Hence the cuffs.
Behind me, I hear the soft clink of the plate against the fork.
I don't look. Don't even glance over my shoulder. Just stare at the rain and count the seconds between lightning flashes while Rex eats in silence, carefully and slowly, and I try not to pay attention to how long it's taking him so I don't freak him out and he doesn't stop.
It shouldn't make my heart do whatever it's doing right now.
I ignore it.
The rain keeps falling. My breath fogs the window slightly, and I trace a meaningless pattern in the condensation with my free hand. A rabbit, because that's pretty much the only thing I can draw. I mastered that shit at age six. The handcuff chain jingles softly with the movement.
After a few minutes, the sounds stop.
"Done?" I ask, still facing the window.
"Yeah," he says quietly.
I turn around. The plate is maybe a quarter empty. Not much, but more than nothing. Better than I expected, honestly.
"That's all?" I keep my voice neutral. No judgment. No pressure.
"Don't feel good," he mutters.
"Fair enough."
I don't push. Don't make a big deal about the fact that he just ate in front of someone for what might be the first time in years. I just accept it and move on, because that's what he needs right now. He doesn't need to be pushed. He needs this to be as normal as possible.
Whatever passes for normal when you're handcuffed to the female omega you're blackmailing, the female omega you don't even know is yourfucking scent match,or an omega for that matter, in a borrowed bedroom.
Rex shifts like he's about to stand, then seems to remember the chain connecting us. His eye narrows.
"I need to clean up," he says flatly.
"Okay."
"Which requires me to move."
"Yep."
"Which requiresyouto move."
"I'm aware of how handcuffs work, Rex."
He makes a sound of profound irritation. "Thenmove."
Instead of getting up, I reach over to the nightstand where I'd set a damp towel earlier. I'd grabbed it from the kitchen before coming in here.
I hold it out to him, averting my gaze to give him privacy. "Here."
He takes it with a low growl. I feel the slight tug on the chain as his arm moves. He must have taken the mask off or at least lifted it. I hear the towel rubbing against his skin. I keep my eyes fixed on a very interesting spot on the wall.
But I'm suddenly aware of how tired I am. The kind of exhaustion that comes from emotional whiplash and hypothermia and spending a small eternity in the rain searching for someone who was hiding in a fucking cemetery and didn't want to be found. My whole body feels heavy, like gravity has decided to work overtime specifically on me.
"Can we lie down?" The question comes out before I can second-guess it. "I'm exhausted. And you're exhausted. And this bed is right here."
Rex goes rigid. "What? No."
"Why not?"