Chapter 11
Morgan
The Third Full Moon
A fever wakes me before the sun rises.
Sweat soaks my body. I blink a few times, chasing away the dreams.
The good ones play through my thoughts like a movie and I squirm in bed. I have no business dreaming about Sylvan touching me, but I did anyway.
In them, he fucked me in every way I could possibly imagine, knotting me over and over with his werewolf cock and soothing the feral crave of the full moon.
“Goddess,” I sigh to myself.
The good dreams were of Sylvan. Endless sex, endless stamina, all my fantasies come to life.
But then there were the ones of me running.
Hunted by some sort of darkness unseen. Nightmares. I don’t like knowing that the first full moon, I was drawn to the forest by that darkness. It called my name, and we still had no idea what it was. How did it even know my name?
All I could think about was Fionn’s eyes and the way I wanted to get as far away from him as I could.
I much prefer the sexy dreams, even though they’re a form of torture. They felt so real too.
I can’t help but wonder if real Sylvan is as good in bed as dream Sylvan is. Because dream Sylvan’s knot was perfect.
I blow out a breath and rub my face, as if that’ll take those thoughts out of my mind.
The more my sleep cobwebs clear, the more I realize something is wrong.
My bones feel heavy. My skin is sensitive.
My muscles ache. I’m already hot and needy, but it’s too early in the day for this. Way too early in the day.
On our second full moon, we were successful in keeping our hands off each other. I stayed in my room and suffered a full night of fever. Sylvan kept his promise and ran through the woods outside. With every howl I heard, I would touch myself, and almost come.
It’d been torture. Complete and awful torture.
But, we’d made it.
This morning feels different, though.
The June full moon is still hours away, but my heat is already starting. It can’t be. I slide my hands under my soft quilt and push my hand under my panties.
I’m drenched and slick.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
This is bad.
I knew the timing of this would be rough, but I didn’t think about how much worse a heat could possibly be. The first one was brutal, the second even more so, but even those feel easy compared to this. My heart thumps faster as I think about the suffering I endured with both moons.
I’m not sure I can do it again.
I turn my head, staring at the clock on the wall. It ticks, marking every second that goes by.
Not even nine in the morning yet.
My fingertips run over threads that knit the patches together on my blanket. This blanket has been around for at least thirty-five years, and I’m grateful I found it in one of the closets. I remember my mother using it to tuck me in when we’d visit my grandmother.
Curling up with this blanket usually helps soothe me, but my stomach curdles. A wave of nausea hits me so hard I kick the blanket off with a gasp.
If I see Sylvan right now, I’m going to jump him like some sort of horny alley cat.
All I can think about is the throbbing between my thighs.
I want him. I need him.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
It’s the same frenzy I felt the first time, except it’s different now.
I don’t hate Sylvan, much to my dismay. He drives me insane. He’s grumpy. And yes, actually, maybe I do hate him a little. But it’s not enough to keep me from wanting him so much. The idea of him grinding his cock against me is enough to send my hand between my legs, my moan breaking free.
His scent. I need it. Whiskey and cinnamon. I wish I had a piece of his clothing to bury my nose against while I touch myself.
I’m cold and hot at the same time. Sweat beads my forehead as I slide two fingers against my clit. “Oh god.” I shiver. I’m so slick with arousal, I’m already making a mess.
“Sylvan,” I whimper.
It’s too early for this. I can’t. I shouldn’t be in heat already, but I am, and because of that—I whimper his name again, giving in to the unreasonable pull.
I hear movement outside my bedroom. My room is right across from his now.
After I told him some of the things that happened to me, he moved my things for me without a single word.
Tabby eventually did the full swap for us, although I was convinced the old house enjoyed the way he looks when he’s broody.
Having our rooms this close is a mistake. I can see that now, and yet, I don’t care. We thought we’d have all day before my heat came. Fuck, we’d worked out an entire plan like last time. We spent hours talking through it, all for it to fall through because I woke up in heat.
In the long list of reasons to hate my grandmother, pairing me with an alpha whose scent calls to me is at the top of the list. If he were any other alpha, I wouldn’t care.
I wouldn’t feel the draw. But something about Sylvan pulls me in, and I’m not strong enough to fight the tide.
On a deep, unseen level—I want him. And the shittiest part about that is knowing it means I want him when I’m not in heat too.
“Please. Please come to me. I need you,” I whisper.
His footsteps come right to the door. I can hear his breaths. Heavy. Panting.
We’re doomed. Cursed. Star-crossed and so deeply, incredibly full moon-fucked.
“I can’t.”
His voice is soft and full of pain. A sob leaves me as I keep circling my clit.
He doesn’t leave. He’s right there, right on the other side of the door, listening to me get myself off.
I know he can hear every breath, every wet, vulgar sound.
I kick the blankets off the bed completely as another wave of fire rolls down my spine.
I’m needy. I spread my thighs with a long groan, staring at the door. I can see his shadows beneath it, just small movements.
I want him to walk in. I want him to open the door and see me like this, aching for him.
“Fuck.” He groans, something heavy thudding against the door. It’s his hand, I realize. The shadows have a movement to them that’s all too familiar.
He’s stroking his cock.
For me.
“Are you touching yourself?” I whisper.
Claws drag down the wood. “Yes.”
Fuck. A powerful wave crashes into me. I’m burning up. I circle my clit faster, whimpering and crying as I watch his shadows. It’s just his shadows, but I know. I know he’s hard and his knot is swollen and he needs me just as much as I need him.
“Sylvan. Please.”
“I can’t. I can’t. I’m sorry.”
His voice is deeper, monstrous. Has he already shifted? I grind against my hand, wishing it was him. Tears leak out of the corners of my eyes, my nipples straining. I moan as I chase the pleasure. I just need a little relief. Please, please, please.
Sunlight peeks through the curtains, the rays illuminating the door. It’s like the whole universe is working against us.
I’m close. I’m so close, but the orgasm still escapes me. I circle my clit harder and faster, but it’s not enough. It’s not right. He’s supposed to be here with me, next to me, holding me in his strong arms while I come.
“Fuck,” I groan, pulling my hand away. “Fuck. What the fuck?”
“Are you okay?”
I don’t answer him.
“Morgan. Please.”
More tears spill as my fever heightens. This is hell. I feel like my intestines are melting and it hurts. Everything hurts.
“Sylvan,” I whisper. “I can’t do this alone.”
“You have to.”
Pain rips through my chest. I roll over onto my side and curl into a ball, squeezing my eyes shut. Why do his words hurt so bad? All of my sane thoughts are gone and I’m left with primal, base needs.
He’s going to let me suffer. He’s made it clear. I’m going to feel this way until my heat is over, but if the suffering is even more intense this time, I don’t think I’ll survive. I don’t know what I’m in for. It could be longer. If it’s longer . . . I’m not sure what will happen.
I’ve only heard of this happening to omegas if their mate rejects them. Sylvan isn’t my mate, though. Right? The feelings and attraction have to be from my grandmother’s curse. Wrong.
I know the truth deep down.
If he’s not my mate, then my heats will be normal. We shouldn’t care that we’re in the same house. Alphas and omegas may choose to fuck during heats and ruts even if they’re not mates, but it’s not like this. This goes further than the norm.
His footsteps fade and I choke back a sob. He’s leaving. He’s leaving me. The further he gets, the colder I feel, like he’s left me out in the snow to freeze. It’s not a relief to the heat, it’s worse. It’s like frostbite.
My teeth start to chatter. I have to sleep. It’s the only way I’m getting through this.
Over the next four hours, I try everything. I try to sleep, I try touching myself, but the orgasms won’t come, and neither will a shred of relief.
I don’t know any other omegas. It’s not that we’re rare, necessarily, although I can count on one hand how many I’ve met in my life. But because of this, I have no one to call or ask if this is normal.
Is this some sort of pre-thirties heat thing I’m unaware of? No.
My clothing sticks to my body. Sweat has formed a layer of salt over every inch of my skin. I've tried every position on my bed, but nothing helps. The only thing that will help is out of reach, because he left me.
It's more than sex. I understand why Sylvan said no. I understand it, logically, but every cell in my body is devastated that he did. It's unreasonable. I can think of a million reasons as to why sex with him is a bad idea.
But even the thought of his whiskey and cinnamon scent is enough to give me a second to breathe.
I need a piece of his clothing. Something. Maybe that would help. Where even is he? Did he run away? Did he leave me to suffer? Probably. I don’t blame him. The closer we get to the sun setting, the closer his own rut is.
What will he do then?
There's no spell that will make our pheromones less toxic.
There's no wall that he can’t break down.
And goddess, I wish he would. I wish he'd break down this door the same way he's broken down the other one at least five times now.
I wish he would pin me down beneath him, drive his cock into me, knotting me until I come over and over again.
My tongue is dry. I force myself to sit up, but even doing so makes me dizzy. I wait a few seconds, trying to find a shred of willpower. I’m stronger than this. I have to be.
The cup on my side table is empty, because I thought I was going to have the entire day to set up my nest. To set up all the food that I wanted to eat or the drinks that I needed on standby. I planned to do all of that this morning, but now what? I’m entirely fucked.
A soft knock at the door surprises me. I didn’t hear him this time.
“What?” I snarl. “What do you want? Just leave me to suffer.”
“I can’t. I can feel it. I can feel your pain. I can’t do this, Morgan. Do you want me to come in? Do you want me to help?”
The pain in his voice makes my throat feel thick. I blink back tears.
I don’t want to make him do this. What kind of monster would that make me?
“Just go.”
“I can’t.”
“Just leave, Sylvan!” I shout. Another sob follows, but I bury my face against my pillow to stifle it. “I can’t make you want me.”
“Morgan . . .”
“Leave.”
Finally, he does.
But it kills me to know he only leaves because I asked him to.