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Dutch’s blond hair is sleep-rumpled. Pillow lines dig into his cut jaw.
But there’s nothing sleepy in his stalk.
He climbs from the dugout with a stroking growl, wild blue eyes sparking with something I don’t want to name.
I start to turn.
Start to flee.
But when I breathe deep, trying to outrun the predator, I catch a face full of deadly sweet pheromones.
Maple bacon and pancakes dripping butter.
A whole breakfast feast.
But my body never plays along.
It already had three strikes, three chances to react like they were my mates.
The fourth miss hits right in the diaphragm.
I want him.
I want them so much.
But something inside me is disconnected.
The part that’s omega enough to be irritated when I don’t have enough pillows or the room is too bright.
Those instincts can’t be bothered now.
We already had mates.
Look how that worked out.
I’m not dead enough to stop being attracted.
But that place inside?
The part of my soul that used to flutter and spark?
Empty.
Gone.
“You.” Dutch’s broad shoulders drop. A golden lion ready to pounce.
Something stirs in the hollow inside, but it’s not a butterfly. More like icy snakes, coiling to kill my heart. “This is a mistake.”
“Mate,” Dutch’s sandpaper rasp scrapes my spine like my skin is just as bare as his.
Can’t help it—I shiver.
Bad idea.
Shouldn’t have twitched.
Shouldn’t have responded.
