Rapid movement of lashes. Knitting together. Flying apart.
The dream shifted.
It slid sideways so fast into the past that the rush stole my breath and I couldn’t inhale again. My chest was tight. Lungs paralyzed.
A different concert.
That concert.
Where had she been standing in that undulating, screaming crowd? I scanned the faces, chest feeling tight and heart racing. I found her. Standing between two other people who were just dark blurs to my vision. Yet, she was crystal clear and technicolor. A rainbow shining brightly against a monochrome landscape.
Now, I never wanted to blink. Not once we locked eyes again like we had back then when everything changed for me. I knew this wasn’t reality, this was a poor imitation of that night. Even still, I wanted to sink into it forever. Even still, I never wanted it to end. Through the dimness of low lights and swirling fog, her eyes were a breathtaking blue. Silky, shiny black hair coiled around her pale face. Her lips were plump, painted a deep burgundy.
I could feel the vision of her slipping away in the dream. I stopped playing guitar. I walked towards the edge of the stage. I willed myself not to let her go.Don’t fucking go! Please fucking stay!
I blinked.
But this was even better.
We were backstage.I was touching her. I was smelling her.
She was warm, like that first kiss of sunshine when spring finally hits after a cold winter, and her scent washed over me—sweet, comforting, and so fucking intoxicating. Jasmine. Honey. Cedar. Saltwater. Our scents mingled, chemistry colliding so beautifully. My fingers brushed against her arm, feeling the smoothness of her pale skin which glowed almost blue beneath the dim backstage lights. The entire world narrowed down into that moment standing with her. Every single second that I’d ever lived could be contained within the space between our bodies. I could forget the chaos of my life, the pressure of the music, the way I’d felt lonely lately even while traveling the world with my best mates. I could hardly breathe. My instincts urged me to pull her closer and press my face against the supple curve of her neck. I wanted to inhale her deeply, memorize every note of her personal perfume. It sang to me, a siren call worthy of shipwrecked sailors.
“What’s your name?” I whispered, my voice nearly cracking against the weight of how she made me feel.
She blinked up at me.
She blinked.
No, dammit.
She blinked! Not me!
Gone. She was gone before I could kiss her.
The next scene was a frantic, heart-pounding blur. I was searching everywhere. I asked the only Seattle pack I was friends with if they knew of an Omega that looked like my mystery girl. I checked Seattle Central in case she was a college student. I literally roamed the streets hoping by some chance of fate I’d get lucky. The whole city was rocked by a pack tragedy—it was all over Seattle, with televisions running nonstop press releases in store window displays and newspapers boasting screaming headlines—but my brain barely registered the shocking news. The pack photo with some of the faces blurred that reporters showed once or twice couldn’t steal my attention. The massive loss of life as a well-known, wealthypack was wiped from the world. It didn’t touch me. It wasn’t important enough. I had only one focus.
Find her.
She’d never told me her name. She’d just teased me.“Maybe I’m Jane. Maybe I’m Roxy. Maybe I’m your biggest fan.”
I woke up in a cold sweat alone on the tour bus.
The concert was over hours ago. The other guys were probably still living it up at the hotel, drowning in mini-bar booze and groupies. Omega. Beta. My asshole band mates didn’t care as long as they got their rocks off. That life was supposed to be the dream. Fuck, it did use to be the dream, but nowadays I was hung up on a girl whose name I didn't even know. Maybe I needed more tequila and a lot less dreaming.
With a sigh that felt more like a growl, I rolled over on the plush leather couch and pushed myself to sitting. The space between my shoulders ached. I tried to rub the pain away but couldn’t quite reach. When I turned around to investigate why I’d gone to sleep with a fine back and woken up with a damn-near broken one, I discovered an empty liquor bottle sticking up from between two cushions. I'd apparently fell asleep atop it, the hard lid jamming into my spine as I had the series of shit-tastic dreams. I grabbed the glass bottle, jerking it from where it was wedged and tossing it across the room. It slammed into the half-wall partitioning the steps and fell with a clank next to an older amp we kept for jamming on the road.
I felt like that amp. Old. Kept around for convenience whenever fancy struck. The name half-worn off the black casing. It still turned on, still produced pretty good sound, but it just looked fucking tired.
I wondered what the others were doing. Were their dicks already buried inside warm, delicious bodies? I had no right to be jealous, or butt hurt that I was alone. Could've been with them if I'd wanted. Hell, even now, I could walk out of the bus, cross the short distance to the hotel, and not be alone anymore. My own damn choice was keeping me here. Maybe I’d join the guys and really let go. Even with my hang-up, I'd managed a dalliance here and there. But, fuck, I wanted more than pretending. I wanted something that could become more, dammit. My mystery Omegahad created that yearning. Sometimes—not often, but sometimes—I hated her for that.
I stood up quickly, annoyed with myself. I didn’t use to wallow in self-pity. I needed to just let the memory of that Omega go and move the hell on with my life. The guys kept telling me to do just that. They wanted us to move forward, into that next step that Alphas had to take. Had to take, or risk ferality. Christ, we were already there. Already feeling the first brush of danger. Look at Dixon.
I was holding us back. Fuck, I knew I was.
Torn sweatpants clung to my hips for dear life, the elastic waistband long past its lifespan, as I trudged towards the small kitchen. The tour bus was a retrofitted RV. It had cost well over a hundred grand before modification. Wrenching open the fridge, I pulled out a bottle of OJ and a banana. Tray was the weirdo who liked his bananas cold. I needed the potassium though; the hangover headache was beginning to hit like a high-speed commuter train.
Slamming the door closed again, I stumbled over to the small island and nearly fell onto one of the counter stools. It rocked backwards and I had to jerk forward to keep from tumbling over with it. Twisting off the juice cap, I chugged half the bottle, belched, then peeled open the banana and took an obscenely large bite.
