63. Victor
Victor
Am I stupid? I feel stupid.
I’m standing in the living room, holding a fistful of orange roses.
My palms are sweating, the paper around the stems starting to wrinkle.
I shift from foot to foot. The other guys are in various spots around the room.
Bram’s already threatened me within an inch of my life.
Dagan’s glaring at me. And Jack is ignoring me, which is about as hostile as he gets.
Finally, I hear footsteps coming down from the omega suite.
Clara comes around the corner and she takes my damn breath away.
Her hair falls around her shoulders in soft waves that make my fingers itch to touch.
She’s wearing a maroon dress with orange and purple accents that make her skin glow.
A moon pendant rests against the curve of her throat, right where I’ve imagined my mouth more than once.
It’s not any one thing I can point to that wrecks me. It’s all of her, in the same room with me, without her scent turning to ash. The apple-pie warmth of it slides over me, pulling me in like I’m not already halfway gone.
She even gives me a small smile and, fuck my heart, I know I don’t deserve it, but I want it so badly.
“Are those for me?” she asks, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s talking about the flowers in my hand. I thrust them toward her way too aggressively, and she flinches back slightly.
“ Sorry,” I mutter, forcing myself to move slower this time.
I step forward and place the bouquet in her hands, my fingers brushing hers for a second longer than necessary.
Then I pluck one of the orange roses out and break off the stem, leaving just enough to tuck it into the crook of her ear, holding it in her hair.
“Thank you,” she says, and this time the smile is bright enough to make something in my chest twist.
“It’s the least—”
“You can do,” she finishes. “I don’t want you to keep trying to make something up to me. Let’s just move forward as we are. Try again, okay?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak around the giant lump that’s formed there or the way my scent’s probably giving me away completely.
***
If I thought this town was crazy about its fall decor before, I had no idea what I was in for.
The place has exploded in Halloween haunts.
Paper ghosts hang from every tree branch, pumpkins line the closed-off street, and vendors have decorated their booths with banners and fall leaves.
The smell of bonfire smoke and wet leaves fills the air.
"I did some research before we came,,” I say. “There's a pie-eating contest, or we could watch a scary storyteller."
She stares up at me. "You did research?" she asks, like she can’t imagine me reading a simple flyer.
"Yeah, Spooky Girl. And if it’s my choice, I choose the doughnut stand first, but I’m up for anything if you’re with me."
"An ything?" she asks, and I suddenly fear for my well-being. I’ve seen that face before. She was wearing it right before she made me enter the haunted asylum.
I nod and slowly, reverently, take her hand in mine and bring it to my mouth, giving her plenty of time to pull back.
When she doesn’t, I graze my lips over the back, kissing her.
I never break eye contact, and her green pools of beauty never waver either.
So I take a risk and scent-mark the back of her hand.
Her eyes flutter, and she gasps a little.
"Is that okay, Spooky Girl?" Asking if something I did was okay after I’ve done it is a dick move. That’s something you learn in therapy, FYI. I’m clearly working on it.
Thank fuck she nods.
We head up through the middle of the road, checking out the vendors as we go. Clara tells me little snippets about the various booths, their owners, and how they tie into the town. By the time we’re halfway along, I feel like I’m a town expert.
I definitely get a few looks, a couple of glares, and some whispers as we go.
I’m the town mystery. I’ve barely left the house since we got here, and when I did, it was to check the dive site.
Now, I show up at the biggest event of the season with one of the town’s princesses.
I haven’t exactly made a great impression.
Fuck ’em, the internal voice that always gets me in trouble says.
Prove you’re worthy, my alpha chuffs. I think I’m going to go with him for once. My therapist and I have been talking about alpha reliance, and I’ve clearly been ignoring mine to my detriment.
So, I help Clara over puddles, open doors, pay for things, and just generally avoid being a flaming asshole. She tells me about her plant babies, and about the newest plot for her upcoming Romance novel.
"Do you think you’ll keep it going once you’ve gone through all the omega members of the women’s swim team?" I ask.
She stops, turns, gawks.
I think I may have said something wrong. "I mean, you started off with five, and each book you’ve worked through a member finding her pack. This one’s going to be the last. Do you think you’ll start another team? Add more omega members?"
"How… how do you know how many members there are?" she asks in a high, shocked voice.
I chuckle. "You mean how do I know that Cindy, Sarah, Lou, and Vivie have all found love while Tara is just waiting around in the wings for her book?"
Her jaw drops even lower. "How—?"
"Jesus, I can read." I laugh.
Her mouth snaps shut. "You read my books?" she asks. I find her gaze, and there’s something there. Maybe tears? That can’t be right. I step closer, and her eyes are definitely glassy.
"Of course I read your books," I say, tucking a loose hair behind her ear.
"When?" she asks.
"I started the day after I met you. Got through them in about a week." Her eyes are saucers. "They’re amazing, Spook. Bram was absolutely right to set up that book signing and send the books to his agent. They’re as good as any Romance I’ve ever read.
Granted, I haven’t read a lot, but they made me want to keep reading. You have a gift."
Little drops fall from her eyes now, and it’s killing me.
"Please don’t cry, Spooky Girl. Please."
She sniffles, and I wipe the tears away gently with the pads of my thumbs. She leans up and kisses me on the cheek, and I’m too stunned to react before she turns and walks up the street. I jog to catch up to her.
Aft er that, I buy her some hot apple cider. We visit a booth where her friend Winnie is setting up to sell items from her store.
"So you’re the mystery alpha," she says.
"I like that title. I’m gonna keep it," I joke, and it cracks a smile from her friend which I think is the most I can hope for.
Before I want it to be, our time is over. Clara stops at a tent. It screams “her” with drapey velvet fabric that makes up the caravan-like structure, little twinkle lights line the entry, and several pumpkins sit just outside the door.
Inside is a little card table covered by a lacy black tablecloth. A crystal ball sits to one side, and a tarot deck sits to the other. Volunteers for the event set up the vendors tents. They did a great job.
"Can you read me mine? If you have time, I mean."
She smiles wickedly and gestures for me to sit, picking up the deck and slowly shuffling it. She sits across from me and sets the deck in the middle.
"Cut the deck anywhere in half, please." She’s so professional about it. I’m already impressed, and she hasn’t done anything but shuffle.
Clara takes the cards and flips the first one. It depicts a grim reaper surrounded by mist, and the title below reads Death . We look up at each other.
"That seems like an ominous start," I say.
She giggles. "Death doesn’t represent death," she says.
I quirk an eyebrow.
"This is the position for the present, and Death here represents the end of a cycle and new beginnings."
"That seems pretty spot-on," I admit.
"I find these readings usually are," she says with absolute seriousness. She flips another card, this time sideways. "This position is for obstacles." A red-horned demon in chains stares up from the card. The Devil is scribbled across the bottom.
"Th is just keeps getting better and better," I tease, as something twists low in my gut.
"The Devil can represent addiction. Not necessarily your own," she adds quickly.
I think of my mother and all of the bitter hurt feelings I have over her choices. I think of my own reliance on cigarettes and how it almost cost me my everything. She catches my gaze over the cards and reaches over to take my hand. I squeeze it in mine.
"We can stop," she says.
"No," I say quickly. "I mean, how can we stop before seeing what the future holds?"
Her lips quirk into a small half-smile. She flips the third card. It’s got nine wands all sparking at the ends, but it’s upside down. She sighs, and the small smile fades. My heart drops.
"This is the space for the past. Since the Nine of Wands is reversed, it represents exhaustion, fatigue from what you’ve experienced so far."
"This isn’t a very nice reading so far, is it?" I ask, trying to lighten the mood. Clara makes a so-so gesture, playing along.
She flips another card and blushes furiously. I peer down at a card with a beautiful woman in a flowing dress with a crown. It’s labeled The Empress .
She clears her throat. "This is in the future position. The Empress in this position represents fertility—" She cuts off, looking away and fiddling with the corner of the card.
I laugh. "Well, okay then. I-I wouldn’t be opposed to—"
"It doesn’t necessarily mean that. Sometimes it just refers to abundance or joy," she hedges.
I nod but can’t help picturing a tiny child with my complexion and Clara’s eyes.
She quickly flips the next cards, explaining that this slot is for goals.
The Hierophant for tradition and belonging.
In repressed feelings is the Two of Cups, symbolizing soulmates.
That one’s not hard to figure out, but it hits deep.
I reach out to smooth my thumb over the apple of her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed.
"I’m sorry," I breathe.
She nods and flips the next card. The Star appears, telling me to allow myself to be vulnerable. Easier said than done, but I try.
Then the Six of Wands for support from my pack, and the Three of Swords for my fear of loss and betrayal. Jesus, this deck can see right through me. Maybe I should let it be my therapist. It’s said a lot of what she’s already told me.
Clara flips the final card. It’s a bright picture of the sun. "This is the spot for the most likely outcome. The sum of your efforts."
I wait with bated breath. I know they’re just cards, but they’ve been pretty fortuitous so far. Plus, being in a pack with a ghost really makes you reevaluate what you know.
"It’s a card that represents light after a long time of darkness. Joy," she whispers.
It’s my turn to look away. That kind of outcome is something I haven’t allowed myself to imagine since the car accident. I don’t realize Clara’s moved until she’s sliding into my lap.
I’m too stunned to move for a moment, but then she wraps her hands around my shoulders to cup the back of my neck.
My hands come to rest against her hips, and I lean forward to nuzzle into the soft skin at her collarbone.
Her fingers thread from my neck into my hair, pulling lightly.
An alpha growl rumbles up from my center.
Her perfume rises around us, and my cock aches for her.
She wiggles in my lap, and I have to clench my eyes shut and grasp her hips just a little too firmly.
"My empress," I purr, referring to the card on the table. "If you don’t stop, you’re not going to be able to do any readings."
"Why’s that?" she asks, looking at me with hooded eyes.
"Because I’ll bend you over this little table and show you good fortune," I rasp.
Her eyes flare, and slick-soaked scent mixes with her perfume. My hands on her hips flex.
"Are you open?" A voice cuts through our moment, effectively breaking it.
"Sunny," my Spooky Girl murmurs, her forehead falling to my shoulder.
We extract ourselves from the chair.
"I’m going to be around the fair,” I say. “I’ll swing by at the end to take you home."
"It’s okay if you want to go back to the house. I’m sure I can find a ride."
I clutch her chin between my fingers and then internally scold myself. Thankfully, she doesn’t flinch.
"I am your alpha. I can take my omega home."
Her perfume swells again, and she nods. I groan but force myself to walk away. Sunny glares at me as I leave, and I can’t help but wink, laughing as I walk away from her scowl.