Page 73 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys

She grinned, then turned back to the mirror and started layering her lashes with thick coats of black pigment. “But it won’t come to that. You’re our Lucky Star after all.”

“Sure. I always have the best luck,” I tried to return her optimism, but my own sounded like a frail imitation.

Lucky.

When was the last time I was actually lucky?

19

WYATT. BOONE. LEVI. WADE. COOPER.

Two days ago…

[Almost present day]

Wyoming

Wyatt.

The light sliced through the gap in the hotel curtains with razor precision, splitting my skull in two as I cracked my eyelids apart. My mouth tasted like I'd been licking the floor of Shorty's—not entirely impossible given the state I'd worked myself into last night.Fuck, how many shots had I knocked back by the time the world went blurry? Not even six…paired with a few pints of beer.Usually, I burned liquor off so fast I barely achieved a proper buzz. I didn’t recall eating anything, which might have worsened the problem, but still…

Was this part of the decay process?

Was I slowly losing the benefits of being Alpha, while gaining the detriments?

I groaned, rolling onto my back, the cheap mattress creaking beneath my weight as the room spun lazily around me.Reminded me of that teacup ride at the state fair when Wade and I were kids. Hated how it made me feel back then, hated it more now.

The hotel room was empty around me. I was all alone. Again.

The Beta, whose name I’d long forgotten, was gone. She’d probably bolted as soon as I’d passed out.Had we even fucked?I looked down, finding my jeans still belted around my waist. I wasn’t even under the covers. Jesus, I couldn’t even manage a one-night stand these days. Long gone was the ‘has it all together’ pack leader. In his place, was a guy waking up in a pool of his own fucking drool.

Fragments of the night before flickered through my mind like a broken film reel. The too sweet, artificial perfume. The woman smelled like she’d bathed in the stuff, nothing like the natural pheromones of an Omega. The curve of her hip under my palm. It had been soft enough, silky enough.Not enough. Never enough.Before I’d even left Shorty’s with her, the hollow emptiness in my chest told me it was an exercise in futility.

"Shit," I muttered, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes until starbursts exploded behind the lids.

I couldn't do this anymore. The constant cycle of hoping each encounter might somehow satisfy the craving, only to be left feeling hollower than before when the sun rose. The pretending. The polite conversations at the bar. The bringing them back here, to this same shitty hotel.

I threw my legs over the side of the bed and sat up, wincing as my head throbbed in protest.

My body physically ached for completion, for the perfect chemical lock-and-key that only a true mate could provide. For the feeling of knotting, of being accepted fully instead of having to pull out at the last moment, spilling myself into a condom or between painted lips.

"Dammit," I growled louder this time, my voice bouncing off the paper-thin walls. "I'm making Cooper call Eros today. We’re getting a goddamn refund."

If we could prod the house contractors into high gear thanks to a little fine print in a contract, then we could certainly put pressure on Eros too. Even if they wouldn’t give our money back immediately, maybe they’d give our pack priority again. I had a feeling—and I’d had it for a while—that the institute shifted our case to the bottom of the list. You learn quickly in life that the person who shouts loudest usually gets their needs met first.

"Almost a year," I continued, needing to hear the words out loud. "They've had their chance."

I stood up, ignoring the way the floor seemed to tilt under my feet, and stomped to the bathroom. The tile was cold, and the fluorescent light buzzed angrily after I flipped its switch. I emptied my bladder, the pressure in my skull receding slightly with the relief.

When I finished, I made the mistake of looking in the mirror while washing my hands.

The man who stared back at me looked...broken.On the outside, I still appeared to be a prime Alpha. Tall. Muscled. Imposing. But that shit only went skin deep. Unconsciously, I flexed my bicep as if to prove to the mirror I was still a beast. Too bad brawn did nothing to save me these days. My insides had gone through a meat grinder, several times over. I was bits of flesh, chummed into a pile that no longer resembled the original slab of beef.

I hated my reflection.

Hated looking too long, seeing the bloodshot eyes and the truth behind them—that I was no longer the man I used to be.

Without thinking, my fist connected with the mirror.