Page 97 of The Rejected Omega

A mile from my destination, I realize where the GPS is taking me. I’m surrounded by forest, but the faded billboard for Pherofume that I pass gives it away. It’s the same one from three years ago; the location’s too remote to resell the ad space. A woman’s parted lips take up the entire billboard, and in the black space between her lips, ‘Pherofume’is written in a white sans-serif font.

I nearly slam on the brakes. A semi blasts past me blaring its horn, and I realize I’m going thirty under the speed limit.

He’s taking me to the ceremony grounds.

What the fuck is Connor playing at? Why would he ever bring me here, knowing what happened?

Just drawing close has my heart racing and sweat beading on my palms. I haven’t been back here since that night.

The closer I get, the more the memories claw at me. The heat. The pain. His damning silence. Clutching his shirt with bloody fingers and praying for it to end. I grip the steering wheel like it might keep me in the present moment.

The clearing appears like a ghost out of the trees. I pull off into the parking area that’s little more than loose dirt and gravel. Connor’s car is nowhere in sight.

I nearly burst into tears when I see what he’s done.

There’s a single table in the middle of the clearing.

And on that table is a shirt.

Every hair on my arms stands upright.

I climb out of my car on shaky legs, checking my texts again, even though I know he hasn’t messaged me back.

It’stheshirt, of course. The one that went missing after my heat. I can recognize the musk of his cum from here.

He’s recreating that night—but why?

What if he doesn’t come?

It’s nonsensical, but I can’t shake the fear. This clearing has been the site of all my nightmares for years.

I walk down the sloping hill to the table, pick up the shirt, and breathe in his scent. It smells like him. Rich and warm and masculine. It doesn’t hit me like it did the night of the mating ceremony, but the effect is instant. My muscles soften. A hot ache blooms between my legs, and my abs clench.

The mating bond stirs. It’s awake and waiting to be fulfilled. Stronger now than it’s ever been before.

There's a scrap of paper on the table beneath the shirt. A single word is written on it in Connor’s elegant hand.

Run.

A shiver runs up my spine.

Is this a trick? Someone’s cruel joke? Connor's way of punishing me?

A gust of wind kicks up as if on cue, snatching the paper from my hand and sending it tumbling into the darkening woods.

The moon is just a pale sliver above the trees tonight. The clearing is darker than I remember. Colder.

Past and present are converging. The air is practically vibrating. The forest feels alive.

Then a motion draws my eyes to the tree line. Connor steps into the clearing.

So, I do the only thing I can.

I run.

Something primal drives me forward as I bolt for the forest. This doesn’t feel like a game—the stakes are very real. But he wouldn't hurt me, would he? Not like this.

My feet fly until I reach the trees, where I’m slow by branches catching in my hair and vines ripping at my jeans. The cold air burns my lungs, but I keep running. I don’t know where I’m going; I only know he’s behind me.

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