Page 6 of A Promise of Forever (The Vallaverse #3)

Sterling

I'm trembling so badly I can barely grip the rose.

My fingers shake as they close around the delicate stem, a thorn piercing my skin the moment I finally grasp it.

A drop of blood wells up on my fingertip, but I barely notice the pain.

Everything in my world has narrowed down to this moment, this choice between the devil I know and the one I don't.

Wilson is just a few feet away, threatening to take me back to the nightmare of making me the perfect Omega and then there is this Valla.

Forrest. This gorgeous Valla, his powerful thighs spread wide as he kneels beside the desk.

His suit is immaculate, the kind of clothing that speaks of real power rather than the borrowed authority Wilson wears like a costume.

There's a presence about him that makes my instincts want to bare my throat in submission, but there's something else too.

Something that doesn't feel like a threat. And he smells like the coconut and rum scent I found safe earlier, but it’s richer now, fuller, overwhelming, but in all the right ways.

His dark eyes watch me with an intensity that should be terrifying, but instead of malice, I see something that looks almost like concern.

His scent wraps around me like a warm blanket, all coconut rum and leather with undertones of protection that make my racing heart slow just a fraction.

I gulp, my throat working against the terror that's been my constant companion for months.

This could be the worst decision of my life.

This stranger could be worse than Wilson and could hurt me in ways I haven't even imagined yet. After all, this man is a Valla.

He is the nightmare I should be worried about.

And yet…

Slowly, I hold up the rose toward the Valla.

He doesn't snatch it from me or demand that I hurry. Instead, he opens his hands and holds them out, palms up, making it clear that the choice is entirely mine. That he isn't forcing me, isn't taking anything I don't willingly give. The gesture is so unexpected that fresh tears spring to my eyes.

"It's okay," he says softly, a purr rumbling through his chest. "Take your time."

I stare at his open hands for a long moment, memorizing the calluses on his palms and the strength in his fingers.

I take in the raised veins beneath his dark skin that run up the sides of his hands and disappear into the cuff of his shirt before looking up into his eyes, wondering why a Valla would even give me this opportunity.

I let out a little sigh and then place the rose into his palm, and the moment I let go, everything changes.

The Valla's expression hardens as he looks up at Wilson, all traces of gentleness disappearing from his face. When he speaks, his voice carries the kind of authority that comes from never being questioned.

"It seems that I absolutely do know where Sterling is. And his name isn't Sterling Ramirez but Sterling King, because he accepted my rose."

King. The name settles over me like a protective cloak, unfamiliar but somehow comforting.

I'm not just Sterling anymore, the broken Omega that everyone throws away.

I'm Sterling King, claimed and protected by this dangerous, powerful man.

Even if for just a little while until the next nightmare settles.

"So, if you'd please leave my office," Forrest continues, his voice dropping to a register that makes the windows vibrate. The true power of a Valla seems to radiate from him as he stands, a whimper sitting at the back of my throat as I lean just outside of the desk to catch a glimpse of Wilson. He can’t see me from this angle, but his entire face is red with pure rage, his hands fisted at his side. However, there’s a tendril of fear lurking in his eyes and I love that for him. I love that for now I’m safe from him.

Wilson lets out a growl of frustration. "Now wait just a goddamn minute. That Omega is evidence in an ongoing investigation. You can't just—"

"There is no violence allowed in this building," Forrest cuts him off, straightening to his full height.

He's massive, easily six and a half feet of pure muscle and controlled aggression.

"Get out before I have you dragged out. Regardless of your position, get out.

If Sterling is part of an investigation, you can formally have him summoned to the station. "

Wilson takes a step back, his two companions already edging toward the door. "This isn't over," Wilson snarls, but he's backing away even as he speaks. "That Omega belongs to me."

"Not anymore," Forrest says simply, and something in his tone makes it clear that the discussion is finished.

The door shuts behind Wilson without so much as a fight, Forrest waiting several seconds before moving to crouch down by his desk.

"Sterling." Forrest's voice is gentle again, all traces of the dangerous authority he used with Wilson gone. "You can come out now. He's gone."

I want to move, want to show him that I'm grateful and obedient and worth the protection he just offered. But my muscles are frozen, my nervous system stuck in survival mode. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to stay small, hidden, and safe in this dark corner where no one can reach me. Forrest extends his hand toward me, offering to help me come out, but I just shake my head. I’m not ready yet.

Even if I know that Wilson is no longer out there waiting for me, there’s no telling what is out there.

"Thank you," I manage to whisper, my voice cracking with suppressed tears. It's inadequate and pathetic, but it's all I can manage.

The words seem to break something loose inside me, and suddenly months of suppressed emotion come pouring out in broken sobs.

All the fear, the exhaustion, and the bone-deep certainty that I would never be safe again, it all hits me at once.

My body shakes with the force of my crying, ugly gasping sounds that echo in the quiet office.

I’m not even sure that I’m safe now. I just feel safe, or maybe it’s my instincts telling me to give in and submit, that I sag against the wood and let myself fall apart.

Forrest doesn't touch me, doesn't try to shush me, or tell me to pull myself together. He just stays close enough that I can feel him there. And it feels nice. It feels really good knowing that I’m not just being ushered along or shoved into the next part of my life.

But even as I sob, part of me remains terrified.

His scent is protective, yes, but it's also daunting.

There's power in it, a dominance that speaks to the most primal parts of my Omega nature.

He could do anything to me, and I'd be powerless to stop him.

I blink through my teary vision to see him reaching for me in what seems like a comforting gesture, but it just sets me off.

Panic floods my system and I scream, a harsh sound that tears from my throat as I curl up even tighter. My hands come up to protect my head, my body anticipating the blow that always follows when someone reaches for me unexpectedly.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," Forrest growls out as he jerks back his hand. "I'm sorry, I won't touch you. I won't hurt you."

The apology is so unexpected that my screaming cuts off abruptly.

Wilson never apologized. He never pulled back when I showed fear.

He always said my terror was my own fault, that if I weren't so defiant, he wouldn't have to be so firm with his corrections.

None of my Alphas ever stopped when I said no.

They just took. Because I was an Omega, that was what was required of me.

But this stranger, this dangerous Valla who just claimed me in front of a cop, is apologizing for trying to comfort me.

I watch through my fingers as Forrest starts to stand, probably planning to give me space, and fresh panic floods through me.

I don't want to be left alone. What if Wilson comes back?

What if he finds another way in? What if this was all some cruel game and now that the entertainment is over, I'll be abandoned again?

"Please," I whisper, the word barely audible. "Please don't leave me."

Forrest freezes, half-risen from his crouch. His expression softens as he looks down at me, understanding flickering in his dark eyes.

"I need to finish up some work," he says carefully, gesturing toward the papers scattered across his desk.

"And then I'll take you home so we can figure out what happens next, okay?

But I'll be sitting right here." He points to his chair.

"And if you need something, just tap my thigh. Can you do that?"

The suggestion is simple enough that I find myself nodding before I've fully processed it. Physical contact that I can control, that I can initiate if I need reassurance, is good. It's more consideration than anyone has shown me in years.

"Good," Forrest says, settling back into his chair. He scoots it back under the desk, giving me plenty of space while remaining close enough that I can reach him if needed.

I stay curled up in my corner for a long time, watching him work through an odd angle from beneath the desk.

Just slivers of moving papers and his pen scratching along the surface with his intense focus.

But every few minutes, his gaze flicks down to check on me, making sure I'm still okay.

The attention should feel suffocating, but instead, it's comforting.

Someone is watching over me, making sure I'm safe, and they're not asking for anything in return.

Gradually, the safety of his presence starts to chip away at my terror. My muscles begin to unclench, my breathing becoming less ragged. The scent of coconut rum and leather grows more familiar, more comforting, until it feels like coming home to something I never knew I was missing.

Without fully realizing I'm doing it, I start scooting closer to his leg.

Just an inch at first, then another, drawn by the warmth radiating from his body and the steady, reassuring presence he represents.

By the time I realize what I'm doing, I'm close enough to see the fine wool of his suit pants, close enough to catch the full strength of his protective scent.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I rest against Forrest's thigh.

The muscle beneath the expensive fabric is solid and warm, and the moment my cheek touches him, I sigh in relief.

It feels like the best pillow in the world, soft and firm and absolutely safe.

Forrest goes very still above me, and for a moment I'm afraid I've overstepped, that I've made him uncomfortable with my neediness.

But then a low rumble starts in his chest, a sound I've never heard before but that my Omega instincts recognize immediately.

He's purring. This dangerous, powerful Valla is purring because I'm resting against him.

For the first time in months, I'm touching another person without fear of what they might do to me in return.

"You're going to be a good Omega, aren't you?" His murmurs.

"No one's ever called me that," I whisper through my tears.

Wilson always called me defiant, broken, worthless. My mother called me a burden, a mistake, damaged goods that no respectable Alpha would want. But no one has ever called me good. No one has ever looked at my Omega nature as something positive, something worth celebrating.

"Well," Forrest says, his hand hovering near my hair but not quite touching, "you're going to be my good Omega, aren't you, Sterling?"

His good Omega. Not just claimed, not just protected, but valued. Wanted.

"Yes, sir," I sob against his thigh, my voice thick with tears. "Yes, I promise. I'll do anything."