Page 9 of Drown My Sorrow

He’s trying to show me he’s bigger, badder, and stronger than me, but he’s got no idea who he’s messing with.

“You’re going to want to back off, Raines. And take your cubs with you.”

“How old are you?” Kelly scoffs.

I smile and show him all the death and rage that I have lived with. I have given up so much and fought for so much, and I’m not losing her.

“Old enough.”

“I want to talk to her.”

I let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, that’s not happening.”

“She’s my scent match.”

I react without thinking, slamming my fist into his jaw. He tumbles back, but I fall on him again, slamming my fist into him over and over.

I think I get five hits in before I’m pulled off him. I narrow my eyes.

“She’sourscent match.”

“No,” Ezy says with a pale face. “She’s our scent match.”

I snarl and take a step when he holds up his hand. “Wait! I don’t mean ours. I mean all of ours.”

I freeze, glancing sideways at the alpha who hurt my omega. He looks stunned senseless.

“I don’t care. We’ve been here. She’s ours now.” And I mean those words.

“Wait!”

But I don’t wait, and she doesn’t argue with me. Why doesn’t she argue with me? Does she want them? Does she want us?

A million horrible thoughts go through my head, and I have no idea what to do or say, so I hold my silence.

I hold my peace.

And I wonder if there’s anywhere on this planet deep enough that I could hide them from her now. Maybe this is a problem the pack is going to have to take care of in true pack style.

Chapter three

Ezy

EzyAged22

The soft notes of the orchestra are grating tonight. I pull at the sleeves of my tux and return my gaze to watching the elite of society; those who have more money than Midas preen and peacock their way around the room. It’s a beautiful room, just like all the others.

I’m bored with the lights and the small conversation that sounds so polite yet cuts deeper than the sharpest knife.

I feel like I’m drowning in this pretentious existence that I never wanted.

“Stop fidgeting!”

I glance at my mother and try really hard to imagine a life without her in it. She pinches the skin on my hand hard enough to leave a bruise. I don’t flinch; I don’t even acknowledge that she’s done it.

“Go and dance with the Fisher omega.”

“Yes, Mother.” It’s the only appropriate answer, and it comes out of me with practised efficiency.

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