Page 48 of Your Wild Omega

When I get to the part where Zack was waiting for his last few hours of life, I choke up. Fuck, I came so close to losing him forever. I can’t even bear to think about it.

Leanne pushes a tissue box closer, not knowing that I refuse to cry outside of my heats—and alpha heists. “Can I ask what made you so sure he was out there somewhere?”

I lean my chin on my hand. “Believe it or not, I can hear their voices in my head.” I smile bitterly and turn to meet her gaze. “That makes me insane, right?”

Leanne stretches out her back and stands up. She points to a painting on the wall that I recognize as another van Gogh print. “Vincent van Gogh cut his own ear off and mailed it to his mistress, or so the story goes. That sounds like insanity to me.” She brings over a small bottle of orange juice and puts it on the table near me. “Ever felt like cutting off your own ear?” she asks lightly.

I smirk. “No.” Maybe wanted to sever my omega nature a few times, but I know that’s different.

Leanne takes a seat beside me at the table. “Well, I think you’re fine, then. You seem like you’re functioning really well to me.”

Her words lance through me like a sharp, well-placed spear. I drop my head, hand tightening on the pen. Has anyone objectively told me I’m doing well? I mean, someone who’s not my alphas who are no doubt biased in my favor. The Omega Center staff were always encouraging, but honestly, it felt over-the-top, like scripted praise.

But Leanne’s a professional. She might look like she’s stuck her finger in an electrical socket, but the time we’ve spent together tells me a very different story. Her nonthreatening demeanor made me spill my guts more than I ever have before.

Hot, turbulent emotion rolls through me, storm clouds that overlap and spin, bringing summer rains to my dry heart. I’m doing okay.

Leanne touches my hand lightly, and I twitch alert.

“You might be interested to know a team in Switzerland are opening a rather obscure line of research into what’s being called apre-bond, which may indicate a psychological connection existing before—” She winces and holds up her hands. “Sorry, brain science. The mumbo-jumbo spirit possessed me.”

I laugh, my heart suddenly lighter. “I was following, more or less. Maybe less.”

She grins, and pushes her glasses up her nose. “Well, let’s talk more about that next time. It’s getting late, Red, but I hope you come back to see me, ’cause I had a lot of fun.” She points to the page in front of me. “Your color choices are shit, but that’s some really neat coloring.”

It’s color-by-number and I used the suggested fucking colors. I choke on a laugh. While we chatted, I managed to finish the whole stupid page. The bunch of sunflowers in a yellow-and-white pot on a blue background stare at me, looking a littlewilted in my opinion. But it’s still pretty. Just not as pretty as Callisto’s flower basket. I snort at my own foolishness.

“I suppose I could tolerate another session or two,” I mutter, pushing the chair back.

Rising, she passes the page to me. “Keep it. A memento for our first session.”

“Okay.” I take the page awkwardly, resisting my first instinct to fold it in half. Doesn’t really feel like I’ve been in therapy, but I suppose this is a kind of participation trophy.

Leanne rises and hovers her hands over my shoulders. “May I?” she asks gently.

“Guess so.”

She rests her hands on me and hooks my gaze. “You’re doing really well, Red Jones. I want you to remember that. Even better if you look in the mirror and tell yourself every day. Imitate my voice if you wanna make it stick.”

“Fuck, no,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “Got enough voices in my head already.”

She cackles with laughter and wipes her eyes. “Fair call.”

Who knew you could laugh in a shrink’s office?

I grin and step back, breaking her hold. Damn. I had no idea how much I needed someone to tell me I’m doing a good job. It’s not like we talked about any real hard stuff, like heats or training Zack, but maybe I truly am doing an awesome job of gluing the pieces of my new life together.

It’s something.

I tuck the page of sunflowers under my arm, determining to tape it to the wall or fridge when I get home, and go collect my guys.

Chapter nineteen

Callisto

Zack’s taking over this household like a parasite. Just like his unrestrained smell, which oozes through the front door the moment I open it. When Red said she’d train him to be on a leash, I imagined a timid man relying on his cherished omega for every breath. Sure, he’s got enough testosterone to be a bit growly, but what I’m seeing extends far beyond possessiveness.

I set my keys down with a jingle of metal on the sideboard—right next to his collar and leash, which is coiled into a neat ring. As if it belongs to someone sophisticated. Why does seeing it there on my table irritate me, like a grass seed digging through my sock?

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