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DEATH THROUGH A LENS

Pember

One, two, three, four, five rings. Click.

“ Pem, you there? ”

Pember jerked awake, jolting forward under the sheets. His arms and legs hung over the edge of the bed as though his body was trying to throw itself onto the floor. Sweat poured down his neck as he shakily reached for the glass on his bedside table. His hands were so clammy he almost dropped it.

“Shit,” he whispered, gulping down water in an attempt to get his breathing under control.

Setting the glass down, he pressed his palms to his eyes. He kicked away the blankets and pillows. The bare walls were doing nothing to calm his mind. He reached for his wolf but was met with silence, the nightmares leaving his brain fuzzy and disconnected.

The sheets were drenched again, the outline of his body present in sweat.

In an almost robotic manner, he stripped the bedding and threw it into the washing machine.

It was 3:27 am, and his sleep was getting progressively worse.

Some nights were fine—his body just crashing from sheer exhaustion.

But tonight was bad. The recurring nightmare of his sister was like a raging bull chasing him through the streets, trampling him over and over again.

Shaking his head, he tipped the laundry detergent into the machine and closed the door, watching the sheets spin for a little while with his legs bare and cold on the kitchen floor.

Moonlight poured into the house, tinting his bare arms with a silvery glow.

His wolf breathed slowly at the back of his mind now, the pull of the moon making it easier for them to connect.

Closing his eyes, he reached for that part of himself, pawing through the darkness, grasping for some long-ignored trace of their connection.

He’d all but obliterated that part of himself over the last twelve months, choosing instead to bury himself under unanswered grief. Eventually he stopped reaching when a violent shiver pushed him to his feet, and he padded to the kettle.

Slippers, and a filter coffee machine. Those were the two items going straight to the top of his post-escape shopping list.

He thought of his mum again. How she’d snarled at him on the driveway with twisted lips and enraged eyes.

He’d seen her mad, livid, furious many times.

But that day she’d been incensed . But there’d been something else there, too.

Panic. Fear? He considered calling her to apologise, or maybe explain, but where had that got him before?

Nowhere .

So, pouring himself a cup of instant coffee and sliding on his flip-flops, he wandered into the back garden. Bailey followed, reluctantly trudging towards the patch of grass and disappearing behind the shed to do her business.

Tipping his head towards the night sky, Pember bathed his face in the starlight, wondering what his life might have been like had his father survived his battle with bowel cancer.

Whether his mum might be different. Whether his sister would still be alive, and if he’d have been able to talk her out of committing suicide.

His family was utterly fucked; there was no denying that. But sometimes—most of the time, actually—he just felt so… empty. He and his wolf had never felt so distant, and the hollow void in his soul was crushing.

Steam from the coffee cup swirled around his cheeks, the warmth of it soothing the tension between his brows. He wore nothing but a pair of black briefs, an oversized navy blue T-shirt and flip-flops. The cool air was a relief as it pebbled his skin.

He became aware of a soft pat, pat, pat sound tickling his left ear.

Glancing over his shoulder, he jumped when he saw Blake in the back bedroom window.

His shirt was off, and a sheen of sweat covered his skin as his arms pumped back and forth.

There was some kind of device strapped around his broad chest, another around his bicep.

It took Pember a second to realise he was running on a treadmill.

Blake raked a hand through his hair, a few ruffled strands falling back over his forehead and getting stuck to the sweaty skin.

Pember stared up at him for way too long, or just long enough for the alpha to do a double take when he noticed him standing on the patio. He frowned, eyes dragging over Pember’s bare legs and messy bed hair. Busted .

Pember flushed and did the only thing he could think of—wave awkwardly and raise his mug in mock cheers. Blake’s frown deepened as he lifted a hand in what Pember thought was going to be a wave back, but he was only checking his sports watch.

Blake cocked an eyebrow, tapped the watch and gave Pember a questioning look. In response, Pember gave a lopsided smile, shrugged with one shoulder, and scampered back into the house.

His face was on fire. Fire. How bloody embarrassing, being caught red-handed perving on his neighbour. The poor man probably only wanted a few minutes to himself, just as he had in the woods. But there Pember was, barrelling in and making a nuisance of himself, again.

Shaking his head, he took another gulp of the terrible tasting coffee, gave Bailey a fresh bowl of water, patted her head and ran her cold ears between his fingertips.

Sighing, he popped a suppressant from the blister pack on the windowsill, downing it with the rest of the coffee.

As he held the box, a jolt of panic shot through him.

There were no more strips of pills. That shouldn’t have happened.

That should not have happened. He never ran out.

After his encounter with Patrick Coletta the previous year, he always made sure he had enough. He kept a pack at home and a booster pack in his work bag. But with the house and the job, and the stress … Had it really slipped his mind like that?

He was on the strongest dose the doctor would prescribe, which he had been advised multiple times was a terrible idea.

Although, there really was no hiding what he was.

Like all male omegas, he was fine boned, small featured and softly spoken.

When he used to wear his hair long, strangers struggled to tell him and his sister apart.

However, as his legs grew longer, shoulders broader and his voice dropped, he couldn’t use gender subterfuge quite so reliably.

So, like many unmated omegas, he chose to mask his scent and suppress his heat in order to avoid unwanted attention or disruptions at work.

People—especially alphas, male and female—seemed to think they owned a part of his omega-ness.

As though him being a member of the physically ‘weaker’ sub-class entitled them to take charge of his vulnerability.

He really hated how his mum had brought him and his sister up, but ultimately he could see why she’d taught them to suppress that part of themselves.

Pulling out his phone and clicking on the pharmacy app, he ordered a repeat prescription. Thinking nothing more of it, he was about to put the phone on the table when a high-pitched bing drew his attention.

Medication review is due prior to confirmation. Click here to arrange a telephone consultation.

Nothing unusual, he had prescription reviews once a year. Except the last one had only been the previous month. He frowned as he scrolled to the bottom of the page and clicked, Why am I seeing this message?

Drumming his fingers across the cello case propped against the wall, he waited for the page to load. His frown turned to a downright scowl when he saw what was written in the Further Information box.

This prescription was cancelled on 26th April by your next of kin. Reason: No longer required.

Clicking Next of Kin, he ground his teeth when he saw his mum’s name. She’d cancelled his prescription the day he left. Which, technically speaking, she was allowed to do given that he was technically still under her care until he turned twenty-five or found a mate. But it smarted all the same.

He swallowed and nibbled his lower lip. He wanted to believe it’d been a genuine mistake, but something in the back of his mind said she was just being a spiteful fucking bitch.

She knew how dangerous cancelling his meds could be.

She knew it could put him in a horrible, vulnerable position just as it had the year before when his heat had triggered unexpectedly.

But he knew she was more than capable of pulling a stunt like that.

With one hand she gave him everything, and with the other she snatched it away.

He rapped his fingers harder across the cello, then realised what he was doing and yanked his hand away as though the instrument had burned him. Clicking Delete, he removed her from his records entirely.

“Shit,” he whispered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Feeling utterly flustered, he trudged up the stairs and turned on the shower.

The water was an immense relief as it rained across the strip of tension between his shoulder blades.

The dated cream tiles and green ceramic bath were not exactly conducive to a relaxing environment, but at least he was alone with his thoughts.

Before long, his mind drifted to Blake. To his broad chest, damp hair, powerful arms… the way his face softened when he spoke to Val or patted George.

It was actually quite maddening just how attractive he was when he dropped the icy facade, and as Pember pressed his palms to the tiled wall, he realised he was hard. Like, hard, hard .

He let out a squeak.

Thanks to the turbo-boosted suppressants he hadn’t had so much as a stirring down there outside of estrus in months.

Even his heats were dulled to little more than an itchy, feverish inconvenience.

Yet now, with just one glimpse of his half-naked neighbour, he was daydreaming about his pecs and stupidly pullable hair.

Get a grip, pal.