Page 76 of The Rogues

I nod, the sentiment hitting me exactly where it was intended. “I’m sorry, too.”

The tears threaten to spill over as she squeezes my hand that I forgot she was holding. We’re quiet for a few minutes, both of us weirdly somber for being in the middle of a loud nightclub, but then she says, “You really care about them, huh?”

I look at her. “Who?”

“My brother and his pack,” she clarifies. “He told me you were his scent match, but nobody knows. Because of the stupid public persona thing. And the PR stunt.”

All of my scent matches’ faces flash through my mind and I nod. “Yeah. I care about them a lot.”

“Good,” she says firmly. “He deserves that. He needs someone to take care of him the way he takes care of everyone else.”

“He does though. Jamie…”

“Is great,” she finishes for me. “And he loves him, and cares about him, but Jamie can’t take care of him. Not the same way an omega takes care of their prime.”

I flatten my lips, understanding her words. I didn’t grow up in a pack, but I have heard stories about the partnership between a prime and pack omega. The push and pull of dominance and submission, the long debate over who actually leads the pack, when in reality the answer is both.

“I just met you, and you already protected me just like Cyrus would,” she tells me. “It’s like I was looking right at him, but it was you.”

A laugh bubbles out of me. “That sounds trippy.”

She shakes her head, smiling but serious. “It’s divine, isn’t it? Scent matches are fated. There’s nothing crazy about it.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “You’re very insightful.”

“I’m just a hopeless romantic. Emphasis on the hopeless.”

“Now, that feels more realistic. Don’t worry about that. The hopeless part will die with age.”

She bursts out into laughter, and the sound swells something in my chest.

“Thank you, Florence. For being so understanding.”

She grips my hand, smiling. “You can call me Flo.”

TWENTY-FIVE

We leave as soon as we get there. Malaki and Jamie meet us at the front before we can even get through the door, letting us know that Josie and Florence are ready to head back. By the guarded looks on their faces, I can tell something happened, but they don’t think it’s their place to tell.

I let it be, because I trust my mate’s judgment, but then I see Josie’s face when she walks out arm in arm with Flo. She looks exhausted, her eyes flickering between all of us like she’s awaiting some kind of storm. I’m about to ask her what’s wrong when Flo yawns and obnoxiously says, “So, where am I sleeping?”

I force out a laugh. “I got you a hotel room. Let’s go.”

The van ride is frustrating. Florence talks a mile a minute, keeping everyone occupied. I can’t find it in myself to listen. All I want to do is comfort my omega, who is sitting diagonally from me in the middle row. She’s as far away as she can possibly be, but I can still see the worry etched across her face. Through all the scents, I can pinpoint her champagne scent, the edges of it burning into a chemical reaction while she stares out the window. My alpha paces in my chest, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch her, soothe her, but I can’t do anything. I can’t help her.

When we get into the hotel and go up to our floor, I turn to Flo and point over my shoulder. “Your room is this way.”

“Walk me?” she asks.

I swallow a sound of frustration, but Remi gives me a very specific look. “We’ll walk Josie back.”

Josie looks up at me—finally—and gives a small smile that instantly eases some of the tension in my chest.

“I’ll see you soon?” I ask her.

She nods. “Goodnight, Cyrus.”

When we turn the other way, the walk to Flo’s door feels like a million miles. Florence wraps her arm in mine, her blue eyes flashing with something soft. “You really like her.”