He's wearing a pair of worn sweatpants and nothing else. His bare chest is broad and carved with muscle, his tan skin smooth in the kitchen light. Even battered and bruised, he looks like something sculpted from stone.
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I don't know where to look.
My eyes dart to the counter, the coffee pot, the rooster mug, anywhere but the expanse of bare skin in front of me. But my brain isn't cooperating. It keeps feeding me flashes from the storage tent.
The feeling of his teeth sinking into my neck, the impossible stretch of his knot locking us together, the way he filled me so completely it hurt.
A phantom ache pulses between my thighs, and I have to press them together, praying nobody notices.
“Good morning,” Cliff says to Odette, then he looks right at me and the hum between my legs intensifies. "I felt you wake up," he says, his dark brown eyes finding mine. “Did you sleep okay?”
I blink.
He felt it?
And then I realize I feel it too. The bond is faint. Barelythere. Like hearing music from a room away. It’s too quiet to make out the melody, but there’s just enough to know it's playing.
My throat tightens, and I put down my drink because my hands are shaking too badly to hold it.
"Cliff, I—" The words catch in my throat. I swallow hard and try again. "I'm so sorry for yesterday. For what I did to you and your pack. I couldn't control?—"
"I know," he says quietly as he pulls out the chair beside me and sits down. He doesn't touch me. He sits, close enough that I can smell his scent of dark chocolate and smoked cedar.
I want so badly to lick that perfect dip between his pecs.
"How long have you been hiding?" Cliff asks, cutting right through my thoughts.
"What?" I lean in, not sure I heard him right.
“You're an omega,” he says matter-of-factly. "But you wereworkingat the Morder, clearly hiding your dynamic.”
The question lands in my stomach like a stone.
I should tell him the truth, but it’s hard to drop old habits…that, and I’m still picturing his gorgeous face as he pounds into me. “What makes you think I was in hiding?”
“Come on, Elowen,” he says, giving me a firm look. “Omegas don’t work real jobs.”
He’s right but his words still make me bristle.
“Second,” he continues. “You weresoakedin blockers. It masked everything. I couldn't even smell you with my nose against your throat. People only cover themselves in that many blockers when they’re trying to hide.”
The blood drains from my face.
If Cliff figured it out, then who else has?
Have they all known? Every alpha I've worked aroundfor the last three years, every guard at the Morder, every stranger on the street?
Have I been walking around thinking I was invisible while everyone could see right through me?
"Stop it, omega." Odette's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts like a blade. “Stop that thought right where it is, missy.”
I stare at her, wondering how she actually knows what I’m thinking.
"Alphas only pay attention to scents that catch their attention." She takes a sip of coffee, calm as ever. "Scent-blockers don't catch shit. You walk past a hundred alphas wearing that spray and not a single one is going to stop and sniff the air. It registers as nothing, and nothing isn't interesting. The only time a blocker fails is when the person wearing it is putting out something strong enough to break through. And honey, from what the twins told me last night, you weren't just putting out. You were going feral."
Heat rushes up my neck and floods my face. My cheeks burn so hot I can feel it in my ears. I look down at the rooster mug, wishing the ground would swallow me up.
Sensing my unease, Cliff's hand slides across the table, slipping over my wrist. His skin is rough and warm.
