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Fuck.
What was I thinking?
19
BRINLEE
Every time I step out of the hospital, I feel wrung out like a used rag. My feet drag, my head is pounding. A weight sits on my chest, crushing my lungs.
It will turn out okay, I tell myself, my own little mantra. You have to have hope. It will turn out okay.
I’ve paused in front of the omega shelter again. The colors of the façade draw me closer. They are so bright, and yet a darkness seems to underlie it all, a sadness that can’t be painted over. The flowers at the window sills are wilted.
A figure moves behind the glass. It’s a girl at the window, looking out, her halo of pale hair framing her face with light. I wonder what her story is, how she ended up there.
It makes my heart hurt for her.
For everyone who is losing themselves to despair.
Real despair, real fear, and the mountain of medical bills threatening to bury me alive don’t count. I’d do anything to pay them, anything my boss at the club asks of me, I’ve already decided that today.
Anything short of actual sex.
No, I never thought I might be asked to give my V-card to a paying customer. It scares me, and makes me feel filthy in advance. I just… no.
My God, I really hope it won’t come to that.
A tremor is starting inside me. I shouldn’t think about it, about after, about tonight or tomorrow. Thinking makes it more difficult; it makes me feel sorry for myself, and that’s unacceptable. Pity-parties never helped anyone. If I don’t think, I will just do what I have to do and fix this.
I have to fix this.
Turning, I almost slam into someone. We both jump back with apologies. He’s a tall, broad-shouldered alpha, his hair so blond it’s almost white. He’s dressed in black from head to toe, from his T-shirt to his leather pants.
He grabs my arm to keep me from toppling over, and his scent reaches me.
Leather and smoke.
I inhale deeply, and I clench hard between my legs. It’s unexpected, and I let out a small gasp at the pleasure of it.
Good God, talk about a scent-match. It has to be that, right? I’ve never felt such an instant sexual connection to anyone. Sawyer’s scent is arousing, too, but not as violently and completely, and although I’m not an omega, scents matter.
“You’re Brinlee,” he says then, and I belatedly place his handsome face. He was one of the alphas at Sawyer’s café. Part of the group including Roman and Archer.
“Yes.”
“I’m Kyrian. McGraw Pack. Remember me?”
I nod. So that’s his pack. He has a pack.
And here I am, almost orgasming as I smell him.
Embarrassing.
He also seems to have forgotten his hand on me. His long fingers are wrapped around my arm, sending heat through the thin material of my blouse. His gray eyes blink at me, looking a little dazed.
“Kyrian,” I say softly, repeating his name back at him. “I have to go.”
“Don’t run away,” he whispers, and it’s my turn to blink in surprise. “Tell me how to help you.”
