“Look at me, Mylo,” I say, tone soft.
His jaw tenses under my hand with the physical effort it takes to keep from obeying my gentle suggestion.
“We can do this the hard way, if you want.”
He stubbornly locks his gaze on the floor of the trailer.
I lean forward and feel the alpha command welling as I draw a breath. The words bark out of me. “Mylo,look at me.”
He snaps to attention, eyes meeting mine, trembling softly. Those eyes are wide with fear, and I brush a thumb across his cheek.
Brown pigment hides the true color of his eyes, but not from me. I see the halo of orange amber, like a gemstone painted brown, the corners flaking away, revealing the brilliance underneath.
“Please don’t say it,” he begs, barely more than a breath.
I soften the hand holding his chin, cradling his face tenderly. “Mylo, denial isn’t going to make it go away…”
“Please don’t…”
“Listen to me. You need to deal with this.”
“No, I don’t, you’re wrong?—”
“I cansmellit.” My fingers tighten where I hold him, mouth watering at the honey and florals weaving into his scent.
Tears well in his eyes, but he doesn’t look away—or can’t.
“Mylo, you’re going into heat.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
MYLO
This isn’t happening.This can’t be happening. I curl tighter against Christine’s chest and hate myself for it.
Unless my nose is filled with her scent, I can’t breathe. She smells like standing on the edge of the ocean, watching a distant storm gather at the horizon.
My lack of sleep catches up to me, and I drift off in Christine’s arms, only realizing I’ve done so when she eases me down onto the couch.
Her lingering scent in the air is enough to keep me from jolting awake at her absence. She returns shortly with a bundle of workout clothes fresh with her scent; she must have worn them this morning.
She rubs the top and leggings against her neck and underarms, then tucks them under my cheek like a pillow.
Gentle hands go to the zipper at the back of my neck, pulling it down and peeling away the soaked fabric.
I muster a groggy protest, but it comes out a whimpering moan. My body betrays me again, leaning into her fingers as they slide along my arms and legs, removing Melinoë’s bodysuit. Her cool touch feels so good…
She leaves my briefs as they are, then pulls on my shorts and tank-top, easily lifting my weight and cradling my head like a doll.
Then she settles me back on the couch.
“I won’t be gone long, Mylo. This should hold you over. Just try to rest.”
She drapes a blanket over me, tucking in the edges.
Exhaustion and her scent combine into a powerful drug, and sleep rises around me.
