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And I’m here. What would happen to him if I walked out the door?
The concern I feel is almost manic. Hysterical. The room spins and blurs as a harsh sound scrapes out of me, almost a shriek, but not quite.
The others all frown, not understanding. But Tristan’s face smooths into an unreadable mask, dark blue eyes glinting while they fall to my neck.
He keeps staring at the mark he left. And every time he does, a strange, jittery panic runs through me. Or maybe that’s… a thrill?
Whatever the sensation is, it must echo through him because he curses viciously under his breath, his stomach dropping along with mine.
Jonah whips his head back and forth between us. “What? What’s happening?”
The mean, ice-blond one—Spencer—stares at me in his odd, calculating way, then does the same to his brother. His mouth twists in distaste. “Oh dear God.”
Beside me, Avery bristles with tension. The professor turns to him and Jonah, explaining, “Her claim mark. Tristan hasn’t tended to it. Which means she’ll be in a half-haze and he’ll be useless until it’s healed. His Alpha is likely in a rage, and her Omega won’t let her settle until the bite is properly tended.”
Jonah’s amber gaze widens. “And what does that mean, exactly?”
The professor makes sure we can all see his glare before gritting out his answer. “It means things are about to get very familiar, very quickly.”
All four of them tense for a long moment. Tristan’s unreadable eyes flick back to the throbbing bite. His voice drops low. “There has to be another way.”
He doesn’t want to do it.
If I were in total control of my body, I might find some way to feel angry. Outraged. I was good enough for him when I perfumed and he lunged at me, but now I’m not? Now that he’s had time to think about it, he doesn’t want to touch me anymore?
But I’m not in the driver’s seat. And my Omega is devastated.
A soul-deep stab of hurt forces a whine from my throat. Tristan instantly comes toward me, his features creasing.
“She wants Tris to touch her?” Jonah asks Spencer, appalled.
It’s a great question, but right now, I can’t think. That same sensation from the interrogation room washes over me as our eyes meet—dark blue to green.
Safe. This alpha is safe.
Even though he’s proven that he isn’t.
When I whine again, shriller and louder, they all jump into action. With everyone in motion and all the black walls, the room starts to blur around me.
“Shh,” Tristan hums. “Shh, Serena. I’ll take care of it.”
Strong hands grip my hips, and then I’m weightless, being lifted into a leather barstool with a curved back. I realize it was Jonah when his voice rumbles right behind me.
“Her pupils have blown. Can she still hear us, Spencer?”
There are more murmurs, then Avery’s beautiful face appears, my vision tunneling around him. “Is it okay for Tristan to tend to that bite, kitten? After he’s done, it won’t hurt anymore and you might be able to chill a little bit.”
Seconds after the words leave his lips, I can’t remember the question he asked, but every time I blink, his white-blue irises are the only thing I see. The only tether I have to reality.
I see the hesitation there, remnants of whatever his question was. And I don’t know what he said, but I know the way this alpha makes me feel, deep down in the place no one else has ever touched me.
So I nod.
He almost looks soft for a moment. “That’s my girl. My little fighter, huh? You take whatever you need from this knot-head. I’ll be right over here.”
A full-body shiver wracks my frame as the pack alpha steps behind me. His hands—large and warm—find my shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, so quiet I might even be imagining it. “I’m so sorry. I’m going to try to make it feel better, okay?”
That deep, vibrating regret surges through our half-bond again. I swallow hard against the answering shame and fear that squirm in my middle, focusing on the weight of his palms as they smooth down my upper arms.
