I’m sobbing, almost at the point where I’m ready to beg him to stop, when he sits up, grips my hips, and drags me back into him while he slams into me. Over and over until I come, and he roars out his release.
I feel his knot and scream. I see stars. It’s too much. Not enough. And then everything goes black. I come back panting, lying there with Angel gently stroking my back, and Khaos staring at me from an inch away.
“You did so well, Omega.”
I smile. “Casey.”
“You did so well, Casey.”
“How long has it been?”
“Seven days,” Khaos whispers.
I groan and try to shift closer to him. He moves so he’s pressed up against me. “Can we just sleep for a little while?”
Angel strokes my hair and carefully pulls out of me. “Sure, Casey. We’ll all sleep.”
I snuggle into the alphas and the scents of my nest. Aware of the others that are there with us.
Finally, my nest feels like a nest. My first heat was perfect.
I don’t register the surprise and tenseness of the males in my bed or the fact I whispered those words out loud.
Angel
She’s avoiding us. Herheat ended two days ago, and we woke to find her gone from the nest. Hiding upstairs. Running at every opportunity, shying away from us. The fledging bond shimmers with her distress, but she won’t let anyone close enough to help her.
I glower at her as I watch her run outside, pick up a broom, and start beating the ever-loving fuck out of her carpet like it’s the external sum of all the things destroying her life.
I run my hand along my jaw and consider my options.
“Should we stop her?” Hazard asks.
“No, she needs to beat these demons on her own,” I mutter. “That’s what Wrath said.”
But two days is almost pushing my temper to its limits. Her scent is still imprinted on my mind and memory. In my nose and clothes. I want her back. I need to touch her, hold her, make sure she’s okay.
My pack mates feel the same; the bond that links us is thrumming with tension. Vibrating with our unhappiness.
She beats that damn carpet for an hour. I watch every blow. My anger grows in increments until I feel like I’m going to shred myself out of this skin and challenge her. Protect her from herself.
If that’s what it takes.
I know what’s driving her. I know that feeling. The trapped, vulnerable feeling of enjoying something and not being sure it’s right or that it won’t hurt you. Your body responding to stimuli that you aren’t completely on board with.
I’m slamming the door open before I can think it through, snagging the broom out of her hand as she brings it back for another whack. I tear it from her grasp and hurl it across the yard, and then I step into her space, moving with her, aggressive, challenging as she steps back, her eyes downcast, shoulders hunched.
I snarl.
She flinches! Flinches.
I want to howl at the wrongness of it all.
“Are you scared of me?” I ask.
Her eyes flash up to mine, and I’m relieved by the sheer mad rage in her eyes. Not scared, but angry. Why?
She stares up at me as if daring me to figure her out.
