I avoided him reaching for me and backed up into another hard, tall body. I stepped to the left. Kyan stared at me with eyebrows knitted together.
His mouth moved, too.
He might have said something, but I still couldn’t hear; their words were muffled by the roar in my ears.
I have to go.
My mouth refused to work.
I backed up another step.
They all smelled like any other Alphas again; their delicious scent masked.
Because they’d never wanted me. Because they’d hidden their scent from me.
I turned my back on Kyan and Elias. Sinclair was there to catch my arm in a hard, almost punishing grip. I shoved at him, but his hold didn’t give.
“I need space,” I wheezed, shoving him again.
“You need to understand?—”
“Space,” I screamed, my voice turning hoarse. It worked to silence them, though, so the discomfort was worth it. Kyan grabbed Sinclair’s arm, and finally, he let me go.
They’d had all of it planned.
Scent Matches were revered, not treated like something you could discard. Not that they ever wanted me. Kyan’s expression was tense, pain rippling over his furrowed brow. I turned to Sinclair, grabbing onto my other arm, his jawline ticking. Elias stayed feet away, refusing to look at me.
I didn’t say anything, just numbly walked away. My heart splintering more by the second.
Chapter 22
After telling them I wanted space, I’d locked myself in the bathroom. I sat at the bottom of the tub, water spraying on my face. I sputtered out a breath, the pain in my chest intensifying with my inability to breathe.
I laced my hands in front of my knees, blinking water droplets from my lashes.
A razor sat on the edge of the tub, innocently. I rubbed my hands down my smooth legs.
Shadows crept over my thoughts, and I closed my eyes, exhaling harshly.
That was why they were always on my mind. My gut was telling me they were my Scent Matches. Ironically, if they had told me and made it clear where they stood, I would have been willing to come to a purely physical arrangement.
They’d truly believed I’d force them to settle down.
Another wave of pain wracked me with a shiver.
It was too much; every nerve in my body hurt.
Lifting my chin so the water traveled downward, I scrubbed my throat, feeling the slight indentations of his teeth. They would heal into a strawberry-shaded claiming mark. It would stay there if I bit him back . . .
They had never wanted me, going as far as to take suppressants—that was why it took hours for them to see me the first night. Another pang pierced my stomach. If I hadn’t walked in on them in the kitchen, would they have ever told me?
No. The answer was no.
I clasped my throat, the pressure not letting me breathe. If I didn’t release this, I would explode. Those same shadows, the haunting pain, clouded my head, and I lashed an arm out for the razor. In a quick move, I slashed it down my arm, driving the blades from my wrist to my elbow.
Once.
Twice.
