The water cradles me as these thoughts swirl, supporting my aching muscles and cooling my feverish skin. For a few precious moments, I allow myself to simply exist.
No planning.
No panic.
No constant vigilance.
Just the gentle embrace of warm water.
Chapter
Nineteen
VALEK
Humans bleed so easily.
Even alphas.
The mirror in my hotel bathroom confirms what I already know. That I look like shit. The gash above my temple has been closed with six neat stitches, already tugging painfully when I raise my eyebrows.
"Fuck," I mutter, prodding the swollen flesh. "Magnificent debut, Valek."
My first day with a new team, and I've managed to get my skull bashed in by a frightened omega with a fire extinguisher.
Not exactly the impression I intended to make.
I make my way to the hotel bed and lower myself onto the edge. I know I should be reviewing game footage. Learning the team's playbook. Preparing for tomorrow's practice.
Instead, all I can think about isher.
Honeysuckle and summer rain.
The omega's scent lingers in my memory, as vivid as if she were standing right in front of me.
I can almost taste it on my tongue.
I move to the mini-bar and extract a small bottle of whiskey. It's overpriced piss, but it'll do. I down it in one swallow, barely feeling the burn.
The pain medication they gave me at the arena is starting to wear off. My head throbs in time with my heartbeat, each pulse sending a fresh wave of agony radiating from the impact site. The doctors had been clear—no alcohol with the prescriptions they gave me, regardless of my alpha designation.
Oh fucking well.
The solution to my current predicament is simple. I need to find the omega again. Speak with her. Understand why she affects me this way. Then I can dismiss this ridiculous fixation and focus on what matters.
Winning and survival.
My phone buzzes again for the third time in ten minutes, insistent and irritating. Surely it’s the Ghosts’ drunken coach groveling and begging me to stay again. I'm about to hurl the phone across the room when the name flashing across the screen gives me pause.
Caleb.
Fucking perfect timing. As always.
My finger hovers over the screen for a moment before I swipe to answer. Might as well get this over with.
"What?" I mutter. The headache pulsing behind my eyes makes diplomatic niceties feel like too much effort.
"And hello to you too, brother dearest," Caleb's warm voice flows through the speaker, so earnest it makes my teeth ache. "I've been trying to reach you all day. Mom's worried sick."
