The four of us just stand there, watching, until our alpha instincts take over and we chase after her.
Our team wins. Not surprising when Thayer and Forsythe all but refused to let anyone on their team get too close to Florence once they realized she’d been injured. They ended up protecting her just as much as we did, which means that Petal practically swept the field of the other omegas until it was just her and Ren’s flags left unclaimed.
That little pink haired omega is a fucking beast.
Since their team lost, we sent home one of their omegas at the elimination ceremony, where Florence wore more makeup than normal, no doubt trying to cover the bruises on her skin, but there was no hiding the swelling. Even if we’d all hovered around her as soon as the game was over while some douchebag on the medical staff looked her over for injuries.
She’d stiffened when he’d tried to push up the hem of her pants to check her legs. The growls that elicited from the four of us—five actually, since Piers was right there with us—had been menacing enough that the guy had paled, and his hands shook for the rest of the exam. He’d pressed an ice pack to her cheek, told her to keep it on to make sure the swelling would go down, and then he’d scrambled away from us.
I’d been torn between relief that he wasn’t touching my omega anymore, and the urge to force him back to her side to have him fix her. Never mind that he’s not some magical healer and had already done what he could.
Still it didn’t feel like enough and so now here I am, standing outside the door of her cabana with a sack full of painkillers and snacks, antibacterial ointment, and a fresh icepack. And my omega is blinking up at me, owlishly. Skin washed and hair pulled into a messy braid. The dark smudge of a bruise on her cheekbone has my blood boiling all over again, and it's everything I can do to stop myself from finding Isadora, dragging her to the beach by her hair and tossing her into the ocean.
“Court? What are you doing here?” She reaches up to rub her eyes, tiredly, but winces when she makes contact.
I hold up the bag. “I brought supplies in case you didn’t already have them. Can I come in?”
She leans her shoulder against the door, considering me. “It’s probably not a good idea.”
“Probably not.” I agree. Then give her my best mischievous smile. “But we should do it anyway.”
A soft laugh falls from her puffy mouth and she shakes her head, stepping back and holding the door open wider to let me in. I don’t waste time, pushing by her before she can change her mind, dropping to the couch and busily pulling the items out of my goody bag and placing them on the table.
I twist the cap off the bottle of painkillers and shake two into my palm, then pause, glancing up at her. “Have you eaten?”
Her lips twitch. “You’re very comfortable for someone who just invited himself in.”
“Occupational hazard,” I mutter, handing her the pills and a bottle of water. “Also, you rough.”
“Oh, swoon. You say the nicest things, pretty boy.”
She takes them, anyway, settling down beside me on the couch instead of retreating to the far end like I half expected. Close enough that I can feel her warmth, smell the faint trace of her natural scent under the soap. I hate how good that feels. Hate how right it is.
I peel open the fresh ice pack and hold it up. “Cheek?”
She nods and I lift my hand slowly, deliberately, giving her time to pull away if she wants to. She doesn’t. Doesn’t even flinch when my fingers brush her jaw as I position it, just exhales and lets her head tip slightly into my touch.
My chest tightens at the trust in the movement.
“You froze earlier,” I say quietly. “When the medic tried to check your leg.”
Her shoulders draw in a fraction, but she meets my gaze steadily. “I did.”
“That wasn’t just embarrassment, was it? It was something… more.”
“Maybe.” She lets out a small, humorless huff. “You always this observant?”
I shrug. “Only when it matters. And you, Pixie, matter. A great deal.”
Her mouth drops open and her eyes flutter, like she’s beating back tears. Silence stretches. I keep my hand steady, ice pack cool against her skin, my thumb braced just under her ear. I can feel her pulse there, quick and uneven.
Finally, she murmurs, “I get flashbacks sometimes.”
My jaw clenches. “Of what?”
She keeps her gaze fixed somewhere past my shoulder, like she needs to keep some part of herself away from me as she tells me her truth. “An alpha.”
Something cold and sharp twists low in my gut. I don’t interrupt. Don’t rush her. Just shift closer, my arm coming around her without caging her in, giving her the option to lean or pull away.
