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“I got too goddamn close to doing it,” I say. “I’m so fucking sorry, Brooklyn.”
“It’s okay. Nothing happened, Memphis. I’m fine.”
“But you have no idea how much I wanted to do it,” I growl. I don’t want to lie and pretend it was a mistake. She should know exactly the Alpha she wants to be with.
“I do know.” She bites her lower lip. “Because I wanted it, too. Next time, it won’t be so hard. I need you to forgive yourself, because if you’re mad at yourself for it, you have to be mad at me, too.”
“That’s not how it works,” I say, frustrated.
“I make the rules,” she says simply. “We’re okay. We both are.”
She presses her forehead to mine, making me accept that. Forcing me to let go of what I almost did.
Our eyes close as sleep overtakes us both.
For the rest of her heat, I manage to keep my teeth far away from Brooklyn’s neck. It’s easier when I join in with Camden and Denver, so I know they’re able to watch me.
Other than the guilt, the whole thing is amazing. Brooklyn is soft, sweet, and needy, and she adores it when we take care of her. Bringing her a pillow or a glass of water makes her look at you like she can’t believe you’re real. That look is fucking intoxicating.
I get to knot her again, and Cam takes me in his mouth twice. Brooklyn watches both times, apparently very turned on by seeing us together.
For three days, we’re able to forget about Grayson. We barely think of anything except how to satisfy our needy Omega. A week of this would be amazing—even a month would barely be enough. My appetite for Brooklyn is endless.
Of course, it’s over all too soon. Brooklyn’s temperature drops to normal levels, and we’re forced to abandon the shelter for the real world. And all the problems it comes with.
THIRTY-TWO
—
C A M D E N
I’ve never picked so many flowers in my life. I filled my whole backpack with them, all yellow, white, purple, and red. Brooklyn made it clear that she wanted the Omega’s funeral to be as nice as it could be under the circumstances. After how beautifully she took my knot during her heat, there’s no way in hell I could deny her anything.
The first time I was inside Brooklyn, I didn’t imagine sex could feel any better. She was so sweet and responsive and beautiful. Somehow, the past few days have been even better. Knowing that Brooklyn is mine, that I’ll get to keep her after, made everything that much more intense. I barely managed to keep myself from biting her—the urge to bond with her was so strong, it was practically unbearable. Thank God I managed to resist.
When I bond with Brooklyn, it’ll be because she asked me to. I’ll wait as long as she needs, even though frankly, sooner than later is more what I have in mind.
Once I’m sure that I couldn’t fit any more flowers in my bag if I tried, I head back to the pyre. Back to Brooklyn.
I find her sitting next to the coffin. She smiles wanly at me as I approach. No matter how much the situation upsets her, she’s determined to put on a brave face.
“Are these enough flowers?” I ask, opening the bag to show her.
Her smile brightens, and I see a little more of her spirit. “They’re beautiful, Camden,” she says. “Thank you.”
She starts arranging the flowers into little bouquets. I caught a glimpse of her creativity when I saw the decorations in her shelter, and even now while she sorts flowers, I can appreciate the natural way she pairs colors and shapes.
One day, I’m going to make sure she has a place to really pursue her art. A studio, with paints and clay and whatever else she’s interested in. Hell, I’ll find her a blowtorch and a kiln if she decides she wants to get into glassblowing. I can’t wait to spoil her with more than just wildflowers.
Brooklyn’s heat ended yesterday afternoon, but Denver ordered her to rest all night anyway. She complained about it, wanting to help us prepare for the fire and the funeral. Unfortunately for her, our Pack is a democracy, and after everything, the other Alphas and I get a little carried away when we get a chance to protect her.
Now, it’s finally time. We’ll lay this poor Omega to rest and arrange Brooklyn’s escape.
I go to the pyre, which Memphis and Denver are finishing preparing. It’s waist-high and impressive looking. When I examine the ground around, I can see the firm lines where we cleared away dry kindling that would help the fire spread. Our work was thorough, and I can’t see one more thing we need to change.
Still, I can’t shake an uneasy feeling in my gut. It would be so easy for the fire to burn out of control despite our best efforts.
Worse, Denver hasn’t been able to reach the Castles on the radio all day. Our plan was to tell those assholes that Brooklyn was close, but that we could smell campfire smoke on the wind. We’d plant the seeds of a story about Brooklyn starting a fire to cook that ended up burning out of her control. That way, when we showed up with her “remains,” it would seem like the natural end to the story.
