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“Hazel. It’s me.”
Relief floods through her.
He’s back.
Alpha’s back!
“You’ve got to open the door, sweetheart.”
“And how, exactly, do you imagine I do that?” she snaps, hiding her relief at knowing he’s alive. “I’m tied up, remember?”
He huffs behind the door. “I’m not stupid. Use your voice activation.”
She squirms. How doesheknow about that?
“Hazel. Open the goddamn door. For once, try not to be stubborn.”
Her eyes widen at his audacity.
“Well, excuse me fornotwanting to open the fucking door—”
“Omega.”
Her body goes rigid and her cunt throbs. He’s never used that tone before and it speaks directly to her inner Omega, desperate to obey.
“Hazel Wolfe, override code 24601. Unlock front door.”
There’s the sound of a mechanical latch, and Abel enters, placing a black duffel bag next to the couch.
She looks up at him and gives him the worst scowl she can muster, so as to hide her joy at his return. She takes in his chiseled jaw and sharp features, shamelessly ogling him.
He’s dressed in a navy blue short-sleeved shirt and black pants.
It suits him.
“Can you untie me now?” she asks. “It’s been long enough.”
He chuckles. “I missed you too, baby.”
As he pulls out his knife to snap the ties off, he graciously doesn’t comment on the dried slick that stains her sweatpants as she maneuvers herself into a sitting position.
“Ah,” she hisses after he cuts them off, placing her hands in front of her and rubbing at her wrists. “Ow.”
He curses under his breath and kneels in front of the couch, much like he did that morning. His hands engulf hers and he gently rubs his thumbs along the red marks of her wrists, his face etched into a frown.
“No more of these,” he promises her. “I didn’t intend to hurt you.”
She frowns. “That’s all you’ve done,” she spits, even though she knows it’s not the truth.
But her words have their desired effect. He stiffens, stands, and turns to walk away. “Check the bag,” he says. “There should be some things in there that will help you.”
She can feel his eyes on her as she rummages through the contents of the duffel.
Suppressants. A heating pad. More sleep pants. And…
“Wait. Is this abath bomb?” she asks, holding up the circular shrink-wrapped object. “You stole abath bomb?”
He shrugs, his mood still foul from her previous words. “Baths are supposed to help, right? Besides, I did say we’re going to go out with a bang,” he deadpans.
