17. Damon #3
“After we broke up, I decided to steer clear of men. I was going to focus on learning and working at the apothecary. So when you say that what happened was unprecedented, no one understands that more than me. I was never supposed to… fuck. And then I go and do that. With you. I practically begged you to fuck me.” Her voice cracks on the last word.
“God, I feel so pathetic. Pining for a man who left me and then throwing myself at my best friend’s cousin? That was stupid. I was so stupid.”
“Hey. Don’t talk about yourself like that. Don’t talk about what happened like that. It wasn’t pathetic.”
“Wasn’t it?” she snaps, turning to face me, her eyes flashing in the dim light. “I was a mess. I was in heat, and I was lonely, and I used you. I’m sorry, Damon. I really am.”
I don’t want her apology. I don’t want her to feel sorry. I want to understand. “That’s not why I stopped you.”
“Then why?” she challenges.
“Because I need to know what’s going on with you. I can smell it on you. Your scent… it’s not right.”
Her shoulders slump, the fight draining out of her.
She looks down at her hands, clenched in her lap.
“That’s the other thing. I think I’m going out of my mind.
” She takes a shaky breath. “My scent keeps shifting. It’s been happening since my last heat.
One minute it’s normal, cinnamon and honey.
The next it’s… this.” She gestures vaguely at the air between us.
“Sugary. Strong. Like the potion I spilled today. And sometimes… sometimes it’s something else entirely.
Something I don’t recognize. I don’t understand what’s happening to me. ”
Her fear is a palpable thing, a cold wave that washes over me. I can feel it in the way her hands tremble, in the unsteadiness of her voice.
“And now with the Council… with them making a list. What if my name is on it? What if they can smell… whatever this is? What if they decide I’m a problem? An unbonded Omega with an unstable scent? What do they do with people like me, Damon?”
The question hangs in the air, heavy with dread. I see it all now. The fear at the meeting wasn’t just abstract. It wasn’t just about Tessa or the other Omegas. It was about her. She’s terrified.
I reach out without thinking, my hand finding her cheek.
Her skin is cold, but the moment I touch her, a jolt of electricity shoots up my arm.
It’s a familiar sensation, the one I felt the last time I touched her, but this time it’s stronger, more intense.
A warmth spreads from my palm, a current that seems to connect us, skin to skin, soul to soul.
She gasps, her eyes flying to mine. Her scent spikes, an overwhelming wave of sugar and spice and something else, something wild and primal. It’s the scent of her heat, but amplified, a siren’s call that goes straight to my head, to my groin.
“I… I can’t,” she breathes, her body leaning into my touch of its own accord. Her eyes are wide, dark pools of fear and a dawning, terrifying desire. “I can’t control it.”
Her hands fly up to cover her mouth, as if to stifle a sob. She’s trembling, a full-body shiver that has nothing to do with the cold. She’s on the verge of breaking, of losing the fragile hold she has on her control.
I move my hand from her cheek to the back of her neck. The contact is like holding a live wire. The air in the truck crackles with energy, with the raw, untamed force of the bond sparking between us, bright and undeniable.
“Hey,” I say again. “Look at me. Caroline. Look at me.”
She slowly lowers her hands, her gaze locking with mine. I can see the panic warring with something else, with a trust that she can’t quite suppress.
“Breathe,” I command, my thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”
She takes a ragged breath, then another, her chest rising and falling. The scent in the air begins to settle, the edge of panic softening into something else. The trembling subsides, though she still feels fragile in my grasp.
“They won’t get you, Caroline,” I say, the words a vow. “I won’t let them. I don’t know what’s happening with your scent, and I don’t know what the Council is planning. But we will figure it out. Together. I promise you.”
She searches my face, her eyes looking for any sign of a lie, of a platitude. She finds none. I mean every word.
“Okay,” she whispers, the single word a surrender.
I realize we’re still parked in the middle of the street. I need to get her to the apothecary, to June. I need to think.
I start the engine, the sound loud in the quiet cab. The short drive to the apothecary is silent, but it’s a different kind of silence now. It’s not empty or awkward. It’s filled with the weight of what just passed between us, a new understanding, a fragile truce.
I pull up to the curb in front of the dark shop. The lights are on in the apartment above. I put the truck in park but don’t cut the engine.
“We need to finish this conversation,” I say, turning to her. “For real. No more avoiding it.”
She nods. “I know.”
“I’ll come see you tomorrow,” I say. “After my shift. We’ll talk. And we’ll figure this out. I promise.”
“Okay,” she says again, a small, genuine smile touching her lips. “Tomorrow.”
She opens the door and slides out. I watch her walk to the apothecary door. She gives me one last look over her shoulder before disappearing inside.
Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.