The way my heart drops makes me grateful that I’m lying down. It’s a sickening plunge. A deep, painful ache and a drop that makes my eyes sting. Bone matter shatters as hope disintegrates.
“Alfie,” I say before I’m able to censor myself. There’s a fluttery hint of accusation in my voice that I make no effort to remove. “You’re back on your meds, aren’t you?”
He nods unsteadily. “I am. I—”
Fool that I am, I fell asleep last night cocooned in hazy dreams that made me believe he liked my scent. I thought it affected him the way his affected me. I don’t know what I was thinking. How stupid of me. Of course my scent didn’t affect him. He’s a Casanova alpha. This is what happens. His scent affects all omegas. There’s nothing special about me.
What could possibly make me think I’d be special to him?
Hurt feelings and heaped doses of humiliation crash into me.
“I’d like you to leave my rooms, please,” I say. His jaw drops microscopically, and his expression twists my pain into anger.How dare he look surprised that I’m upset? Of course I’m upset, and when I think about it, I’m not nearly as upset as I’m about to be. If this man had any sense, he’d get far, far away from me, andhe’d do it quickly. I raise a hand and point at the door to avoid any confusion. “Kindly leave!”
He gets to his feet robotically, his stupidly handsome face a picture of bewilderment, and takes three hesitant paces toward the door before stopping and turning to face me.
“Get out!” I yell, my voice cracking as my temper frays beyond repair.
“I want to respect your wishes,” he says quietly. “I do. But, but.”Holy fuck, is he giggling? Is he seriously finding anything about this amusing?“I find that I can’t make myself leave you.” He shrugs broadly and looks so pleased with himself that I start wondering if he’s drunk. I’ve never seen him like this. Dopey and unhinged and happy for no reason. “It’s not that I don’t want to give you space. I do. It’s that I physically can’t seem to make myself move any farther away from you.”
Asshole that he is, he’s pleased with what he’s just said. He must be because his lips crack open and his sheepish giggle morphs into a soft, frothy rumble that bounces off my headboard and gets muffled by my bedsheets.
“I’m glad you think this is funny because I certainly don’t! I had a hellish day yesterday, and I look set to have another today. I would like you to leave my rooms this instant, but if you insist on staying here, the least you can do is bring me my laptop.”
He still looks pleased, but also unintelligent now. “What do you need your laptop for?”
“I need to book a one-way ticket back to Seattle,” I say firmly. “And I need to do it now.”
He shakes his head ruefully, pinching his lips together in faux apology. It makes me significantly angrier than I already was. Sadder too.
A single sexy shoulder rises and falls. “I’m afraid I can’t do that either.”
“Please go.” My voice cracks worse than before. “I don’t know what’s happening right now, or why you’re being like this. And I don’t understand why you think it’s funny that I’m upset, but I am. I’m very upset, and, and I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“Why are you upset, little mouse?” His tone is gentle and kind, and his eyes, while dull, are filled with concern.
I don’t know what’s happened to him. I can only assume that stopping his meds and going back on them has wreaked havoc on his IQ. I’m trying not to take his behavior personally, but it feels very fucking personal, so I can’t really help it.
“I’m, I’m like all the rest of them…” I cut myself off when it becomes clear that if I say more, the sob I’m struggling to contain is going to make a break for freedom.
He looks at me long and hard before his eyes soften. “You’re nothing like anyone I’ve ever met.”
My anger dissipates completely, and it’s awful because without my anger, all I’m left with is a blinding ache in my chest.
“I am,” I sob. “I’m exactly like everyone else. I’m like all the other omegas, especially the bedraggled ones. All it took was one tiny whiff of your scent, and here I am, a total mess who’s stupidly managed to convince myself that I’m your, your…”
I manage to stop myself there. Thank God.
I’m embarrassed, mortified, and soon to be heartbroken. The least I can do is try to protect what’s left of my dignity and not stoop to telling this man what my deranged mind thinks I am to him.
“Your mate,” he says, taking a few smooth steps toward me and dropping down to his knees on the floor beside my bed. He takes my hand in his, and in my bewilderment, I let him. “You think you’re my mate.”
I try to snatch my hand away from him, cheeks so warm I feel myself color all the way to the tips of my ears. “I do, but, but I know it’s not real,” I say to save face. “I know I’m affected by youand why, and I’m going to be completely fine. I just need to get away from you as fast as possible, and I’ll be totally fi—”
All the amusement drains from his face, and I’m left with chiseled lines and muscular planes I try to memorize for when I’m gone. “Jensen, do you know why I took the antidote yesterday?”
“’Cause I’m an idiot who gets lost and hurt on the moor because I let books likeWuthering Heightsgo to my head?”
“No.” He smiles wryly. “Not because of that.”
