Page 37 of Omega's Fever

It’s cute how hard he is trying, but we can’t go down this route. I’m not dumb enough to take down Cobb. And I’m not cruel enough to let Milo get hurt just for a chance at my freedom.

“Milo—”

“We just need to prove it wasn’t you. We don’t need to bring anyone else’s name up” He reaches for another paper and slides it across the counter. “If we can establish...”

I sigh. Our fingers brush. It’s just the barest contact as I take the paper.

The reaction is immediate and devastating. His scent blooms, sweet and wanting. Color floods his face from his collar to his hairline.

For one endless second, we’re frozen. His pupils dilate and his lips part as he inhales. Every instinct I have roars to life. I want to make him mine in every way that matters.

Then he’s moving, launching himself off the stool like it’s on fire.

“I need to go to the store.” The words tumble out in a rush. “I need groceries for two people. Because there’s two of us now. Here. In the apartment. So I should...”

He’s already grabbing his keys from the hook by the door and shoving his feet into shoes without bothering with socks. He’s still in his pajamas.

He stops, stares at the dresser in front of the door where Ishoved it the night before. The scent of panic spikes. I might have stopped anyone from getting in, but I’ve also trapped him in here with me.

Thoughts spin. On the one hand, he’s not safe out there, but it’s me that’s the target.

It’s convenient for Cobb if I die. Then the case gets closed, suspect dead.

So far, Milo is only on the sidelines. I weigh up the options. I don’t know if he is safer with me where I can protect him or at more risk staying with me in case I can’t.

While I think about it, the scent of his panic rises higher and higher.

“Hang on,” I say. “I’ll move it. Go get dressed.”

He nods, not looking at me, then disappears into the bedroom. He reappears moments later wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He looks ridiculously good in them. He still doesn’t look me in the eye when he says, “I’ll be back. An hour. Maybe two. The good store is further but they have... things. Food things. That we need.”

The door slams behind him before I can respond and I’m left alone with the ghost of his scent.

12

Milo

I can’t do this. I’m four blocks away before my heart stops hammering like it’s going to jump out of my chest.

The morning air is cold against my face. I should have brought a coat. Kellen didn’t want me leaving the apartment. That was clear. Even if I couldn’t scent his concern, the expression on his face was clear.

But he let me go. I’m not hugely concerned about this shadowy crime figure who is supposedly pulling all the strings. Right now, I’m no threat to anyone. Hell, my client is practically ordering me to let him be found guilty.

I can still smell Kellen on me which is mad. My clothes are fresh. I barely touched him this morning, yet somehow he is part of me now and I don’t think that is ever going to change.

A jogger passes, giving me extra space, and I catch my reflection in a shop window. Hair messy from where I’ve run my fingers through it, shirt untucked on one side, face pale except for the hectic flush across my cheeks. I look exactly like what I am: a man on the edge of a breakdown.

My phone buzzes. I pull it out and see Uncle Kenneth’s name on the screen.

I could let it ring. Should let it ring. But twenty-three years of conditioning is hard to break, and my thumb swipes to answer before I can talk myself out of it.

“Milo.” His voice carries that particular tone of controlled displeasure that used to make me feel six inches tall. Still does, if I’m being honest. “Apparently your... situation has escalatedbeyond what we discussed.”

“Hello uncle.” I try to keep my voice steady, but there’s a tremor there that has nothing to do with the suppressants. “If you’re calling about—”

“Bad enough when the match notification came through. I thought we agreed you would handle this professionally, keep your distance. Now I’m told you’re actually living with him?”

“The judge ordered it.” I lean against a building wall, needing the solid brick at my back. “Bail conditions require a custodian, and given the match—”