Page 15 of Prodigy & Tybalt
I scoffed. She calledthatreal food? I might have been tempted if she offered mutton stew. I reached the door and stared at it, my nostrils flaring. My arms were so full, if I moved even my pinky, I’d drop a book or my Pringles.
Behind me, the woman sighed. Beta, I thought judging by her scent and the soft, neutral energy rolling from her. Not the perfect omega sweetness that made my teeth clench, not the omega fury that I’d only witnessed once, and definitely not the overbearing aura of an alpha. Thinking of that brought Tybalt to mind, the stubborn, infuriating, busybody alpha who refused to leave me alone and insisted on checking on me three times a day.
I flipped around, my hackles rising at the sound of cupboards opening and closing, and I frowned at the woman as she threw energy bars and chocolate and dried peanuts into a tote bag, whirling through the kitchen like a storm. The fridge opened, and then a two-litre bottle of orange juice joined the bag, followed by cheese, ham, and what looked like a Tupperware of salad.
“I’ll get the door for you,” she offered, giving me an innocuous look that still managed to call me on my bullshit. I bared my teeth again, and she just smiled and shook her head. “You remind me of two of my friends,” she told me, throwing the bag over her shoulder and opening the door, sweeping her armout at the hallway beyond it, suddenly accessible. “They’re a little defensive and snarly, too.”
“I am not snarly,” I snarled.
She laughed, soft and tentative, as raspy as her voice when she spoke like she’d blown her vocal cords. I slid a glance at her, wondering why she was being so helpful, wondering why she was following me into the hallway towards my nest.
“What’s your name, snarly girl?” she asked, watching me watch her.
“Ignatius,” I bit out.
She laughed. Her eyes crinkled. “Bullshit.”
I blinked. I thought she’d be too prim and proper to swear; she gave me primary school teacher vibes. “Fine. It’s Miraya.”
“Nice to meet you, Miraya. I’m Jessia. And I’m always down the hall if you need anything.”
“What is it with people here?” I demanded, reaching my nest door and unable to openthat,either. “You’re all so generous and helpful and bleeding-fucking-heart.”
When I glared at her, Jessia smiled with her whole face. “What?” I barked.
“Everyone here has either experienced assault or abuse, or witnessed the destruction it wreaks on someone they love. We all have trust issues, every last one of us. We struggle to let people in, to accept help without being suspicious of the motives. So yeah, we’re bleeding-fucking-heart around here. If you’re going to stick around, you’d better get used to it.”
“I’m not.” I scowled at the door, my skin burning, itching until I wanted to scream. “Thanks,” I bit out when Jessia opened this door for me, too, but wisely didn’t cross the threshold. She wordlessly slid the bag from her shoulder and placed it on the floor just inside my nest, watching me with all-seeing eyes.
I wasn’t staying. I was going home. And yet—I was still here. And I was possessive of the nest.
“There’s a pizza night on Saturday if you want to come. It might be good for you to get some fresh air, and I’ll keep you company.”
“No.”
“They won’t be there. Sweetie and ChaCha.”
“I don’t care.” I did. Far too much. The acid eating away at my soul spread, burned, scalded, and I clenched my jaw, locked my teeth, and tried to breathe through it.
“Just think about it,” Jessia urged, stepping back. “You’ll be a hundred percent safe, even with the other women and the Knights. Not hurting people is kind of their thing.”
“Fine, I’ll think about it,” I relented just to get rid of her, my stomach cramping viciously and the pain gouging through my chest even worse. Sweetie and ChaCha wouldn’t be there because they had better things to do, together, with each other. My mate and the woman he rejected me for.
No amount of telling myself they didn’t mean to hurt me erased the spikes digging into my chest, stealing all my breath.
I closed the door while Jessia was still saying goodbye, and left all the books and food on the floor, crawling into the nest and wrapping myself in its many sheets.
8
Miraya
The downside of being on the shivering, too-hot, manic run up to an induced heat? I couldn’t sleep without wanting to peel my skin off my bones just for some respite from the never-ending heat. It was getting worse, but there was still at least a day until the true heat took over me, when I’d be mindless and screaming, desperate for touch, purrs, and a knot. No, not any knot. My mate’s knot.
I wondered if he could sense it, wherever he lived in the clubhouse. I wondered if that was why he’d be away tomorrow.
I angrily turned the next page in my book, and a strangled scream of frustration ripped up my throat when I saw it was the final page, and the rest of the book was full of previews and advertisements. This was the last page in the last book I took from the sanctuary, and I’d read them all in twenty-four fucking hours.
I scratched at my thigh where I burned, itched, prickled. My fingernails gouged long, red marks. I needed more books. That was the most logical conclusion. The books distracted me, kept me focused on something other than the scalding, throbbing heat inside my skin, the cramps twisting my gut. And the fact that both those things would get worse.
