yes.
That last text from Wraith is ominous as fuck. The period makes it so much worse. Who knew you could turn the word "yes" into a threat?
I glance up at Plague, who's staring at his own phone like it holds the secrets of the universe. He seems to sense me watching him and looks up, one eyebrow raised in silent question.
"Thane says don't fuck anything up," I tell him. "Wraith agrees."
"I know. I can read."
"You could text them, too, you know," I add.
"You text plenty for both of us," he mutters, returning to his phone.
I sigh and toss the phone on the cushion. Now we wait.
The problem is, waiting in a confined space with an omega entering heat is a special kind of torture.
Night falls, and nobody sleeps. Ivy tosses and turns in her nest, letting out soft, distressed whimpers that grate against my sanity. Plague sits in the chair like a statue, staring at the door when he isn’t texting Wraith to reassure him Ivy is fine so he doesn’t panic and burn the city down. I pace until I wear a groove in the carpet.
By the time the sun creeps through the curtains the next morning, the air in the room is thick enough to chew.
As the hours tick by, the room grows more stifling. Ivy's honeysuckle scent intensifies, wrapping around my senses like a silk ribbon. Each breath carries her to me, making my pulse thunder and my muscles tense up until they ache. I shift uncomfortably on the loveseat, trying to focus on anything else.
The TV.
The ugly hotel art that's supposed to look like a canvas but was clearly printed on bubbly plastic.
The pattern on the carpet.
Anythingbut the omega sleeping fitfully in her nest or the alpha sitting rigidly by the desk, pretending he's not affected when I can smell his arousal cutting through his wintery scent.
Fucking liar.
My hands won't stop shaking. I clench them into fists, then release, watching as they tremble against my thighs. My skin feels too tight, like I'm about to burst out of it. Across the room, Plague's breathing has changed—faster, shallower. He's gripping the edge of the desk hard enough that his knuckles have gone white.
"Would you stop fidgeting?" he whispers angrily, breaking the tense silence.
I hadn't even realized I was bouncing my leg. "Would you stop being such a dick?"
"I'm trying to maintain some semblance of control, which would be easier if you weren't acting like an overcaffeinated puppy."
"Better than acting like an uptight asshole."
"I'm not uptight, I'm disciplined."
"You're so tight, you're gonna implode and create a black hole. Put us all out of our misery."
"Uptight, not tight," he hisses. "And I'm not fucking uptight."
"Oh, I'm sorry," I growl, feeling my temper start to slip. "Is my existence making it hard for you to pretend you're not affected? Because newsflash, Ice Prince—I can smell exactly how 'unaffected' you are."
Plague's eyes flash dangerously. "Keep your voice down."
"Or what?" I challenge in an even harsher whisper, rising to my feet. The tension that's been building since we left the pack house is about to snap like a damn rubber band. "What are you gonna do about it?"
He stands too. "Don't test me, Whiskey. Not here. Not now."
"That's your problem. You're always holding back. Always hiding behind that mask and that… fucking turtleneck like you're better than everyone else. Better than me."
