I WAS LOSING MY FUCKINGmind.
No. Scratch that. Gage had losthisfucking mind. The light from the hallway fell across his face, illuminating a look of resignation that made me want to punch him square in his perfect fucking jawline.
The she-devil was passed out in his bed, tucked snugly beneath the covers, and snoring like a freight train.
“She’s scared of storms,” Gage said, quietly enough not to wake her. “Well... not scared. Pretty sure it was actually a PTSD flashback. I brought her down here where it was quieter.”
My teeth hurt where my molars were clenching together. “She tried. Tokill. Knox.” I forced the words out on the back of a growl.
“Yeah, and she’s still our scent match,” Gage replied, apparently unconcerned. “We can say it back and forth as many times as you want. None of it will change.”
I couldn’t deal with this. Not on top of everything else. I couldnotfucking deal.
“I’m not having this conversation,” I grated out. “Put her back in the fucking attic.”
“That’s not happening,” Gage said. “Our scent match doesnotget locked alone in a room when she’s so scared that she ripped half her fingernails off trying to claw her way free.”
Rage boiled in my chest, not so much at Gage, as at the fact that any of us had been put in this goddamned situation in the first place. I knew from bitter experience that my two choices were to lose control of myself... or turn around and walk away.
I turned around and walked away without another word.
“Heath—” My packmate’s low voice called after me, and I ignored him.
I had a name and a gender designation to work with.
Adrian.
Male omega.
It was barely one step up from nothing, but if I didn’t start pounding pavement and fuckingdosomething, my head was going to explode.
I’d slept for maybe an hour-and-a-half before my nerves jolted me awake. I looked like three-day-old dogshit, and someone had thrown a scratchy wool blanket over my brain—leaving it itching and stifled.
The vague idea that I should probably eat something wriggled through my awareness like a silverfish struggling through mud to get back to its pond, and then it was gone. Instead, I grabbed my wallet, keys, and phone, slamming the door behind me as I left.
My BMW was parked around back, its shiny blue paint beaded with rain from the storm. The engine purred to life beneath my touch, accelerating smoothly onto the main road as I pointed it toward the Loop, with its collection of trendy bars.
With Knox’s help, I’d left my life as a barely functional alcoholic behind. I still knew people, though. It was time to track those people down and start asking some questions.
I was six bars deep, and lugging around a pocketful of blank rejections.Nope... no one knew anything about a male omega working for the Vozzina pack, who might or might not be called Adrian.
Chartreusewas the second-to-last stop on my list. I’d met Ames, the bartender, during my card-sharking days—assuming she still worked here. Stalking inside, I scanned the area behind the bar until my gaze fell on a shock of shoulder-length purple hair.
Good.
I shouldered my way past the crowd and got her attention. At six-foot-five, Ames had a couple of inches on me in both height and breadth. I was pretty sure she was trans, although I’d never asked since it wasn’t my business. Her bi-colored gaze fell on me—one brown eye and one blue eye. Hetero-chrome-something-or-the-other, it was called.
Purple-dyed eyebrows furrowed as she looked me up and down in all my rumpled and sleep-deprived glory; then she visibly smoothed her expression and pasted on a smile.
“Heath,” she said in her familiar husky tone. “Been a long time. Gimme a second, I’ll be right with you.”
I gave her a curt nod and waited while she slid drinks to a group of laughing betas. Biting down on a sudden craving for alcohol, I tapped my fingers impatiently on the deg of the bar until she came back.
“Ames,” I said, forcing myself to exhibit some basic degree of not being an asshole. “How’ve you been keeping?”
Ames raised an eyebrow and poured me a glass of seltzer water, sticking a lime wedge on the edge of the glass before handing it to me.
“Well enough,” she said cautiously. “You here for a social call?”
