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Avery
I knewsomething was off the moment we scented a sweetness in the air that is all Seraphina. The whole situation’s a mess, a giant misunderstanding.
The woman—whatever her name is—blinks up at me with dull, lifeless brown eyes. They lack the vibrance of Seraphina’s, my love. She’s pale, her color drained except for the blood pooling at her shoulder.
Max looks up at Ashton and Devlin. “Go to her,” he commands. They don’t hesitate, rushing off to our mate, the one caught in the throes of her heat. She’s probably conjuring up the worst scenarios, and I can’t blame her. Not even a bit.
A heat is a dangerously sensitive time for an omega. Their emotions soar, and their hormones push them to a point where they exist solely on feeling, on touch. They become the epitome of hedonism, relentlessly seeking pleasure, sometimes for a whole week.
And we let her down.
It doesn’t matter that this woman means nothing to us. What counts is that we left Seraphina alone in the nest. One of us should have stayed, should have explained the situation.
A bit of care and communication could have easily avoided this whole mess.
Max meets my gaze, and whatever he sees makes him sigh and look away. His scientific mind is in control, which I think is complete bullshit right now.
“Do you know your name?” Max asks the woman, finishing the last stitch at her shoulder and gently laying her back down. She barely winces, luckily for her.
I inhale deeply, catching the faint scent of sugarplum. “Poison,” I mutter, leaning on the folding table, the tarp crinkling under my fingertips. “She’s out of it right now.”
“I hoped I was wrong about the sugarplum,” he mutters.
“Well, I can smell it,” I reply, glancing longingly at the door. Every fiber in me itches to go to Seraphina.
“I need you here,” Max says softly, clad in nothing but low-slung sweatpants that are damp from his dash in the snow—another irritating fact. He ran out into the snow, barely dressed, for a woman who isn’t our omega.
I want to punch him right in his smug, pompous, rugged face. Let him bleed a little for making a decision that hurt our girl. “You don’t need me here,” I say, crossing my arms to restrain my impulses.
As Max ties off the last stitch, he sets his tools aside and peels off his gloves, tossing them in the trash, then he stands at his annoyingly tall height and slowly walks around the table, towering over me. He might be taller, but I can take him.
Partof me is curious to see what happens if I do, but right now, we have bigger things to worry about.
“I said I need you here,” he repeats, pushing me back with a firm hand.
Grinding my teeth, I jut my chin out defiantly, locking eyes with him. “What, to hold your fucking flashlight?”
“Yes,” he says, pressing the flashlight into my hand before turning away to grab a chair.
“This is bullshit, and you know it.” Despite my frustration, I hold the flashlight steady as he lays out new supplies beside the unnamed woman on the table.
“Avery, don’t push me,” he warns, his hands moving with precision. To anyone else, he might seem fine, but he’s not.
I tilt my head, observing his methodical movements. “You know you messed up.”
“Avery,” he warns again, slowly tearing open an alcohol pad.
I let out a scoffing laugh, the light quivering slightly. “Maximillian,” I mock him. “She thinks we fucking abandoned her.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” he roars, yet he doesn’t look at me. It’s shocking. In all the years I’ve known him, he’s never lost his temper. “I know,” he says softly, “but I can’t—” His voice cracks. “I can’t just leave her to die outside. Someone is fucking with us.”
Before we can delve deeper into this, my phone buzzes in my pocket. “This isn’t over.”
“I expected as much,” he mutters.
I answer the call without checking the caller ID, already drowning in this day’s chaos. “Avery Griffin?”
“Yes.” A simmering rage builds inside me, reflecting how this day has spiraled from ecstasy with my girl to the edge of a cliff.
