I let Beep settle in for the night, and I get some much-needed sleep, surprised at how comfortable a pile of leaves can be. We ignore the hunger pangs, and I shove Beep's tasty thoughts of Bambi far into the recesses of my mind.
Chapter 8: Mona
MAY
Seriously, I need a real shower. But the only thing I've come close to in the last few days is at a truck stop bathroom—something I'd have found disgusting pre-shift, but it's not like I've got options. I mean, it's still gross, the smells alone make me gag, but I need to rinse off in water where there isn't a beaver upstream doing the same.
Beep indulges me, though, as I slip quarters into the vending machine for some soap, then pull out my meager belongings after locking the door. I'm sorry to admit I've added a few more pieces of stolen clothing to my makeshift bag.
Bracing myself, I take the tiny bottle of soap that smells strongly of antiseptic into the shower, then quickly wash my clothes and body. The water is freezing. The soap doesn't foam and I can already feel it drying out my skin. My senses hate it.
But when I'm done, I feel clean, and that outweighs all the discomfort.
I'm wringing the water from my t-shirt, spare pair of underwear, and yoga pants, draping the damp fabric over my bag when a sudden cramp twists through my abdomen. My breath catches as I double over, one hand clutching my stomach. Inhaling deeply, I wait for the pain to pass, but it leaves behind a strange heat pooling low in my belly.
Brushing it off, I gather my wet things, then stumble out of the bathroom, a little weak in the knees, my hot pink flip-flops slapping against the tile. Fishing through my bag, I find just enough change for a warm cup of coffee, so I head to the diner next door.
The coffee tastes like shit, yet is absolutely divine. I needed this warm coffee like I needed a sturdy pair of boots. It warms me bone-deep.
Months now on the road, never stopping long enough to rest, or to think, or hell, to grieve—my father, my old life—a simple cup of coffee, sitting in a diner, clean, with a few belongings, it feels like an anchor.
I've been a mess of indecision, trying to trust Beep. But everywhere we turn, with every wolf we encounter, my confidence that she knows what she's doing wavers.
We've been through a lot together. At first, she was like an annoying little sister who would not leave me alone, always there in my head. A GPS from hell. But once we learned how to work together, things got easier. We still argue. Nonstop some days. But I love her. And she loves me.
And she hates the taste of coffee, but she knows I need it, so she waits quietly while I sit in this booth and pay human money for burnt, bitter liquid. Until something inside me starts to churn again.
It begins like a cramp, like the one in the bathroom. A pain low in my belly. A wave of heat washes over me, my insides tingle and burn with need. I start sweating.
Slowly at first. But then, I'm dripping with it. My neck feels hot, my hair is sticking to my temples.
My core clenches with aching need, gnawing and empty. I squeeze my legs together while something pinches deep inside me. I let out a feral moan, right there in the diner. My shirt, still damp from cleaning it in the bathroom, feels heavy and horrible against my skin.
My omega whines. I've grown used to her by now, this primal being living inside me—but this instinct is new. She wants to pull all the clothes from my bag and paw at them, arrange them just so. She wants pillows and blankets and sheets and more clothes, to bury her face in layers of comfort and stick her ass in the air.
I lower my head to my hands and try to breathe through the chaos swirling inside my body and mind.
My omega needs cock. I fuckingneedit. Badly. I'm dripping between my legs. My pussy is too empty, spasming at nothing. What the fuck is happening to me?
I sit here like this, longer than I should, trying to figure out what is wrong with me. Beep keeps murmuringheat.
Yes, I feel fucking hot!I snap back.
She's getting frustrated, but I don't have the patience for her to explain in truncated sentences what's happening. Her worry increases the longer I sit here, the pain and lust growing more intense by the minute.
Long after I finish the coffee, the server looks at me with pity—my grimy, oversized clothes, clearly I'm a hot mess—and lets me stay without ordering anything else.
I need to come. That's all I can think about.
It starts small, until I find myself wiggling in my seat, shifting my hips trying to ease the ache. My clit is pulsing. I need to find a small, dark hole. I feel fucking insane.
Beep's instincts perk up.
Fuck.
It's happening again.
I was distracted, and it's the worst possible timing.
