Page 4 of Angel Boy (Pack It In #2)

Angel

There's a certain itch crawling under my skin after my shower, the kind that makes me want to scratch until I draw blood, even though I know it won't help. It's that familiar pre-heat restlessness that usually gives me a few days' warning, but this time it feels more urgent. More desperate .

My scent's gotten sweeter too. I can smell it even through the industrial-strength blockers I wear religiously. Thank fuck for those little patches, because if anyone caught a whiff of pre-heat Omega right now, this place would turn into a goddamn circus.

I'm more flushed than usual as I shuck on a mesh shirt and loose linen pants, needing something that won't cling to my increasingly sensitive skin. Everything feels too tight already; the soft cotton of my usual clothes might as well be sandpaper right now. It’s just as well that I’m in pre-heat so that my irritable mood at least has an explanation now.

Xavier appears with my coat before I even realize I need it. "Why didn't you say anything about your heat?" he asks, concern written all over his face.

I shrug, trying for casual even though my hands are shaking slightly. "It wouldn't have helped. There's nothing you could do about it, but it's okay. I've got my pills and enough toys in the penthouse to keep me occupied."

The words come out more bitter than I intended, but fuck it. This is my reality now, isn't it? Solo heats with synthetic substitutes while my supposed perfect match plays CEO somewhere across town.

I try to brush off the irritable feeling scratching at my nerves, but I know the truth. I need more than sex. I need cuddles and kisses and love and attention—all the soft, tender things that make heats bearable instead of just a biological function to endure.

Ryker won't give me any of that. Hell, I'd be lucky if he even remembers I exist for the next few days.

But Xavier used to. God, those moments when we'd curl up together in my nest, when he'd hold me through the worst of it and whisper sweet nonsense in my ear until the fever broke. When he’d fuck me with that delicious knot of his and stuff me so full I couldn’t help but be consumed by him.

When I felt cherished instead of just serviced.

I miss those moments so fucking much it physically hurts. But we can't go back. Not with contracts and scent matches and all the complicated bullshit that makes up my life now.

I take a deep breath, forcing my expression into something resembling calm, and muster up a smile for the cameras I know are waiting outside. The paparazzi never take a night off, especially not when Angel-Boy might be having a breakdown.

"Did Ryker show up?" I ask, even though part of me doesn't want to know the answer. I asked before, but Carter interrupted us, and Xavier never answered.

Xavier's expression darkens a little. "Yeah, he was in the back office. He made it painfully clear where I stand, too."

Ryker does that more often than not. He throws out little bits and quips, reminding everyone around him just how important they are to him. “He didn't mention me?"

The way Xavier's jaw tightens tells me everything I need to know. Of course, Ryker didn't ask about me. Why would he? I'm just the product.

I frown as I head toward the exit, steeling myself for the chaos that's about to unfold.

The moment we step outside, I'm bombarded with camera flashes that make my already sensitive eyes water.

The crowd of photographers and fans presses closer, shouting questions and compliments that blur together into white noise.

Then I see the supposed man of my dreams, Ryker, walking up the path with a bouquet like he's some kind of romantic hero instead of the man who's been ignoring me for over a week. If he had made this gesture two months ago, I would have swooned. My heart would have beat out of my chest, every nerve in my body screaming for Ryker’s attention.

Biologically, he’s my perfect match.

Two months of being cast aside, though, my mind and my heart are finally taking control over my instincts. And it’s telling me I don’t want Ryker. I want his brother.

I accept the flowers anyway, muscle memory from months of playing the perfect couple for the cameras. They're beautiful—expensive white roses that probably cost more than most people make in a day—but they feel hollow in my hands.

Ryker pulls me against his side, and fuck, the relief that floods through me is pathetic. This is the first time he's touched me in a while, and my Omega hindbrain is practically purring with satisfaction even though I know it's all for show.

"Hello, lover," he purrs, loud enough for the cameras to pick up. "I thought we might go out for a little dinner, hmm?"

I don't say anything, too busy trying to soak up every second of contact.

His arm around my waist feels like a lifeline, even though I know it's just another performance.

After days of touch starvation, even fake affection feels like a gift.

But the happiness dies the moment Ryker turns to Xavier with a cold, dismissive smile.

"You're excused for the evening, Xavier. I've got it from here."

Ryker guides me to some kind of sleek sports car, my heart feeling like it’s been ripped out of its chest to stay at Xavier’s side.

Everything in me screams that this is wrong, that I’m leaving my Alpha to go spend time with a stranger.

I slide into the passenger seat anyway, the leather cool against my overheated skin, my eyes following Ryker as he rounds the front to get behind the wheel.

He really is a beautiful Alpha, with the same deep bronze skin as his brother, the same hazel eyes, the same short, dark hair cropped to his head.

The difference is in how he carries himself.

All business and rigid and distant. If he would just hold my hand and run his fingers through my hair like Xavier used to…

Stop comparing them, Angel, I berate myself before shaking my head. The engine purrs to life with that expensive growl that rich guys love as we pull away from the chaos of cameras and fans. Finally, some quiet. Some space to breathe.

I look over at Ryker's hand resting casually on the center console, and without thinking, I reach for it. Maybe it's the pre-heat hormones, maybe it's just desperate loneliness, but I need some kind of connection. Some reassurance that this is my new normal.

He pulls his hand away before I can make contact.

My lip turns up in a quiet snarl as I clutch the bouquet closer to my chest, trying to use the flowers to hide the way my face scrunches up.

I blink hard, willing the tears back. I can’t cry in public, not even in Ryker's car, where the paparazzi might catch a glimpse through the tinted windows.

Every waking moment with Ryker is all about our image, never anything real.

"I thought we could hit that new eatery on North Street," Ryker says, completely oblivious to my internal breakdown. "Let the fans grab some pictures, and then I'll drop you off at the penthouse."

Of course. More performance, more playing pretend for strangers who think they know our love story. "Yeah, whatever's fine."

"Don't pout," he says, catching sight of my expression in his peripheral vision. "It doesn't look good on you."

The casual cruelty of it makes something snap inside me. "I'm not sure why you agreed to be my mate if you don't want to spend time with me."

His grip tightens on the steering wheel, his jaw ticking with annoyance. "Where is this coming from, Angel? Is my brother putting ideas in your head? I should get you a different guard, one that's a little more hands-off ."

The threat sends ice through my veins. Xavier's the only good thing left in my life, the only person who still sees me as Angel instead of Angel-Boy the brand. "I haven't touched him since we were scent-matched, Ryker."

His growl fills the small space of the car, commanding in a way that should make my Omega instincts sing, but instead just makes me feel small. "To you, my name is Alpha ."

A disparaged sigh falls from my lips as I stuff my face into the flowers, letting their cloying sweetness mask the frustrated whine building in my throat.

That irritated feeling under my skin is growing stronger, spreading like fire through my nervous system.

And then there’s that familiar feeling of slick gathering around my hole, my body preparing for what's coming, whether I want it or not.

Fuck. This is not the time or place for my biology to betray me.

I've never spent a heat with Ryker. Hell, we've barely spent a night together in the two months since this whole charade started. I have no idea what he'd do if I actually went into heat in front of him—if he'd help or just dump me at my penthouse and disappear for a week.

"I don't want to stay out long," I mumble into the roses. "I'm tired."

"You will stay out however long I demand of you. That's how this relationship goes. You read the rules and signed off on them. None of this should be a surprise." He spares me a harsh glance before turning his gaze back to the road. “I don’t know what kind of agreement you had with my brother, and I really don’t fucking care. Freedom doesn’t exist in this relationship. You are my Omega, and you will follow the rules.”

Rules, my ass. I only signed that shit because I was forced to, because my entire livelihood was on the line, because I didn’t think there would be any consequences.

I never thought I’d fall in love with Xavier or that the rules would be stretched to include what I could and couldn’t do in public with my own mate.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat as another wave of heat rolls through me, making my skin prickle with sensitivity. The mesh shirt that felt loose before now clings to my chest, a flush creeping up my neck that has nothing to do with embarrassment.