Chapter 23 #2
He returns still in a sweater and jeans, and approaches the empty side of the bed.
“You’re not sleeping in jeans,” I say.
Jamie’s cheeks turn bright red, and I know what he’s thinking. It’s what I’m thinking. If I were taking chances, if he were a beta, I’d leave it at that. He’d take his jeans off, climb in bare-legged.
But I’m not taking chances. And he’s an omega.
“Here,” I say, pushing out of bed and flipping open my suitcase.
“Wow, you’re organized,” Jamie murmurs, referring to the tidy rows of neatly folded clothes. “Your suitcase makes mine look like a disaster, on the inside and the outside.”
“Yours suits you,” I say, sensing Jamie’s tension as he assumes it’s a backhanded compliment. “I like it.”
I pull out an extra set of sweatpants and a t-shirt and toss them to him. He catches them awkwardly, then slinks into the bathroom.
When he returns, I glance up, and I have to force myself consciously to breathe. I hadn’t fully appreciated how much larger than him I am until I see the sweatpants cinched tight, the t-shirt draping off his slender shoulders. Fuck, I want to unwrap him.
“Better,” I say, and he climbs into bed next to me.
I dim the lights, but neither of us makes any move to turn off the TV. We need that buffer, that distraction.
Jamie was right about room service. There is something more intimate about food arriving in your bedroom. Just like there’s something more intimate about sharing this bed with him.
I’ll be smelling him all night. He’s so close. Am I even going to sleep?
An hour later, he finally drifts off. I make sure he’s well asleep, then turn off the TV. I’m about to get up and at least get some work done if I’m not going to sleep.
His quiet breath is the sweetest sound. My chest slows to match his, and my heart rate follows.
The beast purrs and curls up.
This time it’s the human part of me that resists. But what, am I going to throw a fit that he’s calming me down instead of riling me up for once?
I hate the old rhetoric that an omega’s job is to calm alphas down, that a wild alpha just needs an omega. No, a wild alpha needs to grow the fuck up and take responsibility for themselves.
I comfort myself with the fact that I did have a plan. It’s not like I would have made it Jamie’s problem. I just would have lost a few hours of sleep.
A few hours that are now his gift to me.
And there’s another unfamiliar feeling.
I’m grateful.
#
I dream of running through the woods, loping on all fours, unbound and free.
I have this dream a lot.
What’s new is the scent of prey that makes my mouth water, and I flick my tongue across my fangs.
I find the scent on the wind, and pursue it through the trees.
Then I spot the flank of a deer and break into a sprint. I quickly overtake it, a silent shadow in the forest.
I pounce, and there’s a moment of perfect quiet as I soar through the air.
My claws slam into its side, pulling my fangs towards its throat. I’m about to sink them in, the scent of vanilla and jasmine pouring down my throat…
Then I remember what’s different tonight.
Jamie.
I jolt awake.
I’m over him on the bed. My claws have torn through the sheets, deep into the mattress foam.
My skull tingles, and there’s the pressure that always comes just before the shift.
Somehow, Jamie is still asleep.
That precious idiot.
I force a deep, silent breath, counting myself back from the edge. I slowly pull away from Jamie, tension in every muscle to keep myself under control.
He stirs, but stays asleep.
I’m a ticking bomb.
Grabbing my phone is important enough to spare a couple seconds, but I don’t dare take the time to find my room key as I head for the door.
I don’t care that I’m still in my t-shirt and pajamas. I pity anyone who even so much as looks at me sideways right now.
The door clicks shut behind me, but it’s not enough distance.
The beast is screaming, clawing. This is the wrong way.
My grip on myself is iron. There’s not even a millimeter of room for weakness now.
I head for the stairs and start climbing. This ‘next best’ room is a full ten flights from the top.
The climb takes the barest sliver of the edge off, and as I reach the top, I find the sign I’m looking for: Roof Access, Authorised Personnel Only. This hotel’s roof doesn’t have any guest amenities, and that’s for the best.
A padlock reinforces the sign’s message. I lower a shoulder and slam into the door.
The steel shudders, and the bracket for the padlock pulls halfway out of the wooden frame.
A second slam sends chips of wood scattering as the door swings open.
I brace it shut, take two steps out, and scream.
The sound is primal, strangled, agony. I’m shaking, muscles spasming with the energy locked in by my iron grip.
I turn and slam the side of my fist against the concrete that shelters the stairway. A second blow lands, then another, grinding my skin against the rough stone until the pain brings me back in control of my body. Blood trickles down my forearm.
I’ve stopped the shift. For now. I’ll be on a hair trigger for hours.
With a sigh, I step away from the stairs and take a seat on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the thirty-story drop. The breeze cools me off as I text Eileen to clear my schedule.