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We’ve done this a thousand times before, always in the middle of the night. He’d find me here, stealing the gamma’s ice cream. I’d sit right where he is now, cross-legged on the island, munching on ice cream.
Eventually, instead of carting me back to my room, he’d find a spoon for himself and join me for a while. Sharing this moment in silence became something more—something so much more.
I can’t recall who made the first move that fateful night. All I remember is that it happened, and we broke every single rule by falling into each other. Packs that bid for an omega here want them as virgins, clean and untarnished.
As silence stretches between us, it grows increasingly awkward. I know I should just rip the bandage off and talk to him about how he is, how he feels, and what he’s been up to, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t know if it’s because so much time has passed between us or because neither of us is the same person anymore.
“Any new assignments?” I finally break the silence, my voice sounding strange and distant, even to my own ears. To mask my discomfort, I shove another scoop of ice cream into my mouth and then hand the quart back to him.
“Yeah, I have a new one,” he replies, his voice warm and cozy, like one of my favorite blankets. Avery always had this charming playfulness about him, one he never held back from me before. Ican tell that the only reason he’s holding back now is because he senses the strange divide between us—a divide I created.
“Anything fun?” I glance at him from the corner of my eye, not quite ready to meet his gaze directly. Not yet, at least. “You always wanted the assignment for Dragonstall Isles. Is it that one?”
Why is that the first one I think of, and why do I hope that he tells me no?
“Never got picked,” he admits, though he doesn’t seem as bitter about it as he used to. “I just got back from the southern province. Ashton and I played security for the researchers down in the ice caps.”
I nod, although I don’t know what he’s talking about. I’ve tried not to pay too much attention to the news. It only makes me sad, knowing that so many people suffer. “So what’s the new assignment?”
He nudges me lightly with his elbow, and even that small touch sends a jolt of excitement straight to my core. That’s Avery, and this is what he does to me. He destroys me with a single touch.
Deep down, I’ve always known that he is my end game, that he and his pack are where I belong. Maybe that makes me a fool for making them wait, or maybe it’s just me finally putting myself first.
“Security,” he says, his tone a bit hesitant. “Apparently,” he drawls, “I’m a pretty good bodyguard.”
Something in the back of my mind sparks, and I look over at him. His eyes twinkle under the dim kitchen lighting, and his playfulness seeps through. I swear there’s an electric charge in the air between us, something that’s been dormant for far too long.
Clearing my throat, I steal a glance at the clock behind him, acutely aware that my time in this kitchen was always limited,just like my time with him. Turning slightly to face him, I rest my hip against the counter. This unconscious invitation hangs heavily in the air between us. “I can see that,” I tease, my voice playfully laced with innuendo. “All that ice cream is filling you out.” Instead of touching him like I want to, I curl my hand around my spoon and dip it into the ice cream.
Avery reaches out, grips my spoon, and drags it to his mouth, causing a small plop to fall onto his thigh. White cream splatters on his black fatigues, a stark contrast that ignites a simmering tension between us.
“Well, that looks questionable,” I comment, my eyes fixated on that lone plop of ice cream, my voice a low, sensual purr, even as Avery licks the spoon in my hand before releasing it.
I don’t know why I do what I do next. I’ll blame it on temporary insanity and the irresistible pull that has always existed between us.
Leaning down, I slowly drag my tongue across the cool trail of ice cream on his thigh. The explosion of cinnamon and vanilla bursts all around me, assaulting my senses in the most intoxicating way imaginable. It invades my mouth, caresses my taste buds, and fills the air with an alluring, decadent aroma as I savor every delicious inch of him, and then I moan.
I freeze, my eyes snapping open, my heart pounding in my chest. When did I close them? All I can do is stand here, my gaze fixated on his pants, my lips tingling with the lingering taste of ice cream. I hear his soft breaths, the beginnings of a pant as his breath brushes against my hair. I see his hand gripping the counter, and I realize I just took a rather bold step into uncharted territory, the sensual tension between us reaching a fever pitch.
What am I doing?
I pop up, my face blushing to a deep crimson. “I have to go,” I mutter, my voice shaky, and I take a step back, tossing my spoon onto the counter beside the ice cream.
Avery has unraveled all my senses, tearing into them until all I see is Avery, all I know is Avery. The raw intensity of the moment leaves me disoriented and overwhelmed.
Before he can utter another word, I spin on my heel and dart out of the kitchen, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. There’s no damn good reason to run, not one, but I can’t stay—not when being close to him ignites a fire within me that threatens to consume everything I’ve built.
CHAPTER 8
Seraphina
When I was a little girl,my favorite fairy tales were always those with princesses. However, as I got older, they began to bother me. The more I think about it, the weirder it sounds. There’s this damsel in distress, living in an attic of her father’s home—her dead father—playing servant to her stepmother and stepsiblings. It’s the epitome of a tragic existence, and the part that always threw me was that damn shoe. I don’t even care that the woman had tiny feet—that detail only made me think she was a child, but I digress. What got me was that the princess met the prince once, interacted with him only once, and from that single encounter, sheknewthat one day she’d fall in love with him, so the next day—and it was the very next day—the prince came to the house with that stupid shoe so they could all try it on.
Bam, it fit. The teeny tiny shoe fit the princess, and that was after she had to make herself known, as if her presence in the house had gone unnoticed all those years. Then there she was, marrying the prince that weekend.
I hate this story because it’s the closest fairy tale to real life, which terrifies me. One scent, that is all it takes, and then bam,a bond forms. What happens if that scent match doesn’t end in happily ever after? What if the pack doesn’t get along? Or worse, what if the pack abuses the omega? These thoughts race through my mind, a relentless torrent of worry and doubt that I can’t seem to shake.
As I dash out of the kitchen and back into the hall, I can’t help but draw parallels between the princess’s plight and the complexities of my own life. Like the princess, I dart down the hall, my heart pounding as I rush for the stairs. My fingers itch to take off these stupid heels so I can run faster and escape the expectations and constraints that come with my unique scent. You know, maybe that’s all the princess even wanted. Perhaps she was trying to toss off her shoes to run faster and break free from the shackles of her destiny.
