Part omega. Part fae.
Something that used to be forbidden. And yet, here I am.
I pull off my tie and shirt, letting my skin breathe. Everything feels overheated, overly sensitive.
Fucking Glenn, I think as I pull my belt off and toss it onto a chair.
The pendant that is supposed to suppress the strongest of my scents sits against my chest. But it’s not working as it should. It’s supposed to make my scent more palatable for the masses, for everyone except the fae. Without it and the purifiers I have littered in the spaces I frequent, my scent would be overwhelming.
But it seems the pendant doesn’t work at all for Glenn. He can spot my emotions from a million miles away.
Or maybe he’s just special.
No, I can’t contemplate that. Not right now. I grab a bottle of wine from the fridge and pour myself a glass.
Gods, yes. Luna Blanc Cellars makes the best fucking wine.
I love this sparkling brut.
The bubbles tickle my throat as I walk to look out the large windows overlooking the city. Loneliness swells inside of me as I stand in this cold, stale room, surrounded by bland art and bland colors. A designer picked all of it out.
She obviously didn’t know what I really liked. I’d love to have something homier, more colorful. Perhaps something to appeal to my fae side. Colorful, shiny, warm.
But at the time, I had just moved from a small city in the north, and I wanted a place that was furnished.
I hate it.
Vince loved it. But then again, he would. He was bland and boring. I don’t know why I stayed with him for so long.
I finish my wine, the bubbles from the brut soothing my throat. I should eat, but the thought of cooking for myself makes me depressed. I’m not really any good at it. So, I just pull up a delivery app and place an order for something that appeals. Soup and salad.
And ice cream for later.
I really should hire someone to cook for me, but I don’t have that much money.
Everything I have now, I’ve scrimped and saved for. Hiring a cook, even to come once a week, might put me over budget.
And I just paid off the credit card bill from the Heat Hunt.
I hate being in debt. Hate feeling financially insecure.
The idea of not having money to pay for things makes me break out in hives. It’s why my accounts are currently well-funded, but I won’t touch them.
It’s why I take my job so seriously. I refuse to give anyone a reason to fire me. I don’t want that insecurity in my life. I already have enough of that at the moment.
I turn on the TV, Fated Match coming on the screen.
Oh hell, I think. Fucking ridiculous. I sit down and watch it, unmoving until the doorbell signals the arrival of my food. I half-expect the delivery driver to leave it on the doorstep and go, but when I open the door, a young guy is outside, the bag in his hand. He’s about as tall as me and just as lean. Cute even.
“Arbor?” he asks.
I sigh, not in the mood for conversation. “Yep. That’s me.”
The guy hands me my food and then shifts on his feet. Something about him has me pausing.
“Do you need something?”
“Shit, yeah, if you don’t mind. Can I use your bathroom? The restaurant’s was broken.”
