Page 11

I hesitate at the edge of the bed, standing there for a long moment, contemplating how foolish this is, before giving in.

My legs trembling as I put one foot after the other until I reach the nightstand.

There are a bunch of keys sitting leisurely on the black wood and a single picture frame faces down.

My fingers graze the bronze edges of the frame as I upturn it and I am met with four smiling faces. Well, three, because Soren never smiles. He stands awkwardly in the background, dark green eyes glaring at something in the distance, like he'd been forced to stand in the picture.

Eric has his arm around the shoulders of a brunette, who sticks out her tongue towards the last male.

My heartbeat quickens for no reason. It's...the last man. His blonde hair and brown eyes. His confident smile and the tilt to his head.

I've never seen him before but my knees shake slightly. I trace a thumb absentmindedly over the face, wondering if maybe I'm mistaken, and I have seen the man before.

But an ache so fierce, it strikes me stupid hits me at once and I drop the picture frame, moaning, clutching my head tightly.

It subsides after a while, but it leaves me tired, my head weightless. I grab the dark blankets and toss them back as I climb into the bed large enough to fit an orgy of twelve.

I don't sink into the deceptively comfortable mattress.

I perch on the edge, stiff and upright, as if putting myself through this discomfort will distract me from the dark sheets that are still warm and carry his scent—winter, spice and something carnally male—and I shove down the awareness clawing its way up my spine.

Gods, but he smells good.

I shake my head, dispelling the thoughts.

I really need to get a grip on myself, my life.

I've never had everything handed to me on a silver platter, and now that I find myself in this place, warm, well-fed, clothed, with no worries for where my next meal might come from and no ailing mother to return home to.

For the first time, survival isn't a battle.

And I have no idea what to do with that.

I hold out my fingers, staring at the healing blisters.

What else do I know except cleaning and scrubbing walls?

I barely got through high school, dropped out in my third year because I couldn't keep up.

I only know how to work until I break. But I can't live like that anymore. Not with a child coming.

Soren may have promised to give me everything I could possibly need, but what happens in the long run when he decides he doesn't want to keep me around? How do I even trust that all he's told me is true?

I need to find out more about those four years I lost. And who the father of my child is. It feels like a crucial part of my life is missing and until I get it back, it'll continue to be an incomplete puzzle.

I don't realize I have dozed off once more until the door creaks and the scent of herbal tea fills the room. I yawn, shifting onto my side and I crack my heavy eyelids open to a startling sight.

Soren hovers above me, expression dark and unclear. His chest seems to heave, his mouth parting slightly as he takes it in—me. The intensity with which he watches me breathe in his bed, his blankets grazing my skin, it makes my spine straighten. Arch.

His nostrils flare and something terrifying slithers behind his eyes, making me wonder for a second if I have made a mistake walking in here. If I should be more afraid of him, of this charged atmosphere between us than I should be of the dark outside.

But Soren sets the tea down and reaches over to grab two pillows, making a point to avoid me. He doesn't speak, doesn't even glance my way again, and something about it—about the silence stretching between us—makes my throat tighten.

I exhale sharply. "The bed's big enough for both of us," I say, like it doesn't matter. Like I don't care.

I do.

Not about him. Just about the silence, the dark, the weight of being alone tonight. That's all this is. Nothing more. "I don't move much in my sleep."

Soren exhales sharply through his nose. His knuckles turn white where he grips the pillows, his shoulders rigid with tension. I brace, expecting him to throw my words back in my face, call me pathetic for needing him here.

Instead, he tosses the pillows back onto the bed, like it costs him something and says roughly, voice thick, "You do not seem so frightened by me, anymore, Sera."

It is, but I am mildly distracted by the way he's said my name. Sera. It's only ever been 'Seraphina' or 'Miss Everly'. Matter of fact, no one's ever called me Sera before. And definitely not like that. Like a barely restrained growl that comes out as a whimper.

I swallow. "I'm not the one who ran after kissing me."

His gaze flicks to my mouth and lingers. "I had to. I will have no one question my affections for you."

Butter. My insides melt like butter. And now, I don't just despise his touch, I despise the depth of his voice and the words that tumble off that sensual mouth.

I despise the intensity about him, the way every single word is dropped like a time bomb that implodes, rather than explodes.

And most of all, I despise the way he looks at me.

Like I am something special, something deserving of devotion.

"You play this game too well," I say, though I can't keep the slight tremor from my voice. "How many women have you tried this with? Seducing them with a contract and luring them into your bed with deceptively sweet promises?"

His eyes are frighteningly dark. "Just you." He leans in slightly. "And if I were indeed seducing you, you wouldn't be fully dressed right now, Sera. Or speaking at all."

I have no idea how we got here, but I can't seem to stop. "You're overconfident, you know that? Not that I have any idea what you're thinking, but it'll never happen."

Soren's lips curve ever so slightly. "Not until you want it to." He moves again and my heartbeat speeds when his nose brushes against my cheek. Gold flecks dance in his eyes. "Move over for me, will you?"

I jerk, moving swiftly to the other end of the bed, facing the bookshelf, and Soren's soft chuckle follows me all the way to the other side. I feel the bed dip and the covers shift.

He moves for a while, his breaths harsh as he tosses and turns, as if sleeping in bed with me is just as uncomfortable for him as it is for me.

"Tell me what it was about," he says after it becomes clear that neither of us is falling asleep anytime soon. "Your scream woke me. It sounded like you were being ripped apart."

I hesitate. My fingers tighten around the edge of the blanket. "My mother. The night she died. It haunts me."

Thick silence. Snow continues to fall gently outside. "It wasn't your fault. Cancer hardly is anyone's fault."

I turn, gazing at the high ceiling and the chandelier that lights the room dimly.

"It wasn't the cancer. Or her frail mind.

It was a rogue. He broke into the apartment to steal.

He was hardly lucid and pushed her. The illness had already taken its toll and she barely even had the strength anymore to walk the length of her room to the toilet.

He must have startled her." My throat closes and I pause for a little while before continuing. "I should've been there."

A single tear rolls down my right cheek. And then another. And I am grateful he says nothing in that moment, because I'm unsure if I'll be able to take it if he patronizes me and tells me again that it isn't my fault.

He just breathes—steady, strong, evenly.

After a long stretch of silence, his voice finds me again, softer now. "I apologize for prying. I wasn't aware..."

I shake my head, sparing him a quick glance before returning my gaze to the ceiling.

"You couldn't have known. No one does, except Alpha Nolan.

He saw no use looking into the matter or taking responsibility for the lack of security on the poorer ends of the pack.

So, the general known cause of her death was the illness.

Burned her body to hide the evidence, as opposed to giving her a proper funeral. "

"And the Head Alpha did nothing about this?"

A tremor runs through me. "He didn't know. Head Alphas rarely hear of these things. What's one Omega's word compared to that of an Alpha's? What is one Omega's life compared to the peace of the pack?"

Soren exhales harshly. "Tell me this. The rogue, was he punished?"

I clutch the blanket tighter. "Not exactly." I swallow against the nausea roiling in my gut at the remembrance. "He died before help arrived."

I hadn't known he was half-breed, unable to heal himself when I stabbed the pen into his neck. And killed him.

It is why it was all buried. Why I let Alpha Nolan cover it up. It was either that or be executed. Because rogue or not, mistake or deliberate, it was forbidden to take a life.

The worst part was, I might have stabbed him in blind panic, but I watched him bleed out, reach out for me and ask for help as he gurgled and choked on his blood.

And I did nothing to help. I watched him die.

I don't tell Soren all of that, but I suspect he has filled in the blanks the way he always does. For a while, the only sound is the slow measured rhythm of his breaths. "Get some sleep, Seraphina."

I fall asleep counting every breath he takes, and my worry that I told him way more than he should know dissolves the next morning when I wake up on his side of his bed, a cup of fresh steaming coffee sitting on the nightstand atop a note.

" You talk in your sleep. And move. A lot.

If you wake up frightened again, come find me."