9. Chapter 9
Adrian
Iknow it’s serious when Erasmus strides into my room after Leo’s fourth night with me.
At nineteen, Erasmus is one of the younger omegas here, but he’s been here since he was fifteen, and in that time he’s risen to take on the unofficial position of head omega.
There are thirty-year-old omegas who scurry out of his way.
Tristan and Cammie come in behind him. Tristan smiles reassuringly, Cammie scowls. And now I know it’s really fucking serious.
“Four nights with the same alpha,” Erasmus says.
I guess we’re skipping the pleasantries.
I don’t think Erasmus does pleasantries, but he’s really getting right down to it now.
He sits on the chair at my vanity, while Tristan and Cammie take the bed.
I sink down on the little couch against the wall and prepare myself for it.
I absolutely reek of Leo—there’s no point arguing where this is going.
“I’ve held Benji off, put his nose somewhere else,” Erasmus says, voice and face neutral.
I know what that means. He’s been letting Benji fuck him, seducing his attention away.
We might get out of Erasmus’s way, but he’s unequivocally on our side.
He just has the bedside manner of a blunt force trauma.
“Two nights is suspicious,” he continues, his hazel green eyes holding mine, telling me I am not allowed to look away, to shrink back from the blow he’s about to land.
“Three nights is an offense. Four nights and you might as well advertise you intend to let him claim you, which I can only assume means you want him dead.”
“No!” Before I can jump to my feet, Erasmus holds up his hand, the velvet of his plush purple coat falling down his slender arm.
Erasmus possesses the kind of beauty that makes you do a double take—brown skin that seems to glow, sharp cheekbones, full lips, and thick eyelashes with a natural curl.
Alphas come from all over the country just to fuck him.
He’s the face of The Omega’s Nest, plastered all over the website and branding for a damn good reason.
“Adrian,” Tristan says gently, and I know that tone. He’s going to talk to me like the idiot I am. He’s not patronising me, he’s telling me what I already know and don’t want to face. “He’s your mate, isn’t he? Not some friend from school.”
At least he’s polite enough to turn it into a question.
Cammie, who’d been giving me troubled looks, gasps. “He’s your mate?”
All I can do is nod and drop my head into my hands.
Erasmus doesn’t miss a beat. “I know this. It changes nothing.”
“What do you mean it changes nothing?” Cammie asks, outraged. “If he’s his mate, then they have to let him go.”
Erasmus snorts. “No, this has happened before. And trust me, it’s better not to tell anyone he’s your mate.
You can’t confirm it without a knot, no?
” It’s a rhetorical question and it’s also true.
Our scents give us a pretty good indication that we’re fated—always have—but until Leo knots me in heat, we won’t know for sure.
“Don’t confirm it. If you do, then the criminal charges of trying to court a contracted omega might turn into a body taking a swim with the fishes.”
I drop my hands and look at Erasmus, mouth hanging open.
He shrugs. “It’s happened before.”
Fear claws up my throat so fast I can’t breathe. I double over, and Tristan and Cammie are beside me. I hear them as if from a distance, rubbing my back, soothing me, trying to bring me back. But how could I have been so fucking stupid? To keep letting Leo come back. I’m drowning in guilt.
A hand is under my chin, lifting my head up. I blink, and Erasmus’s otherworldly beautiful face swims in my vision. He holds up his fist, side on, white powder on the flat of skin between his knuckle and clenched thumb.
“Sniff,” he says and presses my nose down with a hand on the back of my head.
I snort and the cocaine burns my nostrils, makes my tear-filled eyes fill more.
“Drink,” he says and presses a glass to my lips.
I swallow the vodka when he tips it back.
The shaking recedes, replaced by euphoria and warmth, but the fear doesn’t abate.
Erasmus crouches in front of me. “None of the omegas here will betray you, you know this. But if you want to protect your mate, you must let him go now.”
I blink rapidly. Why had I hoped? Why had I let Leo in? Let him keep coming back?
Erasmus stares up at me, waiting for an answer.
I nod, a shaky jerk of my head.
“Good,” he says and stands. “Take the night off, I’ll cover for you.”
And with that, he marches for the door, his smell of a garden in spring bloom trailing after him.
Just before he leaves, he turns back, an uncharacteristic look of regret sweeping over his features. “You need to stop your suppressants.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me with another blow. It’s not unexpected. It was always going to be in a week or two. And short of forcing someone else onto the schedule ahead of me—something I’d never let him do—Erasmus is just doing what we have to do here.
“Adrian, fuck,” Tristan says, pulling me against his chest.
Cammie sits on my other side and rubs my back. His breathing is rough and I can smell the anger, the incredulousness pouring off him. Cammie is not going to make it here if he keeps thinking his rage will change anything. I need to get it together, for him.
I sit up, scrub my hands over my face, and try to smile.
“I’m okay,” I say. At least the coke makes me sound more solid than I feel.
But Cammie looks at me like I’ve gone insane. “You’re not okay! It’s not okay!”
His anger pummels me, and I wish I could get angry too.
Anger would be preferable to this debilitating sadness.
The coke and alcohol have numbed me, but I’d need a coma to escape the way my heart is cracking in my chest. If I didn’t know it was an emotional response, I’d think my heart was literally breaking.
“But it has to be,” I say, because it does. “I hope you never meet your mate,” I add and try to smile at him. It’s meant to soothe him—I don’t want him to feel like this—but Cammie rears back from me, mouth hanging open and shock on his face like I’ve betrayed him.
He shoots to his feet before I can reach for him.
“If I do, I won’t give up like you have! You’re fucking weak, Adrian! You’re a … you’re a … a fucking pussy!”
“Cameron,” Tristan reprimands him.
The words slice through me. Cammie paces and continues his tirade.
“If I was lucky enough to meet my fucking mate, I’d do everything in my power to leave this shithole with him.
And you … you …” He spins back, points at me.
“You’ve met yours and he seems nice. Fucking nice!
And you’re just going to sit here and cry and do as Erasmus says and let him leave! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Cameron,” Tristan says, harsher this time.
“It’s okay,” I say and pat Tristan’s knee.
My eyes are filled with tears, but I look up, meet Cammie’s, and keep my voice even.
“I love him. I’ll do anything to protect him.
And if he keeps coming back, they’ll … they’ll hurt him.
I couldn’t bear it.” My voice cracks, but I push on.
“If they hurt him, it’ll kill me. If he … dies, I’ll die.”
Cammie sags onto the mattress, his knees giving out. “There’s got to be a way …”
I nod because I want him to hope for it even if I know better.
“Tristan,” I say and turn to him. I need to get this out before the high leaves me. “Can you … when he comes … can you …”
Tristan tugs me against his chest as I break down, words failing me.
“Of course,” he replies sadly and holds me close.
“I’ll do it,” Cammie says, bitterness and resolve colouring his tone, his scent.
It might be better coming from Tristan, but when I blink my eyes open, I see Cammie is not going to take no for an answer. Even Tristan is quiet beside me. I nod and hope it communicates my gratitude.