Page 138 of His Drama Queen

She smells like him. Like Beta male and sweat and sex. But underneath it all, she still smells like ours. Like pack. Like mate.

And she smells like she's been crying.

"What happened?" I keep my voice soft. Careful.

"I fucked up." Her voice is muffled against my shirt. "I fucked up so bad, Oakley."

"Did he hurt you?" The Alpha in me needs to know. Needs to assess threat level before I can think about anything else.

"No." She pulls back enough to look at me, and her eyes are red-rimmed. Exhausted. "He didn't hurt me. I hurt him. And I hurt myself. And I just—I need to shower. I need to get his scent off me before Dorian or Corvus wake up and—"

"Hey." I cup her face, thumbs brushing away the tears. "Breathe. They're both out cold. Dorian took melatonin after the first hour of pacing. Corvus sleeps like the dead anyway."

"You stayed up." It's not a question.

"Someone had to." I offer a small smile. "Come on. Let's get you upstairs before your scent wakes them."

I guide her up the stairs, hand on the small of her back. She's still trembling. Still radiating that complicated mix of shame and frustration that makes my chest ache.

I know that feeling. Know it intimately.

Being fucked when your body won't cooperate. When you're trying to feel something—anything—and it just won't come. When someone's doing everything right and you can't respond the way you're supposed to.

Yeah. I know that feeling real fucking well.

We make it to her room without waking the others. I close the door quietly behind us.

"Shower," she says immediately, moving toward her bathroom. "I need to—"

"Vespera." I catch her wrist gently. "Talk to me first. What happened?"

She closes her eyes. "We were running lines. Stanley and Blanche. It got... intense. And I thought—I wanted to prove that I could still want someone who isn't part of the pack. That the bonds don't control everything."

"And?"

"And my body wouldn't cooperate." Her voice breaks. "He did everything right, Oakley. Everything. But I couldn't—I didn't—"

"You couldn't come."

She nods miserably. "He came. Inside me. And I just... nothing. I tried so hard but my body wouldn't let me. Like there's this wall between me and pleasure and only you three can break through it."

Fuck.

I pull her close again, and she melts into me. "That's not your fault."

"Isn't it?" She laughs bitterly. "I used him. I knew it probably wouldn't work but I tried anyway. And now he's hurt and I'm fucked up and I smell like him and—"

"Breathe." I stroke her hair. "Just breathe for a second."

She does, shuddering against me.

"I know what it's like," I say quietly. "To have your body chase something it can't reach. When you're desperate and nothing works no matter how hard you try."

She pulls back to look at me. "What?"

"Rut." I meet her eyes. "When Dorian and I would go into rut together. He'd knot me constantly—trying to help, trying to take the edge off. And it would feel good, I'd come, but it was never enough. Never quite hit that deep satisfaction. Like scratching an itch that just gets worse the more you scratch it."

"Oakley—"