Episode 32 The Price of Magic
I shouldn’t be here.
I know I shouldn’t. Technically, I should still be back at the villa, ‘celebrating,’ pretending to be in love with a woman I loathe.
But I couldn’t stay away.
Lulu’s words are ringing in my ears, muttered under her breath to the red headed PA who used to follow Ren around.
“Production just sent word, Ren’s failure to give a confessional after she was cut was a breach of contract. She won’t be seeing a dime.”
And then the male’s pitying reply. “We warned her what would happen if she didn’t. She made her choice.”
She made her choice to go home empty handed rather than to have them broadcast her heartbreak.
I’d had to sit through the final ceremony, the one where no one was surprised that we sent home Petal and picked Isadora.
She cried fake happy tears and we all kissed some part of her that wasn’t her mouth, and then we had to smile for the camera, and finally I was able to corner that same red head and make him tell me where Ren was, right down to her room number.
A hundred slipped to the front desk clerk who is a fan of the show and was apparently ‘shipping’ us with Ren and a few minutes later I have a key to her room burning a hole in my pocket as I stand outside her door.
The key is a precaution. Just in case she doesn’t want to speak to me and I have to force the issue. I intend to give her the option first though.
Heart thundering like I’ve just run a marathon, palms sweaty and throat tight, I knock on the door and wait. Nothing.
Clearing my throat and glancing up and down the hall like someone might be watching, I knock a second time, this time also calling out, “Ren, bubbles, it’s me. Please let me in.”
Still no sound. I press my ear to the door, listening for any indication that she’s coming to answer me, but there’s only silence.
“Florence?”
Panic grips me at the continued silence. She should be here. Marshall told me they’re sending the remaining omegas home tomorrow.
Something must have happened to her. Something bad. Visions of my omega slipping in the shower and cracking her head hit hard and fast. I have to get in there and make sure she’s okay. The light on the lock turns green and I’m pushing into the room, before I can think better of it.
The first thing that hits me is the smell. Citrus and hibiscus almost take me to my knees. I breathe deep, settling Florence’s scent into my lungs, into my veins, into my marrow. Even tinged with sadness and heartbreak, it's the best thing I’ve ever smelled.
Mine.
My omega.
My mate.
“Bubbles?” I choke out, forcing my knees not to buckle so I can step farther into the room, seek out the body the scent belongs to.
It's only after I’ve checked the entire room and the attached bathroom that I realize her scent is going stale, an hour or more old.
Not to mention her belongings are gone. No suitcase.
No products in the bathroom. No silky dresses in the wardrobe.
The only thing that's out of place is the plastic keycard on the top of the dresser that doubles as the television stand.
And the neatly folded pajama set that matches the ones she made for us.
I slump onto the edge of the unmade bed, hand hovering over the spot I can tell she slept, the indent in the pillow. She obviously tried to make a nest, a halfhearted one, with extra pillows creating a small barrier, but it wouldn’t have felt right. It wouldn't have felt like home.
Not with hotel blankets and pillows. Not without the scent of her pack woven through it.
The sight of that sad little nest makes me furious.
They never should have forced her to stay here. Never should have kept her from her home, from her family, from all the familiar things that would have helped her through our rejection. It seems she took that into her own hands, leaving before production gave her the go ahead.
The thought rocks me.
Ren is gone.
My mate is gone.
And that realization makes me want to tear this whole fucking room apart.
My fists clench, knuckles turning white.
I need to hit something, badly.
But then I think of Florence, of her soft little fingers stroking over my knuckles, easing the tension there, getting them to unclench. The way she’d rewarded me with a gentle kiss to my palm. Violence isn’t the answer, bruiser.
It's the only answer I have though.
With her gone, I feel… untethered. Off kilter.
My throat tightens and my eyes sting.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I haven’t cried in years, not since I was twelve.
But it's what I do now, scooting into the sad little nest Florence made for herself.
Burying my face in her sheets, in her scent, even as tainted as it is with her sadness, her grief.
I cry. I beat at the mattress. I scream my own grief into her pillow.
And when I’ve calmed enough, when I feel wrung out and hollow, I make a decision.
One I might regret later, but it feels like the only thing I can do.
My pack can never know Florence is ours. Our fated mate.
There’s no reason for them to feel as awful about this as I do. We all already feel bad enough as it is. Knowing she’s ours and we can’t have her? That will just make everything worse.
With any luck at all, Florence won’t have realized it either.
She never got a full whiff of any of our scents, with the exception of Piers, but I know omegas and betas don’t have the same dependence on scent as omegas and alphas.
So hopefully, she’ll get over this heartbreak, this rejection, and maybe in the future she’ll find a pack that can give her everything that we can’t.
My alpha has a vicious and sharp reaction to that notion, snipping and snarling in my chest that Florence is ours and we cannot let some other alpha, some other pack, provide for her. We need to do that.
I swallow down the urge to hunt her down, pin her to the carpet and bite her. To make her mine in a way that the queen won’t be able to deny.
But she would, wouldn’t she?
She has.
Piers is our beta, he has our bites on his skin, and the queen refuses to acknowledge him as a part of our pack.
If I bit Florence, it would be the same. The queen would force us to hide her away, keep her a secret and we would still need to publicly bond with Isadora. Which would kill Ren. And it would kill me too.
No, this is better, I lie to myself. She’ll be safe at home with people who love her and she’ll get over the arseholes who made her promises they couldn’t keep. She’ll find a pack that adores her, and she’ll be happy.
I’ll be miserable, we all will, but that’s not what matters.
Her happiness.
It's the only thing I want in the world.
And as long as we keep our distance. As long as we leave her alone, she’ll get it eventually. She’ll find it.
We only spent a few weeks together. And most of that time was spent surrounded by others. Forced interactions. Our time split between other omegas.
Yes. Florence will get over this hurt. And she will be happy.
So long as she never sees us again.