8. Twenty-nine
Twenty-nine
Brea
Weak sunlight stung my blinking eyes as I came to consciousness. The bed beside me was empty, the sounds of Taryn rustling around in the bathroom muffled through the almost-closed door.
Memory of last night washed over me like a polluted tidal wave.
The chemistry. The spark. The way my omega absolutely shone.
And then me, the enormous feral wrecking ball who’d absolutely ruined all of it.
Lin had held my hand, kept me calm while Brooks looked over Taryn.
It spoke to the connection between us already, really, that his presence had been soothing enough to my alpha that I hadn’t actually lunged for Brooks like it wanted me to.
But I’d eyed Brooks the entire time he made sure Taryn was okay, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation.
Oher than a slightly tender ankle, though, she was perfectly fine.
As Brea the Human knew she would be. Brea the Alpha? Less trusting.
There had been no salvaging the mood after that, and Taryn had escorted me home. Where I’d promptly crashed from the adrenaline spike.
No wonder my head was heavy and buzzy—it always was after an alphadrenaline rush. A karmic hangover of epic proportions. I groaned, burying myself under the blankets, as though the humiliation wouldn’t find me under there.
Soothing notes of omega wafted over me, sweet toffee and cream, and the mattress dipped as Taryn sat beside me. “You alive under there?” she asked in a soft, only slightly jesting tone.
I huffed, uncovering my head. I probably looked a mess, hair tangled over my face and circles under my eyes.
Taryn, though, was gorgeous. Perfect, as always, with her dark hair pulled into one messy braid down her back, a casual blush tee and jeans, and her favorite worn white sneakers.
It was rare that Taryn was up and ready before me, but she had a Sunday morning shift, and I was currently playing the role of Karma’s Bitch. So.
I frowned. “No.”
“Too bad,” Taryn said. “I kinda liked having you around. And organizing a funeral is gonna be such a pain . I may outsource.”
“Ha, ha,” I said, sitting up with a grunt. “God, I hate alphadrenaline.”
“You and me both.” She held out a glass of water and a few white pills. “Should help you feel more human.”
I hummed in appreciation, taking both from her. “You’re an angel.”
I took the aspirin and leaned back against the wall, holding my glass in my lap. “Taryn, I’m…I’m sorry for last night.”
“Brea, no.” She gripped my hand. “You don’t—”
“Yes, I do. I let my anxiety and my alpha take control last night and ruined the perfectly lovely evening we were all having. We’ll be lucky if there isn’t an eviction notice taped to the door.”
That was the worst bit of it all. Caine aside, we’d both felt so instantly at ease with Pack Arceneaux.
We weren’t looking to grow our pack—we were happy with our duo—but Taryn’s heat would be coming in six weeks, seven at most. We’d given certified heat attendants a try, but we’d had the most luck when we’d encountered other small packs, built the rapport, then engaged them to help out on our own.
Pack Arceneaux could’ve been an option. And now, I’d ruined it before the ready, set, go.
“You’re too hard on yourself. Nothing even happened.”
I was in no mood to be comforted. “Hope you enjoyed lugging those boxes up the stairs yesterday because chances are we’ll be hauling them back down by next weekend.”
“ Breeeaa .”
“And, of course, there were no other vacancies in our price range that didn’t look like the set of a true crime documentary, so we’ll be homeless.”
She gave me a pinch in my side, and I pulled away, finally loosing a single breath of a laugh.
“You,” she said, “are a pain.”
“I love you too.”
“Everything is just fine. But now, I’m officially late, so I gotta run.”
Shit. Just one more thing to add to the list of my fuckups of the last twenty-four hours.
“ And ,” she said as she stood, shooting me with a trying-and-failing-to-be-stern glare, “no more catastrophizing, you hear me?”
“Whatever you say,” I answered with a weak salute. Damn, she was cute when she tried to be in charge.
She just rolled her eyes and gave a crooked smile. She opened the front door, checking the outside of it, and grinned as she swung it all the way in so I could see the exterior face. “And lookie here, no eviction notice. See? Everything is—”
Shattering glass had me up and out of bed in a flash, coming to Taryn’s side at the door. My heart pounded, searching for the source.
It was a small clear vase planted right outside our door. Or, rather, it had been a vase. Now it was a jumble of glass shards in a puddle of water, two long-stem white roses lying amongst them.
“Ah, shoot,” Taryn bent down quickly, picking up a piece of thick cardstock that had been folded in half and left next to the vase. We exchanged a glance before she flicked open the note.
Hope your ankle isn’t as bruised as our egos. Let us make it up to you?
Spire Lounge, Friday night, 7:00.
Sincerely, Brooks & Lin
We both stared at the note in stunned silence. They were taking responsibility for the debacle last night? I should've been apologizing to them !
“Well,” Taryn said, tone smug, “safe to say they’re harboring no grudges, don't you think?”
Two phone numbers were listed at the bottom, unlabeled. A postscript had been added just above them: Enjoy some text roulette!
Against my will, the corners of my lips drew up. The PS absolutely screamed Brooks, and the suave main message was extremely Lin-coded. They worked well together.
Could they work well with us?
Could we work well with them ?