Page 16 of Prodigy & Tybalt
I groaned and cast the book aside, dragging myself out of bed and dressing in leggings and an oversized black T-shirt Imighthave stolen from a laundry hamper. It was the only thing that felt good on my sensitive skin; everything else was like razor blades and burrs. It had nothing to do with the fire and smoke scent embedded in the cotton, or the warm, decadent oud woven among it.
“It’s just a nice shirt,” I assured myself, shoving my feet into the shoes Tybalt hunted down for me, because you never knew when you’d need to run. “A hundred percent cotton, clearly expensive. That’s the only reason. It hasnothing at allto do with it smelling like the two alphas who took care of you.”
Nope. Nada.
The clubhouse was deathly quiet, and I didn’t have to growl at anyone who got in my way as I snuck through the long hallways towards the east wing of the sprawling building. The sky was dark outside the windows I passed, which explained why the clubhouse was so deserted. I relaxed when I realised no one was going to stop me, or—god forbid—try to help me. Jessia was right about the alphas here; they saw themselves as saviours and protectors, and would definitely try to bundle me back in my nest.
I could bundle myself, thank you very much, but I wanted a new stack of books to get me through the next day. After that, I’d be too delirious to read anything, and I wouldn’t notice the passage of time, so… bonus?
I groaned, running a hand through my hair and wincing when my fingers snagged in knotted curls. I might have spent too long in the shower under the cold water yesterday, letting its chill ease the heat flaring through me. I might have forgotten to condition my hair. Rookie mistake, but it was fine. I wasn’t here to win any hair beauty contests.
But if my omega was her own person, she’d be snarling in my face right now. What if our path crossed with our mate’s and we looked awful? No wonder he didn’t want us, with our curls matted on one side, dark shadows sunken around our eyes, and our lips chapped.
I didn’t bother yelling at my own head that he wouldn’t want us even if we looked like Miss India. Not that I’d ever compete; I was a black-Indian woman and colourism ran deep in those contests. And in my own damn family. I didn’t even want to repeat some of the shit my aunties and distant relatives had said about me just because Mum had the nerve to fall for a man from Nigeria.
“You don’t buy into that shit,” I reminded myself as I passed the front door and continued deeper into the clubhouse. “This is just your hormones being a raging dick to your self-esteem. There’s nothing at all wrong with you. You’re a beauty and a badass.”
That was another motto that came from Mum, although I’d doctored the original to include the word badass. My cousin altered it further tobeauty and a baddie,but I didn’t feel like a baddie right now, so I’d settle for badass. I could fight. I could growl powerfully enough to make an alpha uncomfortable. I shut out memories of fighting the weaselly fucker who abducted me, mentally going over the self-defence lessons I took with Auntie Teja.
A shadow fell across my path, and I snarled, snapping my hand out, fingers curled into a fist. It drove into the male’s sideso quickly he couldn’t stop it, and my eyes widened when I sawProdigystumble back with a grunt, clutching his ribs.
“Nice right hook,” he wheezed.
“Shit,” I breathed, shaking out my hand because punching someone fuckinghurt.“I didn’t realise it was you.”
“Helps to look before you throw a punch,” he replied with a smile that harboured no anger.
“It didn’t help me to hesitate when I got grabbed off the street,” I retorted, moving past him in the direction of the living room I first woke up in. I’d been seduced by the memory of crammed bookcases, but I wished now I’d snuck into the sanctuary so I could have avoided the president.
No you don’t,my annoying omega side taunted.
I mentally gave her the middle finger.Go obsess over your mate.
Of course, that only reminded me of the rejection, and it spread in a corrosive layer across my chest, the pain spiking deeper than it had before. My heat was really not helping matters.
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Prodigy said, jogging to keep up with me as I marched into the room and across a thick tug towards the shelves. “That was insensitive.”
“I punched you; pretty sure that cancels out your thoughtless comment.”
“Thoughtless? Ouch.”
I fired a look over my shoulder. “Am I wrong?”
“Is that my shirt?”
I froze for a split second, then resumed reaching for a purple-spined book on the shelf above my head. “How should I know? I found it, so I’m keeping it.”
Liar, liar.
His laughter was warm and tugged on me so suddenly, so compellingly, that my heat flared. It was there in the burning onmy nape, in the cramp in my gut. I curled my hand into a fist, grabbing the book with my other, and began a stack.
“It used to be mine, then Tyb stole it. Serves him right that someone else stole it from him.”
That explained the combination of scents in the fabric. I resisted the urge to duck my head to bury my nose in the cotton, or—gods—to cross the room to inhale that heavenly scent direct from the source. It wasn’t the vanilla and leather scent of my fated mate, but it was better. Even more appealing because Prodigy had never hurt me, had only provided steady, unwavering support. With some overprotective alpha nonsense of course, but that went without saying.
“Don’t you have better things to do?” I bit out, and winced at my tone. The closer my heat got, the less control I had over myself. I pulled down another book, this one a modern paperback, just for something to do with myself.
“Not currently. I didn’t peg you as a horticulture enthusiast,” he mused as I pulled a hardcover from the shelf.
