And I don't even know his name.
Jude
I've been wearing scarves like a lunatic. Hoodies zipped to my chin. One of Soren's oversized cardigans that I stole off the back of a kitchen chair because it covered more neck than anything I own. Shay keeps giving me looks like I've joined a cult. Milo made me tea yesterday and set it on my nightstand without asking questions, which is Milo for "I know something is wrong and I'm giving you exactly one more day before I stage an intervention."
I'm not sleeping. The bond hums in my chest like a phone on vibrate that I can't turn off, this low, constant pulse ofsomethingreaching forsomeonewho isn't here. I roll over and it's there. I take a shower and it's there. I try to watch TV and my brain drifts to a hotel room and hands and teeth and a voice that saidwaitwhile I was already pulling on my jeans.
The KnotMe messages keep coming. There are seven of them now. I can see the notification badge every time I open my phone. Seven little red circles sitting on that hot pink app icon like a guilt trip with a user interface. I haven't read a single one. I don't need to read them to know what they say. Some version ofwho are youorwe need to talkoryou left with my bite on your neck and I'd like to know your name.
Tough shit, hand guy. Names weren't part of the deal.
My omega growls at that. My omega has been growling at everything lately. It purrs when I'm trying to sleep, preens when I catch my reflection and see the dark, healing mark above my collarbone, and whines every time I scroll past the KnotMe notification without opening it. My omega is a traitor and I'm not speaking to it.
I'm fine.
"You're not fine," Benji says.
We're walking across campus toward Henderson Hall. Tuesday-Thursday discussion section, eleven a.m., the Gen Ed class I'm taking because I needed the credits and it fit my schedule. First discussion section of the semester. The professor handled the opening lectures last week during syllabus week, but starting today, some grad student TA takes over the smaller sections. Benji's in the same section. He's got his backpack slung over one shoulder, a coffee in one hand, and his eyes locked on me like a heat-seeking missile.
"I'm completely fine."
"You're wearing a turtleneck with a scarf."
"It's called fashion, Benji."
"It's called suspicious. You hate turtlenecks. You said they make you feel like a sexy thumb."
"They do make me feel like a sexy thumb. I've evolved. People evolve."
He narrows his eyes. Benji has this way of looking at you that makes you feel like he's reading your browser history. Terrifying. "You've been weird since last week. You went on that hookup with hand guy and then you came home at like one a.m. and went straight to your room and you've been acting squirrellyever since. You skipped bar night. You, Jude Park, skipped bar night. Shay almost called 911."
"I had a headache."
"So? You once did a keg stand with a migraine."
"That's not true."
"I have photos."
"I'm not acting squirrelly."
"Soren asked if you wanted to watch a movie on Saturday and you said 'I'm busy' and then sat in your room making a Spotify playlist called 'Songs For When You've Made A Terrible Mistake.'"
Okay, that one's fair. "It's a good playlist."
"Jude." He stops walking. Grabs my arm. "What happened with hand guy?"
"Nothing. It was fine. He was fine. We hooked up, it was whatever, I left."
"You're lying. You always do this thing with your voice when you're lying where you go flat and monotone like you're narrating a documentary."
"I do not—"
He reaches for my scarf.
"Don't—"
He's faster than me. His fingers catch the edge of the fabric and my collar and tug it down before I can slap his hand away. The bite mark is right there. Dark and obvious against my skin, the edges healed but still raised, still flushed, still very clearly the imprint of an alpha's teeth sunk deep enough to scar.
