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Chapter 5

Ru

When I woke up, my body was deliciously relaxed. I peeked at the alarm clock on my nightstand. It was already noon. I was buried in a cocoon of blankets, warm all the way down to my toes, limbs so heavy I couldn’t lift them if I tried. I didn’t want to.

Holidays and days off were for being lazy, but I’d never slept in that late. I rolled onto my back, waiting for the usual morning ache: the tight shoulders, the headache from grinding my teeth, but none of it came.

I couldn’t remember the last time I slept like that.

I stretched, and my hand brushed the blanket. It was soft and thick, and it smelled like… something. Warm. Woodsy, like campfire smoke was around the corner if I inhaled a little deeper. I pressed my nose into it and inhaled until my chest hummed.

Then I froze.

It smelled familiar. Not like me. Like… the word was on the tip of my tongue.

Klaus.

I sat up so fast my head spun. I buried my face in my hands. Of course it was Klaus. I’d come with his name on my lips last night, and now my brain was weaving him into my bedding. Was this what finding your mate did to you? One whiff and suddenly you were hallucinating him in your laundry?

My scent match. Mine. And I didn’t even know where he lived. I didn’t have his number. I didn’t know his last name. All I had was a man who bought a size-up tie my first week at the shop and showed up whenever he needed something from the shop.

I sent up a silent prayer that every shirt he owned would rip at the seams by New Year’s.

Probably detergent. I’d probably bought a new one and forgotten. I shoved the blanket off and swung my legs out of bed.

My Omega whined.

The urge to crawl back under the covers, bury myself in that scent, and never come out hit so hard my body refused to obey. I sat there, leaning back, before I forced myself onto my feet.

My lips tasted strange. Salty, faintly sweet. I licked them, frowned, and decided it was the cheap lip balm on my nightstand finally going bad.

I padded down the hall, the hardwood cold under my bare feet, and yawned at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed, my hair a disaster, and I looked… happy. Rested.

After I used the bathroom, I peeled a fresh patch from the box and pressed it to my throat. It went on smooth and didn’t sting. I rubbed at the edge, waiting for the itch, but it never came. Maybe my skin had finally gotten used to them.

Something was missing.

I looked around as I tried to figure out what it was. The drip. The stupid faucet I’d been meaning to call the landlord about for a month was silent. I twisted the handle on and off. Nothing. Not a single drop.

“Huh,” I said, stumped.

I pulled my favorite sweater on—the softest thing I owned—and a skirt, then headed for the kitchen. My little tree blinked in the corner. I’d forgotten to unplug it last night. Outside, snow drifted past the window in fat, lazy flakes, and the whole street below had gone soft and white.

I’d accept the little blessings, but I wasn’t sure how many more I could shrug off as the universe.

There was a little pep in my step as I pulled out my coffee beans. My one luxury was a $20 bag from the little roaster downtown called The EverBean. I reached for the tea tin out of habit, ready to add it to my grocery list, and it was full. Not almost full. Filled to the brim, the scent fragrant and dark—fresh.

I stared at it.

I’d shaken that tin two nights ago. I’d written tea on the back of my hand in pen. I knew it was supposed to be empty.

Didn’t I?

I checked the breadbox. Everything bagels, a fresh bag. I opened the fridge, and there was a brand-new can of whipped cream in the door, the red tab still sitting there like I hadn’t used it yesterday.

It was that point in the week that I usually had to make a quick run to the store to hold me over until payday. I hadn’t restocked yet.

I must have, though. Right? Holiday brain. Grief about said holiday. Whatever brain made you lose a whole grocery run. Because the only other explanation was something I was too afraid to name.