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I can feel it breaking.
I feel the rejection in my soul.
That’s it. This is over.
As the others begin to argue, their voices a cacophony of anger and disbelief, I turn on a heel and walk away.
No one calls for me.
They are too busy arguing.
Not one runs after me, screaming or begging me to stop.
I walk out the front door and down the street in a daze, the cold night air grounding me in the harsh reality of my situation.
No one calls to me.
Not one.
With every step I take away, my memories bubble to the surface, sweeping me under.
“Don’t embarrass me.” Noah’s cruel voice sends shards of glass through me.
Licking my lips, I flip up the visor. I can’t keep looking at my broken collarbone. The bruise is almost too much to cover, but I manage by wearing a scarf. It still hurts like hell.
“I won’t,” I tell him, but unfortunately, it’s not a promise because I never know what is going to set Noah off.
It could be that he just can’t scratch his back, or that he doesn’t like the color of my lipstick.
It could also just be the fact that I’m wearing lipstick.
It doesn’t matter.
I don’t even want him coming with me, but here we are. His hold over me tightens with each passing day, suffocating me and making it impossible to breathe. I have to get out. I have to find a way to escape before it’s too late.
“You brought the food?” he asks, looking over at me with the smile I fell in love with—the smile that now feels like a knife twisting in my gut.
Noah’s smile, once a source of comfort, now sends chills down my spine. I find myself cataloging the minute changes in his expression, the slight tightening around his eyes, the twitch in his jaw. My body tenses involuntarily, muscles coiled and ready to flinch at the slightest provocation.
I know I can’t keep living for these little moments where he makes me fall in love all over again, and I know that Cayenne and Aunt Sara suspect something, but I can’t bring myself to do anything about it.
Day by day, my confidence will grow and then shatter. It’s a vicious cycle I can’t break, so here we are, driving to my aunt’s house, when I want nothing more than to be free of Noah.
I need to be free of Noah before he bites me. It’s a miracle he hasn’t yet.
I refuse to let a monster bind me. I won’t.
Get out. Leave. Tell Aunt Sara.
“You look beautiful, Aria.” He grabs my hand, threading our fingers together and kissing my knuckles. “Hey,” he says. “I was thinking…”
I give him a fake smile, one he sees right through. “Yeah?”
“Bond me tonight,” Noah whispers, his voice a mix of desire and desperation. He parks the car and grips my hair, not quite painful but a clear show of dominance. Terror courses through my veins, but beneath it, I sense his own insecurity, his need to possess me completely. He presses a soft kiss to my neck, a deceptively gentle gesture that promises both pleasure and pain. “I’m going to bite you right here while I knot this tight little pussy.”
Fear mingles with arousal, because at the end of the day, I’m still an omega, and his scent wraps around me. I hate that he’s a match. I hate that I react this way.
“Without a pack?” I ask, trying to control my fear so he won’t smell it—something I’ve gotten damn good at.
