We’re supposed to be a pack. I’m as much his Omega as our Nyx.
My hands on his chest, I push him off with a snarl, sidestep him when he moves forward again.
I spit on the ground, then, staring into his ice eyes, I wipe our combined saliva and my blood off my lips with the back of my hand, sending him a look of disgust before turning my back on him and returning to the academy building.
And to Nyx.
Nyxeris
“Universe, what happened to you?”
I rush to Zeph the second the door to our room closes behind him, hands on his beautiful face to examine his fattening lower lip.
He smiles, but it turns into a pained wince fast.
“Don’t fret, love,” he sings, smile turning lopsided.
I frown at him. “What happened?”
His lips purse before he answers, “Erich.”
I straighten, eyes wide. “He hit you?” I demand, fury boiling in my blood.
He lets out a laugh, head shaking. “Kissed me, actually.”
Now, I’m frozen. They kissed. Does that mean?
Zeph laughs again, his face reddening a touch. “We didn’t mate or mark. Just a kiss.”
“A violent kiss.”
He huffs, rubs the back of his neck. “May’ve gotten a little out of hand.”
I raise an eyebrow at him before turning to my nightstand. Inside the bottom drawer, I pull out a small med kit, sit on the edge of the bed and beckon Zephyr over.
Once he’s seated quietly beside me, I begin to pull out various items like antiseptic and gauze, then get straight to work, cleaning and blotting his wounded lip, using his chin to move his head at all the angles I need to treat him.
He’s a dutiful patient, staying still and allowing me to move him when I need. At least until I go to blot his lip for the fourth time, and he grips my wrist gently, laughter in his eyes.
“You’re rubbing all my skin off, darlin’.”
I can’t help the pout that forms on my face. “Sorry,” I mutter, gathering the used items and tossing them into the small trash bin, then putting the med kit back in the drawer.
When I sit back beside him, Zeph wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his chest.
“I love you,” he whispers. “I love that you want to care for me.” His voice is rough, and it sends a tingle down my spine.
“Of course I want to take care of you. Forever.”
“But I don’t want what you have,” Arlowe insists, her dark purple eyes blazing with anger while shining with unshed tears.
Mira and I share a worried glance before I look back at my closest friend. “Why?” I keep my voice as soft as possible, like trying to coax a wounded animal.
Her gaze shoots to me, then her eyes close tight as she takes in a deep breath.
She’d pulled the hood of her sweatshirt off and let her asymmetrical bob remain a wild mess about her face and on top of her head. Usually, she’d take great care in straightening her frock if it fell out of place, but lately, she hasn’t seemed to care at all about her looks, drowning in brooding emotions instead.
When she peers back at me, all I see is pain so deep it kicks me in the chest.
