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The fuck?
I give a cursory search around the office, not finding it anywhere. I don't look too hard, assuming I'm losing my shit, and tonight threw me off my game. I must not have brought it.
It's still early fall, and Arrow Cove really doesn't get cold until after the New Year, so I'm fine in my t-shirt as I walk down the quiet street toward my truck, then drive home.
I don't even feel guilty when I climb into bed and don't resist jerking off to the image in my head of those perfect red lips and draping honey-blonde hair.
Chapter 11
Cass
"You seen my jacket anywhere?" Red asks on a yawn, wiping sleep from his eyes. He trudges over to the coffeemaker, stalking like he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders.
"No?"
He grunts in acknowledgment, then drops into a chair.
"What's with you?" I lift my chin, narrowing my eyes.
"Nothin'. Not sleeping well."
Seems to be going around. We're all a little edgy and not sleeping well. There's only one thing I can think of that's got us all fucked up, but it doesn't make much sense. There's no reason we'd all be twisted up over an omega, especially one we can't even scent. Hell, she probably smells like flowers or vanilla or some shit.
Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Ophelia smells like lavender and roses, and I used to dig the scent. When we were teens, I had a little crush on her. I thought she was so cool. Standing up for herself, for others, always deep in the trenches with the rest of us. Not a dainty bone in that girl's body. But my crush waned as we got older, and then, as soon as she packed up, it was like a switch flipped, and my crush disappeared overnight. Plus, she doesn't wear scent-blockers anymore, and for some reason, I no longer like the floral.
Maybe it's more of that alpha-omega biology. We're not into the scent of another if they're bonded. Or maybe my alpha was just never into her, I was, but once she bonded, I finally got on board with my alpha. In any case, Imogen probably has the same scent. It would certainly match her appearance and demeanor. Delicate, floral, classy as hell. I need to find something unattractive about her so I can stop torturing myself.
I suspect it's the same problem all around this house. Though we haven't talked about it, I get a sense from my brothers; they are my pack mates, after all. We aren't bonded like an alpha and omega are, but we still pick up threads of feelings, thoughts. And all I'm picking up from my brothers is trouble with a woman.
"Which jacket? Maybe it's at the club." I try changing the subject so I don't keep daydreaming, wondering what Imogen smells like.
He shakes his head. "No, that's where I thought I lost it. Not a big deal, but my pops gave me that jacket, I'd like to track it down. I think I left it there a few nights ago, but can't seem to find it."
"Hmm."
"I think I'm going fucking crazy, man," he admits. His unsettling light blue eyes jump up to meet mine and they look a little wild, unhinged. Running a hand through his straight black hair, which repeatedly falls into his face, I wonder if something else is going on.
The side door to the kitchen opens, Iggy stumbling in, and I clock a small tear on his knuckle; they look a little swollen and bruised.
"'Cause you lost the jacket?" I ask, turning my attention back to Red.
Red snorts. "Yeah, the jacket. There's also this new girl…"
Iggy grunts, marching over to the coffeemaker. He isn't sleeping, though that's nothing new, but usually, he's puttering around the warehouse at all hours. Fixing up old cars in the garage downstairs, doing shit around the house at three, four, five o'clock in the morning. But lately, he's just gone. Which is more concerning.
I turn back to Red. "Let me guess: blonde, red lips, feathered wings?"
"The Angel of Death," Iggy mutters, taking a seat at the kitchen table, joining us.
"Nah. More like the Angel of My Salvation, bro. I can't get her out of my head." Red laughs, dropping his head on the table in exasperation, hands clasped behind his neck.
"Angel of Something, anyway. She's…"
I let the words trail off. It's impossible to change the subject; everything leads back to her.
Imogen's an enigma. I just want to crack her open and see what's inside. I want to know why she smiles constantly at everyone, but it's small and kinda sad. She's friendly with everybody but hasn’t made any real connections like the other girls do at the club. And when she dances, it's like no one else is in the room. She doesn't do it for anyone but herself, and I respect that shit.
