Page 90 of The Rejected Omega

"It wasn't your decision to make!"

“I understand that you’re angry—that you’ll be angry with me for a long time.”

“Anger?” Connor lets out a brittle laugh. He yanks his collar down, exposing my bite. It’s beginning to scab over. “I’m fucking destroyed. My mate doesn't want me."

"Which is how she felt?—"

Connor snarls. "Don't you dare tell me how she felt. Do not speak for her. I will hear it from her lips or not at all."

There are several beats of silence.

“If you feel this strongly about Lana, then why the fuck didn’t you bite her back?”

My entire body tenses.

The punch comes out of nowhere. Connor’s fist flies, and the crack of bone echoes through the house.

Blood pours from Mac’s nose. It’s definitely broken—not for the first time, either. Mac clutches it and tilts his head back.

“I deserved that,” he gurgles through the blood.

“You deserve a lot more. If you weren’t my father, you’d be leaving this house on a stretcher.”

I must make some noise, because Connor’s hawk-like gaze slides to the kitchen door and fixes on me. I have an insane desire to run.

I turn around and grab the roll of paper towels and fill a Ziploc baggy with some ice.

Mac laughs when I step into the living room, making more blood bubble through his fingers. I shove the paper towels and ice at him and shoot Connor a scathing look.

“Lana.”

“Connor,” I say simply, as if he hadn’t said my name like a prayer. “That was unnecessary.”

“We’ll agree to disagree.”

“I’m leaving. Try not to kill each other.”

“I’ll drive you,” Connor says, following me to the front door.

“Fine.” I don’t have the energy to fight him. I walk down the driveway and shift on my feet next to the passenger door, waiting for him to unlock it. I avoid looking at him as much as possible.

“You’re not coming inside my apartment.”

“Fine.”

“And I don’t want to talk about it. Not right now.”

“Any other demands?”

I ignore him. We ride in silence. I fiddle with the A/C and radio because I need something to do with my hands.

We arrive far too quickly. Part of me doesn’t want to get out of his car when he pulls into my apartment complex.

“I’ll see you Wednesday,” Connor says.

I nod. I owe him that much. It will be our final session.

By the time I reach my building, my legs ache. I climb the stairs slowly, dragging my feet up each step like they’re weighted. Every step away from him hurts.

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