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“I won’t have time to play.” There are only so many days until my heat, and I need to jump into every social event I can with both feet and my best fake smile.
“Nonsense.” Evgenia dismisses me with a wave. “Schedule one pole showcase and you’ll be drowning in knots.”
There’s another thing I should want to do. Be the sexy center of attention and dance my way to a pile of horny heat partners.
The thought makes my stomach bubble.
It would be more awkward than alluring because instead of learning how to smile and flirt, I learned how to scowl and threaten—and that’s not a part of myself I want to change.
I would’ve been flattened every day of my life if I showed up soft.
I have to show up snarling if I’m going to survive.
“Omega on deck,” Evgenia calls to the guards before gesturing to the door. “Let’s get you home.”
I refuse to call the OCC home, but at least there, I know the dangers. Plus, it has high fences, tons of security, and if the Redfangs or the Wyverns come for me again, I’ll be on my turf.
I know all the hiding places.
Trying to hold my head high, I brush off my hospital pajamas and enter the gauntlet. The guards are Wyvern House agents decked in that delicious black camo, and their pheromones hit me like a food truck.
Somebody smells like peanut butter, and my body’s all he could be the one.
My inner muscles clench while I breathe through the insanity.
Well-trained, the guards cut off their snarls, but it’s too late, the sounds already rattling through my brain like the threat that they’ll take me right here in the hallway. The flare of lust dies in full-on panic, and I grab for Kieran’s knife strap, shaking.
“They’re here to protect you,” Evgenia says as softly as I’ve ever heard her speak.
Maybe they’ll protect me from the Redfangs.
But who protects me from them?
Who protects me from me?
My head’s a mess, instincts torn between wanting to lick the sweat off Mr. Nut Butter’s thick neck, and wanting to run, run, run, because now that I’m awakened, I’m the goat at the dinosaur park.
Two big betas ride the elevator down with us. I keep a hand on my weapon, but when we step onto the ground floor, my stomach bubbles pop and fizz. Wyvern House has the clinic’s lobby blocked off, two columns of agents forming an aisle like they’re greeting their mob boss.
When I pass, you can follow my path like tipping dominos.
The alphas shudder, rumble, jerk, every single one reacting to the bite-me-now pheromones so dire that de-scenters don’t make a dent.
Not that I can touch de-scenters.
My skin’s still patchy pink and tender, and when I tested a bottle of lotion, the memories sparked by the cursed chemical scent had me sweating and popping hives.
So, the spotlight is all mine.
But I refuse to let myself shrink from the unwanted attention.
I won’t show my fear.
Or my madness.
Because the lobes of my crazed omega brain keep slap-fighting.
It’s an insane tug-of-war between licking my lips at alpha bulges and wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.
