Page 6 of Let It Snow (Eden’s Omegaverse #7)

I force myself to calm down and glance at him again. I wonder what he’s thinking, what’s in his head.

My eyes move across his cheek and jaw to the tendons of his neck, and land on… his gland. It’s smooth, no mating marks. For some weird reason, I fix my eyes on that spot with crazy intensity. So close… Could I reach out and skim my fingers over his light golden skin?

But as I stare like that, I notice something super quiet, a sound. Snow hums, so softly, so subtly. What is it?

Why does he do it? Is he hypnotizing me or what? The melody is slow and kind of sweet.

I want to ask so much, about so many things, but it will cost me pain. So I don’t.

Instead, I shift my gaze to the keyboard.

Well, here’s another way to use my power.

I shift the air particles, compressing them until the keys press down as if on their own.

I can’t play a melody; I don’t know much about music notation or sight-reading, but I let a few random sounds ring out.

I even try to mimic the melody he’s humming, but with poor results; I have no idea what the notes are.

Snow leans lightly against the piano, watching the moving keys.

And then he reaches out his hand, and his fingers play the exact melody: the short, sweet line he’s been humming the whole time.

But those definitely weren’t the notes I clumsily played. How did he know what I was trying to do?

Our eyes meet, and I decide to smile.

I force my facial muscles to move, and they actually do it. He answers with a small, similar smile.

Okay, let the pain rain on me.

I need to ask.

"Did you compose it for me?" The words slice my throat like broken glass, but I push through it.

Snow closes his eyes, his fingers sliding over the keys; he looks incredibly sexy, as if lost in the melody, pale strands framing his perfect face, and then he slowly nods.

"Of course I did, Summer."

And he keeps playing. I wait for an explanation, for something more, but it’s just not him. I guess he’s quiet by nature; I’m quiet because of my trauma.

I close my eyes, wanting to join him in that melodic bliss, but I can’t. The moment I do, I fall into the darkness of my past. They did it to me; they cut me out, made everything hard for me…

Anzo Ferro.

Or Rocco Ferro?

Two names surface from the depths of my memory. Along with them comes fear.

Snow’s eyes fix on me as if he can hear my thoughts. After a moment, he says,

"You could have escaped them anytime you wanted."

I jerk my head up, shocked he actually changed the topic to what was in my head. What is going on here?

But I choose to respond anyway, and I give him a nod.

"They threatened to kill your family, so you stayed."

Another nod.

Snow hesitates, his fingers still gliding over the keys, and the melody takes on a somewhat darker tone.

"But what if you just killed them all, Summer? Every member of the mafia. They couldn’t stop you if they tried."

I tilt my head, trying to read his face, but get nothing. All I have is the music he plays. Why did he ask that? Is this a test of my character or something else entirely?

I stare at him for a few seconds. I guess I have to do it again: suffer. So I push through the pain and force out the words.

"Then I’d be a public threat. A monster. The FBI and the military would all come for me—" the final words are barely more than a whisper.

Snow gives a rueful smile and a slight shrug.

"Does it bother you that with all this power you have to live a low-key life?"

His question has a strange intensity to it, as if the answer matters a great deal.

I stare at him for a moment, a slight sense of sadness rising within me. And even some anger at the world, at the fact that I have no choice but to take what life gives me. Then I shake my head.

Maybe no one would ever understand.

What I want is… simple.

But in my case, ‘simple’, ‘normal’, and ‘ordinary’ equal… a miracle. A true miracle. That’s never going to happen for me.

Sighing, I walk toward the door, the book in my hand. With my fingers on the handle, I turn back and whisper once more, fighting through the ache,

"I just want to be happy."

Then I leave.

◆◆◆

I spend the rest of the day on my laptop, reading random stuff about mages and the mafia.

Then, I wander around the room a bit, poking through the lower drawers. They’re full of things left behind by the previous tenant, stuff he probably didn’t care enough to take when he moved out. A backpack, a jacket, some sports shoes, and… a pile of old notebooks.

I flip through them without much thought. A lot of them are handwritten, little programs in Python, or at least I think it’s Python. Some are class notes from history or biology. And then I find a single photo.

It shows a massive guy with burgundy hair, looks to me like a purple alpha, standing next to a tall, skinny guy with a horribly burned face. Half of it is covered in ugly scars, and one eye is clearly damaged, faded.

Whoa. I flip the picture over.

Storm suddenly it all makes sense. I exhale. Did he think of himself as a monster because of how he looked?

An immediate thought hits me: what about the people who could be mistaken for monsters because of what they’re hiding inside… their power? Me? It’s kind of poetic that I ended up in this room.

Eventually, I curl up in bed, tired and dazed. For a while I lie there thinking about what his life must have been like before I drift off to sleep…

…only to wake up around seven in the morning, groggy and disoriented.

And it’s back…

Fuck.

Where am I?

What happened to me?

Who am I?

Goddammit! Was I experiencing this before? It feels familiar, like another ‘reset’ just happened.

For a moment I struggle to remember, but nothing comes. No answers. Just this vague sense that it’s not the first time my amnesia has resurfaced. The harder I push to remember, the more my mind blanks out. I’m so fucking lost.

Frustrated, I look around the room that feels both alien and strangely familiar.

The monster poster on the wall seems to mockingly stare right at me. And there’s no nest here.

Something pulls me toward the small balcony behind the glass door. A faraway, quiet melody seeps through the window.

I jump out of bed and go to it. The moment I open the door and peek outside, I recognize that it’s a harmonica playing.

A soft, silver melody floats in the air and my head starts to clear a little. I lean on the banister and look down, searching for the source.

A blond man sits in a rattan chair by the pool, playing a tune that just opens something in me. Like a dam letting a flood through.

Blinking, I feel the fog lift.

Recognition comes.

It’s Snow.

And I’m at the Nolans’ estate. Yes. I was rescued from a mafia fortress where they drugged me to distort my memory and exploit my power.

Shit.

Everything comes back in a flash, and I almost sway under the weight of it all. If not for the banister, I’d probably drop to my knees.

How could I forget again?

My brain really is fried!

My short-term memory is ruined.

But there’s one person who knew I would be in trouble again.

My eyes meet Snow’s.

I’m so grateful he came, like he sensed I’d need his help after waking.

Well, I could even call that… sweet. My cheeks heat up as I give him a small, grateful nod. He nods back solemnly.

There's this brief moment where I hesitate about what to do, my eyes fixed on him, but then I just decide to escape before I do anything I’ll regret.

Feeling silly enough, I turn on my heel and go back to my room. I can’t stay out there in the open; being so close to him, I need to sort my head out first.

I lie back down in my bed and breathe, letting the melody calm me further as it still drifts through the ajar window.

I have no idea when I fall asleep again.

When I open my eyes, the sun is higher in the sky. It’s probably around nine.

A wave of panic hits me. Is it happening again? The reset?

No, thank Fate!

This time it’s not a memory loss that greets me.

I’m welcomed by… a raging erection, hard as a rock.

What the hell?

It’s as if my dick has a will of its own.

My memory may be spotty, but this one I remember for sure. My morning wood is never that stubborn. For a minute or so I lie there whispering to my dick, "Down boy! Easy, boy!" but to no avail.

Why is it so intense?

Am I going into heat or what?

That would be horrible here, among strangers, after such a traumatic experience…

One thing I do know is that I’ve never had a heat.

Being twenty, I’m somewhere in the middle of the age range when omegas usually experience their first heat, which happens between eighteen and twenty-two for most of the population.

At twenty, it’s hard to say whether my time is close or if I still have a year or two to go.

But the arousal is too hard to ignore, and I have to quickly find my release. However, this time I slowly slide my fingers lower, and while stroking my dick, I also lightly massage my entrance, not going deeper, because I’m not sure… if I should. I’m scared that I will awaken some trauma around it.

But nothing bad wakes up. My mind drifts toward the vision of the hard and lean body of an alpha who presses me down into the sheets, his pale blond hair brushing my neck when he fucks me from behind, bottoming with every thrust.

Why pale blond?

No idea! Summer, you liar…

I make sure to finish quickly, feeling a wave of forbidden excitement mixed with embarrassment. Why can’t I just stop going hot around him! I’ve known the guy for three days! He’s a stranger, for fuck’s sake, a bizarre silent guy who lives in a basement.

Every responsible omega would run away from a person like this.

Three days. I need to get a grip! I’m an abuse survivor.