Megan and I share a look, and she nods.
“Do you have any meetings?” I ask, tracing the shell of Marcus’s ear.
He sucks in a breath before shaking his head, still not looking at us.
“Good.” I press my lips to his temple and try again to push some of that soothing ability into my touch, though I’m not really sure it works.
Without another word, Megan tucks the stupid paper into her purse and then stands, grabbing Marcus’s mug and setting it carefully into the dish return bucket tucked in the back corner. While she cleans the table, I ease to my feet and guide Marcus to his, holding tight to his hand and wiping away the tears.
“Open climb at the gym is still happening for another couple hours,” I say. “Let’s go.”
Eight
MARCUS
My head is empty, my body a mass of numb limbs that don’t seem to respond to my commands anymore. My work computer sits open on the coffee table in front of me, the list of the current wishlist of donors beckoning me to abandon the movie I’ve flipped on and focus on it instead. Realistically, I should be sleeping. Tomorrow might be Saturday, but I still need some amount of rest. Unfortunately, sleep since Tuesday has been as elusive as my Omega has been these last three years.
My Omega.
Notmyanything, not even an elusive dream I’ve kept close to my heart. Not anymore. Even now, he’s probably already matched with a different pack, a different group of people that the Council decided is a better fit for him.
A fresh slice of pain steals my breath, and I freeze, trying to keep my reaction in check. God, I want to break something, fight someone, doanythingthat feels remotely productive to the mess I’ve become over the last few days. But at nearly two inthe morning, drowning myself in work is about the only option I have.
There’s a soft knock, almost imperceptible over the noise of the movie playing.
“Marcus?” Charlotte’s voice is nearly as quiet, but it cuts across the large room like a lifeline. I pause the movie and twist until I can see her.
She’s dressed in a small pair of shorts and cropped pink top, the one whose sleeve always droops off her shoulder and falls halfway down her arm, baring her beautiful brown skin. Her waves are pulled back, falling over her shoulders in twin braids. She crosses her arms as she leans against the entry to the den in the basement of our townhome. The dim light of the movie casts her frown in shadows that just bring out the worry in her body. As the moment extends, her sage scent drifts toward me, the bitter edge of it betraying her fear.
Guilt twists my stomach. She has to teach a pilates class in only a few hours. The last thing she should be doing is trying to coax me from my melancholy in the middle of the night.
“Did I wake you?” I ask, shutting my laptop. “I’m so sorry.”
She shakes her head and crosses the room. She stops in front of me. Automatically, I palm her hips, but I don’t pull her into me. She trails her fingers along my shoulders, her scent growing more potent around us, the bitter edge not fading in the least. After a long minute, she pulls me into her, pressing my cheek into her belly. My throat closes for a terrifying moment, tears coming unbidden. I slam my eyes shut before they can fall.
“Lottie…” I trail off, not even sure what to say, and pull away from her.
I can’t fall apart right now. If I do, I’m not sure I’ll ever manage to pick up the pieces and put myself back together.
Her lips purse, and she palms my neck, letting her thumbs run along the sensitive spots just under my jaw and ears. I shiverunder the attention, and a small thread of nutmeg blends with her sage. Wordlessly, she drops to her knees, all willowy grace. My breath catches, and my scent strengthens around us.
“Lottie,” I say again, this time with a bit more heat. “You don’t?—”
She puts a finger against my lips. “No, Marcus. You’re going to let me do this.”
“You have class,” I mumble against her finger.
She shakes her head. “Mina is covering me.”
I can’t manage to come up with another reason for her to go up to her bed and let me wallow down here. Her eyebrow rises as I hesitate, that knowing look curving her lips. She palms my knee, her nails biting into the skin despite the warm-ups I’m wearing.
“You’re going to let me make you feel better, Marcus.”
Her tone brooks no argument, a fraction of Alpha bark laced through the words. It’s the most confrontational I’ve heard her be in months.
I force a swallow before slowly letting my legs relax. She doesn’t hesitate, filling the space between them with her lithe body. Her breath coasts across my skin as she leans forward, her lips brushing mine. Her hands are soft but firm as she eases the warm-ups off my hips and down my thighs.
“Close your eyes,” she whispers.
