“Jax.”
“I’m just saying that if the problem has a solution, and the solution is sitting right there eating potatoes, maybe you should…”
“Finish that sentence and I’ll kick you out of my house.”
Jax raised his hands in surrender, the bitten apple in one of them. But the smile didn’t leave his face.
Ren fixed his eyes on his plate. The heat was rising from his neck. He could feel it climbing up his jaw, his cheeks, his ears.He speared another piece of potato and shoved it into his mouth even though he’d lost his appetite thirty seconds ago.
“Sorry, Ren.” Jax shot him a look that seemed genuinely friendly beneath the provocation. “It’s just that seeing you like this makes me feel bad for you. You’re usually a pretty functional guy.”
“I don’t feel bad for myself,” Ren said without looking up.
“No, of course not, it’s worse for you. You can tell by your skin. You’re… how should I put it? Glowing. Omegas get like this when the bond pulls. Your skin lights up as if you had a fever from…”
“Jax.”
This time it was a growl. Low, guttural, coming from somewhere in Brody’s chest that Ren didn’t want to identify. The sound ran up and down his spine, and he had to dig his nails into his palm to keep from reacting.
Jax raised his eyebrows.
“See? That. That right there. That little growl. That’s not a ‘shut up, Jax’ growl. That’s a ‘this omega is mine and if you look at him again, I’ll rip your head off’ growl. Do you hear it, Ren? Because I do.”
Ren’s ears were burning. They burned as if they’d been stuck in an oven. He dropped his fork and stood up.
“Thanks for dinner.”
“Ren…” Brody began.
“I’m tired.” He didn’t look at him. He couldn’t look at him. If he looked at him, Jax would see it, and if Jax saw it, he’d make another comment, and if he made another comment, Ren couldn’t guarantee what he’d do. “Good night.”
He turned toward the door. He didn’t run because running would have been proving Jax right, but his legs moved faster than he would have liked.
“Man,” Jax’s voice came from the kitchen, loud and clear, bouncing off the hallway walls, “the sexual tension between you two is so thick you could cut it with a butter knife.”
Ren quickened his pace.
He took the stairs two at a time. The first floor hallway was dimly lit. His bedroom door appeared at the end. He turned the knob, stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and pressed his forehead against the wood. He breathed. Once. Twice. His hands were shaking.
Sexual tension.
No, that wasn’t it. It was biology. Chemistry. A genetic programming error that had paired him with an alpha he hadn’t chosen, didn’t want, and…
It smelled of raisins and walnuts.
Ren pulled his forehead away from the door and turned his head slowly. The room was just as he’d left it that morning: the bed made, the curtains open, the light from a garden streetlamp spilling through the window in a pale rectangle on the floor. Everything the same. Except for the gray sweatshirt folded at the foot of the bed.
It hadn’t been there when he went down for dinner.
He walked over. The fabric was soft, thick, a cotton that looked like it had been washed a hundred times. No visible label. No brand. It was huge. And the scent it gave off was so concentrated, so pure, that Ren felt his knees give way.
Brody had left it there. While they were having dinner. Or before. He’d left it there for Ren to find and use for what it was:an olfactory anchor, a sedative, a controlled dose of alpha scent designed to stabilize a bonded omega who didn’t want to be touched. It was a gesture of surrender. Brody accepting that Ren didn’t want him near but trying to look after him anyway, from a distance, through a garment that smelled of him.
Ren grabbed the sweatshirt with both hands. He lifted it. He stared at it for a long second and then flung it across the room. It hit the wall next to the window and fell to the floor in a shapeless heap.
He stood by the bed. His chest was rising and falling too fast. His fingers were trembling.
I don’t need it.
