Or maybe the truth is that everything I thought I knew got thrown out the window when I first saw her. Because the only thing that makes sense is her.
I wear her fears like a jacket.
Her worries and anxiety keep me grounded like a focal point.
Because her scent is a drug full of soaring highs and sweeping lows.
I want to explore her. Every fucking broken inch of her. Only after I lend her my strength and pledge her my loyalty. I’ll lie down at her feet and do anything she needs, so where she came from is but a vague memory, because nothing else matters.
Her.
Her with me.
Her with me, as part of my pack.
I want to shake her stupid for ever doubting her strength and survival skills. Even now, with me chasing her on the razor’s edge of an Alpha rage or rut, my sweet Omega has the insight to turn off the lights to our gym but to also try to lure me in the wrong direction.
Layne might have lain a trap by throwing her gym tights in one corner, her shoes in the other, but I’ve latched on to her on a deeper, primal level.
“Slow your breathing,” I school her, my jaw clenched, so it comes out like another bark. But not a bark based on aggression or anger, because I seriously doubt my Alpha could ever conjure an argument against her. Everything inside me has been rewired, and as corny as it sounds, all I can do is be a better person. Though that insight comes with another—I will burn anyone who comes at her.
A small, breathy laugh comes from exactly where I knew she was—perched up on my weight bench, her feet off the mat, giving her the most avenues of escape.
Except, she doesn’t want to escape. It’s why she came back. Layne isn’t stupid. She’s intelligent as fuck, with instincts and insight to rival my own. She likely spent the day sorting through a million different scenarios and what-ifs, but she didn’t leave, she couldn’t, because deep down, she knows we’re meant to be together.
“Come here,” I say after dropping to my knees in the middle of the mat. I have to, though. I need her to come to me, or the risk is we’ll both question if we got caught in the moment, or if the moment got caught in us. “Close your eyes,il mio tutto, and trust how safe you are with me.”
She sighs softly, a touch resigned, and climbs to her feet, dragging her bare feet purposely over the floor.
“What does that mean?”
“Il mio tutto?” I ask quietly, still fighting an internal battle that is all about claiming her.
She waits until she’s kneeling in front of me, our knees close enough to touch, before she confirms with a soft “yes.”
“My all,” I admit. I probably should sew my fucking mouth shut, the way I love spilling secrets and sharing truths with her.
I open my eyes, and she’s in front of me, her eyes downcast.
Her submission is like a punch in the chest, a shot through my heart. It pinballs around my veins before it rips out the back of my head. Changing me again. Even though her past has been feasting on her fears, and even though it’s been no time at all since we found each other, on a simpler level, she already knows deep inside who I am. Hers.
I blow out a loud sigh, and the feral intensity shifts one hundred and eighty degrees. My hands shake as I rest them on the tops of my thighs. With every cell in my body, I want to reach out and touch her, to claim her, but first, we need to reclaim more of her.
I drag over the bottle of liniment I had ready and waiting. Getting her here was always going to happen. Me chasing her sweet ass was always going to happen too. It just happened sooner than I thought. Sooner than I even hoped.
“Lie down,” I demand. But it’s controlled, and without the cutting edge of aggression. “I want to check your ribs and massage them.”
“Oh.” She rolls over to face me immediately, like a kitten.
“Put this arm out in front”—I guide her with surprisingly steady hands—“and then this one over your head. You need to be honest and let me know if it hurts or if I rub too hard.”
Layne holds the position, and the breathy sigh from before when I called her over increases when I run my hand over her warm skin. Of course, she feels like silk, and I barely start massaging and she’s groaning softly.
“It feels better. I ran about five miles, so it aches, but it’s not holding me back anymore.”
“You got X-rays?”
“Yeah,” she answers, but I know she’s not telling the whole truth.
