Page 18 of Shades of Scars

I’m in so much damn trouble.

My tongue darts out to lick my dry lips, and those green eyes of his darken impossibly further with the action. “Water, please.” I don’t trust myself to drink anything else. My brain’s already scrambled eggs at the moment. I don’t need the extra boost of alcohol to help with that. Plus, it can’t be good for a concussion.

A smirk cracks the corners of his luscious lips before he takes another sip of his drink. A scent swirls around me when a hand reaches down in my line of sight to place a glass of ice water beside the empty plate in front of me. My nostrils flare, taking in the gunpowder and aged whiskey musk that makes me want to reconsider my decision to forgo the booze.

I lock eyes with a massive alpha with deep, umber skin and a mesmerizing pair of burning amber orbs that seem to flicker with a barely contained inferno of longing and need. I find myself breathless all over again as we stare at each other, and he slowly pulls back from having placed the glass of water I’d requested on the table.

He reaches a hand up, and I note the dark stains on his fingertips as he rubs them over the light stumble on his sharp jawline. He has the underlying scent of charcoal coating him, but it isn’t as overpowering as the gunpowder and whiskey.

“Hi.” I squeak out, vaguely aware of the alpha that had been at the stove earlier setting other things out on the table, including a dish full of yummy smelling chicken breast smothered in some sort of sauce that smells heavily of garlic.

“Hello.” He still stands several inches away from me, but close enough I can feel the rumble of his reply. It shoots right to my clit, predictably, and I end up shifting slightly in my chair to relieve some of the pressure steadily building between my legs due to all of their combined scents.

How is any of this even happening right now? Why am I allowing this? I should turn tail and run in the other direction. I can’t be here with them. I came here to make things as they have to be.

I can’t have these alphas.

Butfuckif my body doesn’t rebel against that sentiment all the same.

“My name is Apollo.” He says again when I don’t respond right away, and the gravely pitch of his tone damn near makes me come in my sweats. Holy fuck.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I turn my attention back to Mr. Madden, who’s taken the head of the table on the opposite end from me and Caito. “Mr. Madden-”

“It’s Wren to you, Sweetheart.” He cuts me off before I can continue, and I try not to swoon at the nickname, while simultaneously growling at the authoritative twinge to his words.

Bossy alphas.

“Wren…” I trail off, testing his name on my tongue. I hate the way my body reacts to the approving twinkle in his dark, stormy gaze. “I can’t stay long.”

“You can stay however long you desire, Dream Girl.” This comes from the cook when he finally takes a seat in the chair across from me. Apollo rounds the table to take the seat a few feet to the right of him, thankfully leaving the chair to my left vacant.

I refuse to blush at the use of another nickname.

“Thank you for the food.” I say, instead of responding to his comment. He gives me a heartbreaking smile that makes me squirm in my seat again. If I don’t get out of here fast, I’m going to do something we’llallregret later.

Throat suddenly parched, I reached for the glass of water and brought it to my lips. I gulp down half of it before he speaks again. “My name is Lark. It’s nice to finally put eyes on you, Dream Girl.” He winks at me over the rim of a wine glass that he lifts to his sinfully plump lips. Kinda want to bite down on them. See if he tastes as good as he smells.

Beside him, Apollo snorts, but he says nothing. I return my attention to Wren. I have so many things I need to say right on the tip of my tongue, but when our gazes meet again, Ipractically choke on the words. I don’t want to be the cause of their heartbreak.

What can I say to get them to understand why we can never be?

“Eat first. Then we will talk.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

I grit my teeth and move my eyes over the spread across the entire length of the table. I start to reach for a spoon stuck inside a pot of creamy looking mashed potatoes, but a twinge of pain from my shoulder makes me muffle a cry of pain and pull back.

“We will take you to the clinic as soon as you eat,mo chroí.” Caito says from his spot to my right, and I just nod. There’s definitely something going on with my shoulder that I won’t just be able to ignore like I usually do.

When I look around at the alphas, it is to see varying degrees of anger and concern radiating in their eyes. “I’m fine.” I manage to breath out through clenched teeth, but it’s very obvious that’s a lie.

Instead of calling me out on my bullshit, Caito snatches up my plate. He starts putting portions of food from his end of the table on my plate before passing it to Lark. He does the same before passing it to Apollo. This continues until the plate is heaping full and clasped in Wren’s hands.

He rises smoothly from his chair, rounding the table until he can set the plate down in front of me. I ignore his eyes on me as I focus on the food. This is a hell of a lot easier to look at than any of them at the moment.

It’s way too much food, but I pick up my fork and dig in anyway. I’m a prideful omega, but when it comes to free food, I’ll never turn my nose up. As soon as the first bite touches my tongue, I’m done for.

I’ve consumed half the plate before I register anything else going on around me. When I sheepishly look at each of thealphas in turn, I note that not a single one has touched anything they’ve piled onto their own plates.

I’d feel embarrassed, but another emotion is slowly overriding all of my senses when I take in the singular expression reflected back at me on all their devilishly handsome faces.

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