Your beta.
The words cut what’s left of me. I want to be hers. A strangled whine leaves my throat. I want to beher alpha again. Before I ended up like…this.
I’ll never be hers again, not now.
Not after what they did to me.
“I will not leave him!” she growls. “He is mine!”
“Auryn—”
“Cálmate, mi amor. He needs room to work.”
Olly’s voice is perhaps stronger than I’ve ever heard it. “You are in my way, Auryn.”
It’s weird to hear Olly of all fucking people speak like this.His hand on my arm is still cool, his thumb pressed to my wrist. Taking my pulse, even as he commands my omega.
His omega, now, too, I guess.
She whimpers. Fucking whimpers.For him. For his tone.
“I cannot help him, if you do notlet me.”
I feel her small hand in mine for a moment as she whimpers again, a sob tearing from her throat.
No no no…no baby don’t cry…I’m not worth your tears anymore…
Her hand slips away, and I hear Diego muttering something in Spanish, and the smell of bourbon and lemongrass disappears. All that’s left is antiseptic and rain.
All that’s left is Olly and me.
I fade in and out of consciousness. The cool air on me is a relief. I’m vaguely aware that I’m naked, but I don’t care because the air feels good. Then I feel more wetness, but a cool wetness. A cloth. I groan as the cloth trails down my neck over my collarbone. I feel Olly’s fingers through it as he massages my aching muscles with each sweep. Dripping water echoes in the space, and it’s oddly soothing.
“You’re okay,” he whispers, and I think he’s…crying? But Olly doesn’t cry. Over anything.
Fuck, maybe I really am in heaven.
I listen to the sound of his voice, focus on the cool rag he uses to wash me clean. I know that’s what he’s doing, and I wish I could tell him thank you, but I feel disconnected right now. Like I’m here, but not here.I focus on his touch, on my breath.
“Just a pinch, okay?” he says warily. He sounds tired. How long have I been here?
I barely feel the pinch, but the wave of relief hits me fast.
The heat in my body flares for a moment, and I whimper. I need comfort. I need cinnamon and peppercorn. I need my omega, I need—
Olly’s hand finds mine, and he squeezes. “I don’t know if you can hear me right now, but when you wake up, we have a lot to talk about.”
I want to laugh because the way he says it through what sounds like sobs almost indicates it has nothing to do with my injuries.
My injuries…
“What the fuck did they do to you?” he cries, and all I can do is squeeze his hand, hoping he understands. That if I could talk, I would.
That if I could do more than breathe and whine, I would.
The heat subsides, and the exhaustion hits me once more, pulling me under.
When I wake up, Olly’s hand is still in mine, and his head is on the table beside me. He’s passed the fuck out.
