“We should remember that Harold charted his own course. That he weathered many storms. That he absolutely did not need three separate novelty life preservers, but bought them anyway.”
Several people chuckle at what is probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever said.
The little girl with the seashell speaker pulls on my sleeve to get my attention. “Should I play ‘Under the Sea’ now?”
I consider her question for a second and thinkFuck it. This is already a hot mess. What’s a few steel drums to lighten the air a bit?
“Instrumental only,” I say, trying to save what dignity is left of this funeral.
Moments later, the sounds of Caribbean music fill the parlor. It’s ridiculous and weirdly perfect. As the music filters into the room, family and friends walk forward to pour more sand onto the casket before hugging each other and then thanking me profusely for ‘such an amazing service’.
“You really captured his essence with all of the décor. He would’ve loved this,” his partner says, squeezing my arm.
“Seriously?” I ask, covering my rude incredulousness with a hacking cough.
“Yes,” he insists. “Salty would’ve loved everything about this. He was a little out there, but he loved to dream.” His eyes are filled with tears as he smiles sadly, probably remembering his partner.
It’s slow going, but finally, the last of the family filters out, leaving behind sand and a few plastic crabs that I didn’t notice them bring in. I stand alone by the front door, locking up behind everyone, and take a deep breath. Pride swells in my chest. I fucking did it. I ran a service on my own. Sunshine will be so impressed by me.
I grab the broom and mop bucket from the supply closet under the stairs and begin to clean, humming ‘Under the Sea’ as I go. The song is surprisingly catchy.
A strong pulse in the air has me pausing.
The fuck?
My entire body tenses against my will, and my cock hardens so fast I go lightheaded.
I shake my head, trying to clear it just as another wave hits me.
Holy shit. It’s got to be Sunshine. He must be in full-blown heat.
Faintly, I hear Sunshine, “Alpha! I need you! Please!”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
I’m not sure I can resist him. The gods made him just for me. He is the world’s strongest aphrodisiac, and he’s calling out for me. I refuse to take advantage of his heat. I want him to come to me when he is of sound mind. I want his head to be completely clear the first time he takes my cock.
So instead of helping him, instead of mating him, I do the only thing I can think of.
I drop the broom and run out of the house.
Chapter Eleven
Sunshine
Iwake up feeling like I got hit by a freight train driven by my own hormones. The room smells like sweat, musk, and omega slick. My brain takes its time to boot up, conducting a slow audit of yesterday’s catastrophic nonsense.
I roll onto my back and stare at the popcorn ceiling. I remember stapling pamphlets. I remember Ember calling me Habibi in that low, growly voice that does things to me. I remember him catching me wobbling on my feet like a damsel in distress and firmly ordering me upstairs, where I downed two suppressants and proceeded to get myself off to the thought of Ember calling me by that beautiful nickname several times before they kicked in.
He didn’t help me upstairs.
He didn’t come when I called out for him.
