Page 6 of The Cheerleader

She gasps as I push her backward until she hits the wall. I don’t kiss her, I can’t. I need to maintain control until she is ready to accept what is between us. But my hands slam against the wall behind her, caging her in. My nose brushes the crook of her neck and the scent of her makes me lose track of everything but her.

She whimpers. Just once. Then shoves me away.

“Don’t,” she pants. “Don’t you dare.”

“I’m trying not to.” My voice comes out cracked and jagged. “You have no idea how hard I’m trying.”

She bolts. Barefoot. Shaking. Dressed in only a G-string and I don’t stop her. I can’t. If I touch her again, I won’t be able to let go. My cock is lead in my pants, leaking pre-cum into my boxers.

But I need to make sure she is ready when I finally claim her. The second I make her mine, that’s it. I won’t survive another mate bond. If she isn’t one hundred percent ready for me, if she denies me, it will kill me.

Chapter Five

Juliet

I don’t remember the walk home. I know I dressed quickly and bolted. The brand-new patch is barely masking my scent, not that it matters now.

I do have some flashes of memory, cold air on my bare legs, the sting of gravel under my feet, the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears like a war drum. I lock the apartment door behind me, press my back to it, and slide down until I’m sitting on the carpeted floor.

Everything smells like him. It’s not even real, just a phantom scent. But I can still feel Abel on my skin. In my lungs. On my tongue. I wanted to beg him to touch me the way I have been dreaming about for months but I held back.

“You’re mine.” His words play on repeat in my head.

My wolf whimpers in the back of my mind, pushing me to go to him. To submit to my mate. I slam my fist against the floor.

“No,” I whisper. “No, I’m not his mate.”

My heat hasn’t started yet. Not fully. But it’s coming, slow and cruel, like a storm on the edge of the horizon. My body’s buzzing. My skin is too tight. My mouth is dry, and every part of me that knows I’m an omega is already calling for the one thing I swore I’d never need.

Him. Abel. My mate. My Alpha.

The man who’s more than twice my age. The man who runs the club like a goddamn wolf pack. The man who used to babysit me when I was too young to shift, before I even identified as an omega.

I press my hands to my face. I want to peel my own skin off. I didn’t ask for this. I told myself the patches would work. That if I was careful, if I stayed masked, I could carve out a piece of the world that wasn’t shaped by instinct and fate and biology. Or my father. But the second that patch came off, the universe made up its mind. And it picked him.

I get to my feet and stumble to the bathroom. I strip out of my street clothes, turn on the cold water, and step into the shower, hoping it’ll numb the rising pressure in my veins.

Surprise ... it doesn’t.

Every droplet feels like a kiss. Every breath makes my thighs clench. My body is preparing. Oiling the gears for a descent into something I’ve only read about in whispered threads on omega message boards.

Unclaimed heat.

Unclaimed omegas in heat either find relief ... or lose themselves. Some aren’t ever the same again. I dig through the medicine drawer and pull out an emergency suppressant shot. It’s old, barely legal, and probably expired, but I jab it into my thigh anyway and pray it’ll buy me a day. Maybe two. But I know it won’t fix this.

The bond is already forming, threading itself through my bones, my breath, my blood. I can feel it—a hook in my chest, sharp and sweet and terrifying. I know I am not feeling it as profoundly as he does, but within a few days the effects of the patch will wear off and I won’t be able to deny this anymore. Sooner probably, my heat accelerating everything.

I crawl into bed and bury myself under the covers, trying to disappear. Trying to forget how my life just flipped upside down.

That’s when the memory hits.

I was eighteen the first time I shifted. When my designation presented itself. The look on my dad’s face when my scent changed damn near broke my heart. My scent didn’t come in soft like most girls. It hit him like a freight train—heavy, unmistakable.

Omega.

He didn’t smile. He locked the door to our home, staring at me.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he said, voice low and firm. “Not your friends. Not your teachers. Not even your doctor. You hear me?”

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