Every. Single. Inch.
Fucking omega urges.
Captive, confused, and borderline horny. Great. Perfect. Love that for me.
He walks to the front door, opens it, and pauses. The cool air raises goosebumps across his skin. I watch those too. I wonder if he’s going to say something. But he doesn’t. He takes one deep breath, nostrils flaring, then shifts. The enormous black wolf stands tall for a moment, then bounds into the forest.
I’m left with a racing pulse and heat between my thighs.
I need to leave.
Now.
The panic is immediate and visceral. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. All I know is that alphas can’t be trusted, and here I am kissing Silas and getting horny over Darius.
Darius!
I carefully extract myself from Silas’s hold and pad to my bedroom.
I grab my backpack and start shoving clothes into it when Charly catches my eye from the nightstand.
“Don’t start,” I tell him.
The backpack is half-full when I stop. My hands are shaking.
What am I doing?
I sink onto the floor, back against the bed, pack in my lap.
I chose to kiss Silas. And it was good. It was so good that I’m terrified.
Because good things don’t last. Good things get taken away. And if I stay, if I let them in, it’s going to hurt so much worse when it ends.
When. Not if. When.
I sit there for an hour, pack in my lap, trying to decide.
Finally, I unpack. Slowly. Putting each item back where it belongs.
I’m not ready to run yet.
But the pack stays within reach. Just in case.
Fucking. Omega. Urges.
Yep. Definitely blaming the hormones.
I walk back to the living room, and there’s a grumbling sound from the couch. Silas is awake, his dark eyes on me. I wonder how much he saw. His face reveals nothing.
“Morning, big guy,” I say.
He nods. Then he stands, stretches his huge frame, and heads for the kitchen.
Archer and Elias file in and start arguing over the last bagel.
“Morning, Blueberry,” Elias chirps, far too cheerfully. “Sleep well?”
I grunt and pour myself a coffee. The nightmare and panic have faded, pushed back by the warmth of Silas’s arms and the memory of Darius’s golden, sculpted, lickable—nope.