Page 121 of Wild Omega

I wonder how the other omegas are getting along with their packs, and the thought leads me to Rose. She said she was rescued from an underground fighting ring by an OCB agent. Her words ring in my ears.If you ever find your way to Darinian, get in touch.

I tap one fingernail against the armrest. There’s an idea. Rose and her pack mates would know about other alphas who don’t get a chance to register.

Only problem is, my heat’s on its way. I sayonly problemlike it’s a small thing and not a catastrophe that’s about to wreck my life.

The warmth in my veins makes me restless and I get up to pace.

Rickon pads down the stairs. “Wow, sunset already? I lost track of time.”

I throw him a wobbly smile, trying to cover up the way I’m fragmenting inside. “How’s it going?”

“Great. Got all the sheets changed and the rest of the washing in the dryer.” He grins.

His enthusiasm cuts at me, needling a waspish aggression low in my chest. I cross my arms and turn back to the window to hide my mood. It’s not Rickon’s fault I’m broken, and he’s just trying to take care of me. So why does the act grate on my nerves?

Maybe because I’m not sure I’ll be here after this weekend. I mean, a good man like him will only put up with so much, right? During my heats, the other Red elbows her way to the surface and takes over. I fucking hate losing control.

I place my hand against the glass, letting the cold windowpane soak up some of the early heat rushing through my skin. Just the thought of that nest upstairs digs deep into my bones. I hate it.

Rickon steps up behind me, the glass reflection showing our doubles as he wraps his arms around me. “Something wrong, Biscuit?”

If I lift my arm, the reflection obeys me, but that obedience vanishes during my heat.

I press my hands against his. “Just a bit nervous.” That much is true.

He kisses my neck, grip tightening around my waist. “Hmm, I know a few ways to distract the mind.” His fingers quest under the knitted sweater I borrowed-slash-stole from him.

I slap his hand away and pull free of his embrace. He tenses, but I refuse to notice the hurt expression he’s bound to be wearing. Sex will bring this lingering temperature to full blaze, and I can’t have that.

“Not now,” I mutter, stalking into the kitchen for a drink of water.

“Oh, okay.” His tone falls, like a smacked puppy whining softly.

Shit, I’m such an asshole. My hands quiver, rattling the glass as I drop it into the sink. But I need him at arm’s length today. Too much kindness and I’ll really fall apart.

“Want me to make a pasta bake for dinner?” he asks, following me into the kitchen.

“No. I think I just want some toast and an early night.”

I catch him looking at me, his brow furrowed. I spin away and pull out the loaf of gluten-free bread. Don’t cave, don’t soften, or they’ll eat you alive, Red. The other me lingers below the surface like the iceberg under the water, ready to capsize my ship. I tug on my collar, relieving the pressure against my throat.

“How about cheese and tomato toasties?” Rickon asks softly, getting butter out of the fridge.

My mouth waters. He’s been paying attention to my lunch orders over at the studio. “Yeah, that sounds good. Can you show me how to make them?”

He hesitates, the fridge door releasing a pleasant draft of cold air as he holds it open. “You’ve never made toasties before?”

I roll my eyes. Did he really have to put it that way? I dip my finger in the butter and lick the glob on my finger. Not bad, though clings to my mouth and I can’t get rid of it. Like the rising fever. “Not much chance for culinary practice when you’re a prisoner in an illegal Bitch House.”

He places two luscious tomatoes on the bench. “Shit. I’m sorry, Red. You always seem like you can do everything, so I forgot.”

I shrug, resting my ass back against the stove. “I listened a lot. Stole logins and tablets a few times to research shit. Unlike the other omegas, I knew what that place’s deal was, you know? I didn’t want to stay ignorant. When I watched TV, I practiced what I saw people doing. It’s the other omegas who will struggle out there in the world.”

Like the gentle and accepting Rose, or O-18, who was younger and knew she was missing memories.

Rickon washes and chops the tomatoes before moving on to slice cheese and onions. “Yeah, but you struggled too, Red. You don’t have to pretend you’re okay.”

I snort, because he’s right, but it sounds like Doc Woods speaks through his mouth and that irritates me even more. “Sure.”

---