but we slept through the ending.” I count the days out on my fingers, starting early Friday morning, when I found her trying to burn the nest down. Down to the hour, if I assume she left here around dawn a few hours ago. Damn. How could I fall asleep when she was so close to the end?
“We have to find her,” I tell myself. She might be weak or drowsy after her marathon fever.
A lump forms in my throat and I spin away, searching for my phone. Nothing’s in place: clothes, shoes, half-eaten food, and water bottles fight with towels, crumpled wet wipes, our kicked off bedding, and melting Hydrolyte wrappers all across the floor. Swearing under my breath, I finally find my phone in the pockets of jeans I kicked off the first day when Red got herself off on my fingers.
It was so fucking sexy, with that deep roasted-nut scent pouring off her like an avalanche; even the mere memory gives me a hard on. Plus, some of her scent still clings to my fingers, despite washing my hands. I lift my fingers to my nose, just to reassure myself.
She said she’d come back, but why does she think she needs to be better? Is it because she lost control and almost burned down the apartment? “She thinks she’s done something bad,” I murmur as I clench the phone tight. But she hasn’t. Being vulnerable and traumatized isn’t a crime.
I love her just the way she is, and we’ll be able to work through this, but she might not believe so. Red and I still have so much to learn about each other. I pound one fist on the breakfast bar as I slide onto a stool and dial her number. My heartbeat stutters as the line rings. And rings.
It clicks on and I tense with excitement, but the minor pause tells me it’s the answering service.
“You’ve reached Red’s Pizza Parlor. Press one for ‘I don’t give a fuck’ Hawaiian, two for meat lovers’ sex-a-thon text service, or three for ‘never call back’ Margherita.”
I chuckle and then hiccup as tears flow down my cheeks. I laughed so hard when she recorded that silly message in front of me. The line beeps.
“I’m calling to leave a review on the meat-lovers’. It was amazing, and we’ll have you back. Every time. Always. Forever.” I rest my heated hand against my chest, trying to press the pain away. “Please give me a call, Red. We’re worried sick. Love you.”
After ending my message, I groan and drop my head on the bench. I know she’s capable, but can she really manage on her own when she’s dehydrated and exhausted? And does she really think more alphas will help? Maybe I’m simply not enough alpha for her. An alpha without a strong presence might be fun to hang out with, but when it comes to sustaining her through a heat, I’m just not what she needs.
The heavy thump of a big man collapsing rings out from the entry hall. “Callisto?” I call as I fling myself off the stool, sending it tumbling over the floor. I slip on the floorboards as I run.
Callisto huddles on the floor, gasping for air.