“Rory, he has an alpha.”
“An alpha who is your scent match,” she reminds me. “They are both your scent matches. And Thatcher…” She looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to fill in the dots.
I heave a heavy sigh and finally admit the truth. “Yes, he’s my scent match, too. Don’t?—”
“I knew it,” she shrills, excitement filling her voice, but then she looks at me with a serious expression. “Opal, these men are your scent matches. If you let them, they could be everything you’ve ever wanted. Why are you fighting it?”
I look away, afraid to spill my guts. I can’t tell her the real reason because it would open up another enormous can of worms that I’ve been keeping bottled up since before I met them. They would know that I’m not like them. That I don’t have any bond marks, but somehow, I know what it feels like to writhe in pain with cramps that feel like my insides are being hit with a meat mallet. The only difference is that I had no one to help me through it.
The images of being locked in that hospital room come to my mind again. How I went in and out of consciousness. How I had to be restrained to eat. The toys I was given to help myselfthrough it. The gut-wrenching humiliation strikes me every day, freezing me in place whenever I think about how horrible it was.
The flare-ups I can handle. The migraines and the sore muscles and the fevers were nothing in comparison to the rejection and nothingness I felt while in heat. I know it’s going to come again sooner rather than later, and I don’t want to deal with that. I’m not sure if Icandeal with that.
It’s not the first time, but I suddenly feel all alone with the knowledge that no matter what I do, things are going to get messy. Despite knowing and consciously understanding it, I can’t for the life of me quit running away from it.
My fight-or-flight response has always been the latter, and now I am sprinting at full speed.
These are my scent matches. My only chance at a happily ever after, but they don’t know me or what being with me means.
And if they don’t feel the same, if they don’t want to include me in their pack… that would utterly break me.
“What if they don’t want me, Rory?” I ask, voicing some of my fears without spilling the entire truth. “They’re a pack, they’re established. Kit is one of the best people I’ve ever met in my entire life. Why would they want to add another omega to that?”
“Because that omega isyou.” Her soft voice comes through the speaker like an angel on my shoulder. “You deserve to be with the ‘best people you’ve ever met,’as you said. You just need to let them see that that title includes you, too.”
I hang up with Rory a few moments later. She gave me some advice on my clothes, but I just stare blankly at the bed, anxiety riddling my body. It doesn’t feel like me as I get dressed, my body on autopilot as I put on some boyfriend jeans and one of my DIY crocheted sweaters. I don’t even realize it’smy green apple one until it’s on and decided. It comforts me a little bit, knowing that I have this token, even if it’s a secret for just me and my omega.
She rumbles, delighted and expectant, in my chest. She is blissfully free from the anxiety I have to deal with consciously. There are no worries or potential hang-ups, just excitement as she looks forward to the night ahead with her scent match.
Gosh, our inner beasts are such simple creatures. I envy them.
But it’s not just my omega. I alsowant to have a good time tonight, but to do that, I need to let the unknown drift away, and that’s proving harder to do the longer I live in this house.
I make my way out of the sanctuary of my room and immediately run into a tall frame, his deliciously tart scent blooming with brightness. He smiles down at me, his green eyes shimmering. “Good, I was just coming to see if you were ready.”
My mouth opens to respond but stops short when I get a good look at him. His hair is styled messily and it causes me to stare. Then I look lower, my eyes nearly poking out as I come face-to-face with his slim waist, his stomach visible right below his shirt.
I blink at him. “You’re wearing a crop top.”
His dark brow arches but his smile never fades. If anything, I think it widens as he looks down at himself and says, “Yes, I am.”
My omega practically salivates, and I have to say, I don’t blame her. We’re on the same page as my eyes fall upon the visible happy trail below the hemline and the soft ridges disappearing into his pants.
He has a slutty man waist.
If he notices me ogling, he doesn’t say anything as he motions over his shoulder. “Are you ready to go?”
My only response is a small nod, and he takes my hand and leads the way.
The car is cozy and already warm, a gesture that I don’t take for granted in the slightest as I relax in the passenger seat. After he sets off down the road, I suddenly find myself tongue-tied.
“This is a nice car,” I say, immediately cringing at myself, but Kit just smiles that same infectious smile that continuously pulls me in.
“It’s Sam’s. I don’t own a car, but he’s pretty nice about letting me borrow it from time to time.”
I blanch a little at the fact that Sam knows we’re going out together, but distract myself by asking, “He’s really serious, huh?”
Kit laughs. “Sam? Yeah, he can be. Not as much as Thatcher, though.”
