Page 121 of Our Deceptive Heat

The truth of those words burns, but I can’t stop here. I rush down the trail, following the big alpha and his glacial fury.

“You don’t understand-”

“What’s to understand? You fucked her! Stole her chance at stardom. Fed her on a silver platter to her monster of a father. You stole her whole life from her!”

“It was never like that!” I howl. It totally feels like it was like that.

Kelly pauses. “What was it like, then? Suck the life out of her for her lyrics? Get rich? Get famous and fuck her off?”

“It wasn’t about the lyrics. How dare you imply that it was! It was never about money or fame or power. It’s about her.”

“And when she revealed she was an omega, she still wasn’t enough?”

Kelly steps into me and shoves me. It’s a hard push but only rocks me back. I clench my hands into fists so I don’t launch at him.

I snarl, the pain of all this making me impatient. “You don’t get to judge us. You don’t know what was happening.”

“He sold her to a pack. A pack of old rapist, piece-of-shit alphas. That’s her future, and instead of rescuing her, instead of following her plan, you just abandoned her.”

“WE COULDN’T!” I roar.

Kelly only laughs.

I’m losing him, I think to myself. If he disappears, so will she, I know it. There won’t be another chance.

I remember Locke’s text message, and the words he whispered when he pulled me aside. I clear my throat. Please, let this work. “Stop,” I purr in pure desperation.

Kelly stops so fast I slam into his back. “How did you learn to do that? You can’t do that! Only an omega can…”

“Turn around Kelly Raines. I need to show you something.”

Kelly turns and faces me, his expression one of deep caution.

With a nervous flutter, I let all my masks fall away.

Kelly inhales sharply. His eyes don’t leave my face, but I feel like this alpha sees all of me. “I’ll try my best.”

Chapter thirty-eight

Ryn

The sharks circle, andthe net tightens- Ryn Raines

They changed tactics. They are no longer hunting me down everywhere I go. In fact, I haven’t seen them in two weeks. But every morning, a different breakfast is delivered to my room.

Flowers appear every afternoon.

Music that I love plays on the hotel sound system.

I stalk past the hotel reception where, every morning, Sonya, the woman who works the early shift, hands me a handwritten note that I fold up, put in my pocket, and refuse to read.

If I walk on the beach, someone comes up to me, paid to follow me, holding an umbrella or a drink. Snacks are delivered and dropped off with shocking frequency.

All my favourite foods. My favourite drinks.

If they were trying to prove they knew me well, then they’ve succeeded, but I don’t feel any urge to forgive them.

Why won’t they go away?

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