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“Look what you fucking did to him,” Reese’s rasp drags my skin like teeth.
A phantom bite stabs my throat at the center of my scars.
That fast, a familiar, squeezing choke cuts the haze of desire.
Jin must sense my panic brewing. “Time for breakfast?
“Yes.” I cop out before my airways can narrow.
“Go get cleaned up.” Jin pats Dutch’s thigh. “We’ll take care of Dutch.”
My knees shake as I crawl off the bed. The glee of ass-fucking my alpha fights the invisible pinch in my throat.
Why?
I love teasing Dutch until I’m drenched in his scent. But at the same time, weird congestion chokes my throat until my fingers twitch. Like a plea to scrub clean.
I wobble out of the nest.
Maybe I’ll never understand my body, but this morning counts as a win.
I can play with the pack.
As long as I take breaks to breathe and wash.
One problem.
The shower suite’s door lies horizontal in the hall, thanks to Dutch’s battering-ram kick.
My suitcase looks like it exploded, surrounded by towels flung in last night’s disaster sequence. In all the chaos, I left my syringe case open on the floor. It only shows tubes of makeup on the top layer, but the false back is half popped out in one of its corners.
I snatch it closed and dart for the toilet cubby with the functioning lock.
Maybe I’m still panicking, or maybe I always had the peripheral vision of a freaking sunfish.
I collide with Reese.
“Whoa.” With a sideways swoop that stops me cracking my nose on his sternum, Reese dances me to safety.
But the syringe case drops on its corner, cracking open like a book.
Eyeliner sticks scatter and the false back pops away, revealing rows of lemon-yellow vials and a sheathe of spare needles.
Reese’s grip tightens. “What the hell are those?”
“Told you I could mimic pheromones.” I duck to grab the case, trying to avoid his hands and his reaction.
“With injections?” He sucks a breath. “I thought you meant mimicking was your gamma thing.”
“It is. Partly.” I can mimic, maim, kill—so many fun features that I don’t want to explain while my traitor body is still humming from a fantasy.
“You’ve been shooting this shit? Wait. Is that why you got sick?” Reese advances, backing me into the wall.
He’s not supposed to be the insightful one, but he grew up watching drugs wreck his family. I wince. “I have to—”
“No,” Reese snarls, edging me in alpha. “You don’t have to do shit.”
I clutch the case to my clenching stomach. “But you like the lemon. If I don’t smell like S—”
