There’s a pause.
Then, quietly, “No.”
That’s all.
It’s enough.
Sleep takes me before I can ask anything else – before I can be afraid, or confused, or embarrassed. Before I can question why my body feels calmer here, why the awful buzzing has dulled just enough to let me rest.
The last thing I feel is warmth.
And hands that don’t let go until I’m already gone.
TWENTY-FOUR
SOL
I should leave.
I know that. Rationally. Practically. This isn’t my place to hover. She’s asleep, finally – deep, even breaths, her body slack with the kind of exhaustion that only comes after everything gives out at once.
But my feet won’t move.
I sit in the armchair in the corner of the room, facing the bed instead, elbows braced on my knees, watching the rise and fall of her chest like it’s the only thing anchoring me to the room. She’s curled on her side in my t-shirt, swallowed by it, one hand fisted into the fabric at her collarbone like she anchored herself there without meaning to.
She looks younger like this.
Smaller.
Not fragile exactly, but worn thin. Like she’s been running on fumes for longer than she’ll ever admit.
My jaw tightens.
I shouldn’t be here.
I reach out anyway.
Not touching. Just hovering. Like if I don’t break the plane of her skin, I can pretend this is still neutral. Still safe.
My eyes drag back to her neck.
The bite. Darker than it should be. Not inflamed exactly – no angry swelling, no obvious infection – but wrong. The skin around it looks bruised, shadowed, like the mark has sunk deeper instead of fading. Claim bites heal fast. Even partial ones should have closed by now.
This hasn’t.
My throat tightens.
I know that mark.
I know the curve of it. The angle. The place my teeth sank in when instinct roared louder than sense.
Fuck.
Ithasto be mine.
There’s no other explanation that doesn’t make me feel worse.
She was the beta from the app. She has to be. But betas don’t get claimed. Betas don’t bond. Betas don’t?—