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He steps around me, into the living room, then up the stairs, but I call after him, my voice cracking. "Iggy?"
He pauses on the steps, waiting for me to continue.
"What… How did I show you you're safe to be with? What do you mean?"
"For omegas," he says sadly. It feels like a boot in the gut. Why did I make him safe for other omegas? What is he talking about?
The question must shine on my face because when I turn back to Red, wearing the same look of disappointment, he adds, "We’d never been with an omega before. He wasn’t sure he could. You helped him through that. Thank you."
What fresh hell is this?
"I don’t understand," I whisper.
Cass takes the pan off the stove and pours a cup of coffee. And I think maybe there’s some small possibility he’ll hand it over, but he white knuckles the mug like it’s his lifeline.
"Look, Imogen, we—"
"We didn’t realize you were engaged," Red cuts him off.
"Engaged?" I rear back. "I’m not—" Wait. Yes, I am engaged. I shake my head. "But that’s not real. Not really. I mean, I am, technically, but I’m not—"
"To the mayor's pack?" Red winces. "Why them? Aren't they like, twenty years older than you?" I try to answer, but he keeps going. "Is it because they have money? Prestige? Were you just slumming it with us?"
"What! No, of course not. Look, there’s been a misunderstanding. I mean, yes I am engaged to them, but I’m not with them," I plead.
"Then there’s no misunderstanding. We thought…" Red runs his hands through his obsidian black hair. So dark in the daylight it shines, straight and inky, falling into his eyes, which works for him since he won't look directly at me. How did things go so wrong so quickly? Looking down at the table, he says tiredly, "It doesn’t matter what we thought. Your heat's over. We’re glad we could help you through it. Do you need a ride home? Come on, I’ll give you a lift."
He snags his keys off the table. Reaching out to grab my arm, I pull away with such force, he startles, palms up in defense.
"I can’t believe you’re kicking me out after that."
"We’re not kicking you out, you can stay a little longer. I'm sorry. Eat some breakfast, first. You need the calories after the last…"
After the last few days of intense, mind-blowing, life-altering sex. Omegas need calories. They also need mates—hell, decent partners—to help them through the last phase of heat. The coming down.
They aren’t being soft cushions for me to land on. And I get it. They’re hurt. But it’s not like I could have told them during my heat; the last thing on my mind was the mayor's pack and my family's financial problems.
I try to explain once more, "I’m not with them. The Stevens Pack. My family just…"
Red sighs and sits down at the table, leaving Cass to loom over me. It feels silly now, standing here after my heat, covered in bruises, sore muscles, and messy hair, wearing his clothes. I was so happy ten minutes ago.
"Is it money?"
My head snaps to Cass. "Is what money?"
"The reason you’re marrying them. It's just… You just shared your heat with us and not them… We thought… Well, why are you marrying them? Why did you tell me you had no one to share your heat with when I found you?" He squeezes the back of his neck with one hand, biceps bulging by his head as he looks down uncomfortably. Like Red, he can't meet my eyes. "I'm sorry. That's none of my business. And was rude. Come, Imogen, you should eat something. You barely ate the last few days."
The mention of our time spent together hurts. And it's not even their fault. It's not mine either, but I don't know how to fix it. Cass tries to hand me the coffee cup. I guess he made it for me, after all. But it doesn't feel like something he made to take care of me. It's something to put distance between us.
"It’s not money. Well, I mean, it is, but it’s not for me. It’s for my family." It sounds so much worse when I say it like that. Judging by Cass's grimace, he agrees.
"Right. Okay."
How did we get here? I’m usually so good at this, diffusing uncomfortable situations. I’m fumbling, and I never fumble. I tug the hem of my shirt self-consciously. I want my clothes. And my heels and my red lipstick. I want my armor.
Why would they want me if, as far as they're aware, I just cheated on my betrothed? When I'm engaged to a pack I don't want, and for money, no less? No, it’s not so black and white, but I can already tell they’d never understand my reasoning.
Not if they saw all the cars, the art, and the imported water features. The decorative boxes that hide the toothbrushes, so we don't appear human. They wouldn't respect me because I don't have a backbone and can't just abandon my family, even if they sold me out.
