The reality thuds through me as he turns and ducks through the door, shutting it firmly behind him. Not that he needs to bother, the urge to give chase now replaced by an overpowering need toget away.
He doesn’t want me.
As the compulsion of his command fades, I stumble back so fast, I don’t see Patch until I’m nearly falling into his arms. “Abbie? What’s wrong?” He peers past me, but the guy is long gone, the punching bag slowly swinging to a stop. “Was someone in here?”
“No… I just…” I stumble past him, my numb feet carrying me on the fastest route towards the gate. “I have to go. Can you tell Cruise I’ll get Wings to collect my bike?”
“What the hell?” Patch is hurrying after me, but I don’t slow down. The same young prospect from before stares open-mouthed as I sprint towards him, and I gesture for him to open the gate. I’m vaguely aware of Patch peeling away, but I shake it off. I’ll have to call and apologize to Glory, but right now, all I want is to get away as fast as I can.
I fumble in my pocket for my phone, quickly calling myself a rideshare. There’s one close by, and as soon as I’m through the gate, I jog in the direction on the map. I’ve never wanted my bike beneath me more than right this moment, and I grit my teeth at the thud of heavy boots behind me.
“Abbie!” I bite my lip, turning to find Ark striding towards me, his muscles tense and his boots kicking up gravel. It’s not quite a run, but my heart doesn’t know the difference, and for a moment I feel a flare of excitement sizzle through my veins. What would he look like if he wasreallychasing me, my scent in his lungs, his need burning through him like wildfire...?
What the hell, Abbie?
I back up so fast, I almost trip over my own feet.
“I didn’t know you were here,” he says, dragging a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me? I wanted to show you around…”
I glance desperately down the street for my ride. “I have to go.”
He grinds to a stop, frustration edging his scent. “Now? Didn’t you just arrive?”
“I just came for my bike, but I forgot I had an appointment.” He takes another step towards me and I raise my arm, warning him back. “Ark, I can’t stay. This was a mistake.”
He waves that off. “Just tell me you’ll come back. There’s a lot I need to say to you.”
“I bet.” I want to grill him on everything I’ve just seen and heard, but only one question trips off my tongue. “Did you really send Wings to check up on me?”
He frowns. “I had a lot of people looking for you,” he says slowly, but without a trace of remorse. “What did you expect me to do? Just pretend like you didn’t exist?”
I gape at him. “Ark, I’m not your problem.”
“You’re mine,” he says, eyes flashing. “You can just leave it there, or you come back in with me and let me prove it to you.”
Proof, not just words. I have no idea what that would involve, but like that image of him chasing me down, the urge to give in to him makes my knees tremble. But I thrust it aside, remembering the look on the alpha’s face as he rejected me in the gym. It doesn’t matter what my biology is begging me to do, the men in that clubhouse will always let me down.
“I need to clear my head…” I look over my shoulder at the approaching car and breathe a sigh of relief when it slows at the curb. “I’m sorry, Ark. I just can’t do this.”
I swing the door open, but as I scramble inside, he catches the frame and bends to meet my eyes. “Then come back for Patch’s party next Friday. “
“Like everything’s just back to normal?” I ask, my bitterness rising between us. “Do you really think I can just put it all behind me?”
“No. But I’m asking if we can start over.” I catch a startled glance from the driver, but Ark clearly doesn’t care who can hear him, because he says in a low, ominous rumble, “If you don’t come to me, I’m coming to you, Abbie. Take your pick, but I’m not going to let you run from me forever.”
Chapter Eight: ABBIE
“Please, Abbie,” Wings’ voice sounds again from the other side of my bedroom door. “Can you let me in? I just want to make sure you’re okay, butterfly.”
My fingers press against my scent gland before I can stop them. It’s hard and inflamed, unlike my cold, shriveled heart. “I’m fine.”
Wings sighs, and I can’t blame him. I’m like a broken record; I’ve barely said anything else since I stumbled into my apartment two hours ago and made a beeline for my bedroom. Wings and Pitt were in the kitchen, clearly in the middle of a call since there was a phone between them on the counter. The relief on Wings’ face tugged at my raw heart, but I didn’t stop to reassure him. How could I, when all I wanted to do was bury my face in my pillow and scream?
He doesn’t want me.
He wants to start over.
I grind my teeth, biting back another pitiful moan. After all the omegas I’ve seen pass through the clinic doors, I should be immune to the clawing, aching feeling in my chest. It’sjust pheromones, after all, and a good blocker and suppressant regime can do a lot to mute the worst cravings.
