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My chest tightens at the thought, but I push away any feelings I have about that. What happened here doesn’t change how we feel about each other, however tenderly he treated me. Roman won’t Mark me again. He only did it this time because my pheromones pushed all his Alpha buttons.
I feel guilty about that, but really, how was I supposed to know? Omegas and Alphas usually mature at puberty, and that was half a lifetime ago for me. I need to see a doctor and find out why it took so long for my true nature to come through. And I need to get suppressants, so something like this never happens again.
The little blue and red pills are a godsend for Omegas, helping to reduce the effects of the pheromones they release as their Heat nears. Before they existed, rape was a huge issue in society, and Omegas often had a hard time getting jobs because no one wanted to risk an incident at the workplace.
As I remember the drunk in the bathroom, nausea rolls through me at what almost happened. Thank goodness Roman interceded when he did. He’s not the complete asshole I always thought he was, and I feel bad I pulled him unwillingly into this issue. He could have just left me to my fate, but he stepped in and was swamped by my pheromones instead.
Shame adds to the guilt when I remember how he tried to resist, even requesting emergency suppressants be sent to his room. I was too stupid to take them, forcing him into using his body to ease my Heat.
God, how will I face him after forcing him to service me like some stud?
The bed shifts behind me and, panicked, I quickly shut my eyes, pretending to still be asleep.
A warm hand brushes against my forehead, then the back of my neck, and I will my pulse to stay steady, for my breathing to stay normal.
Is he checking if my fever returned? To see if he needs to let me use his cock again to ease my need?
His fingers linger on the Mark he left, gently tracing the rough circle.
Is he regretting that? Of course, he is. Why wouldn’t he? He no more wants to bind himself to me than I want to be bound. At least it’s only the first time. As long as we avoid each other going forward, it won’t happen again.
After a moment, his touch falls away, and the mattress dips as he rolls back to his side, then stands and leaves the bed altogether.
I continue to feign sleep until the bathroom door shuts and the sound of the shower drifts out. Then, I scramble out of bed and find my clothes, yanking them on as I keep one eye on the bathroom door. My heart races, expecting Roman to pop out at any moment. I don’t want to have that awkward morning-after conversation where he lets me down gently. I already know where I stand with him; I don’t need to sit through him explaining it.
He was kind enough to stick with me during my first Heat; the least I can do is make things easier on both of us by staying out of his sight now. It won’t be hard to avoid each other after today. The only time our paths cross is at my shop when he stops in for tea, and soon, that will be gone.
On my way to the door, I catch sight of a notepad on the small desk the room provides, and guilt swamps me once more. I’d be an asshole to not at least acknowledge how he helped me.
Pausing, I scribble out a quick note and set it next to the cellphone Roman left on the table before I get the hell out of there.
Over the next week, I lose myself in work to keep my mind off the time I spent with Roman.
When I paid for the hotel room on my way out—another thank you to Roman for taking care of me—I’d been shocked to realize three days had passed since the charity auction. I arrived home to worried calls from my employees and a furious message from Mother about how I ditched Herold and ruined her careful plans. She was quick to inform me the tea shop had already been sold, and that I should pack my things and prepare to move back home.
She’s already on the hunt for another rich fiancé for me, and I haven’t worked up the nerve to tell her about my new Omega status.
I made it in to see a doctor and fill a prescription for suppressants. He had explained it was rare, but not unheard of, for an Omega to mature later in life, and how my firm belief that I was an Alpha probably helped to suppress my Heat. He also asked if I’d encountered a particularly strong Alpha who could have triggered the change, kind of my body’s way of alerting me to the presence of a good mate.
When I admitted to going into Heat with Roman, and how we had a ton of unprotected sex, the doctor was quick to take a blood sample, which came back negative for pregnancy.
My relief had almost been enough to mask the twinge of disappointment the news brought. I told myself I didn’t want to be pregnant, especially not withRoman’s baby. No matter how much our time together filled my thoughts, he didn’t want me for real. Everything that happened was driven by my new pheromones, and now that I have suppressants, that won’t happen again. Not with Roman, and not with any other Alpha whose path I cross.
I pause in the act of loading cookies onto a tray to hook a finger under my new nape guard and pull it away from my throat. This is only the third day I’ve worn it, and the damn thing still feels like it’s choking me. I purchased it at my doctor’s recommendation as a precaution against future unplanned Markings. Not that I intend to fall into bed with anyone. I just have too much to figure out right now, and the nape guard removes one problem from my overwhelming list.
The door to the kitchen swishes open as Mia pops her head in, and I quickly pull my turtle neck up. I haven’t told anyone about my new status, and the nape guard is a dead giveaway. I’m just glad we’re heading into the cold season, where a turtle neck doesn’t look out of place.
“Boss, You-Know-Who is here,” she whispers.
Fixing my attention on the cookies, I nod in acknowledgment.
Her concerned gaze burns into my back, but she doesn’t ask why I’m going to such lengths to ignore Roman. “I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come out.”
I nod again and hear the door close once more.
I expected Roman to stop his morning visits after The Incident, but he keeps coming in like clockwork. At least his consistent schedule makes it easy to avoid being on the floor when he’s here.
As I slide the tray of cookies into the oven, my pocket vibrates, and I close the oven door before digging it out. The display shows the house phone, and I almost decline, but I can’t avoid my mother forever.
