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Damon gives me side-eye, his aqua-blue irises contrasting those shiny black lashes and his pale skin. “Psht. Trust me. I would have sat behind you in class and watched your pretty hair bounce around your shoulders. And your cute little fingers arranging all your notes. I bet you would have had a special color highlighter for every class.”
My cheeks glow because he’s right. Before my designation came in, that’s exactly how I was. Damon chuckles, kissing my blush. “Adorable.”
I want to cringe. “I was a bit of a—” total dork “—nerd. You wouldn’t have thought I was lame?”
He frowns. “What? No way. It’s fucking sexy how smart you are, sweetness. And I like the buttoned-up prim-teacher’s-pet vibe. Makes corrupting you even more fun. Plus, you have to know by now that Cass has been in love with you forever.”
My heart pounds. Cassian has only said those words to me a few times, but every night when he gathers me into his arms and hugs me, I swear I can feel them. The same way I used to when he was just my friend, huddling into my side for warmth on those cold rooftop mornings.
He isn’t a wordy person, but he always makes me feel cared for. So does Damon, with the way he actively engages in all of my hobbies and constantly checks in with me.
Smith, on the other hand…
Sometimes, I think Damon may be the smartest of them all. He seems to be to read all of our minds, staring at me just a second too long before he sighs. The warm gust tingles over my chilly cheek. “Do you think you’ll ever forgive him?”
His question confuses me, for a moment. All this time, I’ve felt like I had to please the pack alpha. Convince him of my worth. But ever since the first morning that he brought me coffee, Smith has seemed…
Sorry.
Like maybe I’m the one rejecting him, instead of the other way around. And, you know what? Maybe I should be. Maybe I am. Because if the way Damon and Cassian treat me is the right way for an alpha to treat their omega, then I think I have every right to be furious at Smith. Not to mention all of the things he did before we knew we were supposed to be mates.
I try for a joke, pasting on a smile I don’t quite feel and replying with a question of my own. “Do you think he’ll ever apologize?”
Heaving out a deep breath, Damon turns us in an easy circle. “I’m not sure he knows how to. Not out loud anyway. He’ll just work himself to death to make up for everything— it’s the only way he thinks he can.”
With money.
It’s another astute observation. One I’ve caught onto myself. Every time we’ve ever been alone together, Smith tries to ply me with material wealth. Offering me anything and everything. Without really giving me anything.
“What do you think I should do?” I ask quietly.
Damon spreads his feet and arches us in a wide curve, spinning to a smooth stop. His face leaps in surprise. “Me?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, stroking his cheek with my cold fingers. “You’re so much better at relationship stuff than the rest of us, D. What do you think?”
The question seems to shock him. I’ve noticed that the others don’t ask his opinion very often. Which is silly because he has the highest emotional intelligence in the pack by a mile. Then again, he diffuses conflicts and solves problems so smoothly; I doubt they even notice he’s doing it.
He drops his forehead to mine and nuzzles there. Scent-marking me, the way he does every time I seem even the least bit uncertain. He’s sweet. In a way I never expected. Between his crooked grin and bedroom eyes, I thought he’d only want to give me one thing.
But Damon gives me everything he has.
And I might be more than a little bit in love with him.
“I think,” he starts, speaking slowly, as if testing the words. “I think that only you can decide what feels safe to you. And that’s all that matters to me.”
He kisses my cheek softly, adding, “But I hope he figures his shit out so you can forgive him one day. Because all of us, together? Shit, sweetness, that’s everything I ever wanted and never had.”
My heart pinches as I nestle my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “What do you mean?”
He sighs, moving his feet again. The ice beneath us gets carved to ribbons before he finally answers.
“My parents were assholes,” he finally says. “I, uh, left. Left them, I mean. When I was fifteen.”
My fingers freeze. “But where did you go?”
His sad smile is a weak approximation of his usual grin. “Here and there. I had a lot of friends. Slept on a bunch of couches. Ate a lot of free cafeteria food.”
Likely because he was just as charming back then as he is now. That’s fortunate, I guess, but I hate that he felt he had to take care of himself like that.
