Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 129691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Which was even more of a reason to turn her away. Right now, she was looking to fill a void. It would be easy for her to get attached. “Go, Drina.”
“I won’t push for more than sex this time.”
Yes, she would. She was desperate to settle down and start a family. Most female shifters took a mate while in their mid to late twenties. Drina was thirty-five, and she was beginning to panic that she’d never find her true mate or anyone she cared enough for to fully imprint on.
“Come on, I’m offering you the very thing you want—uncomplicated sex,” she said, a bitter note to her voice. “We were good together. You know we were. Would a repeat really be so bad?”
God, it was like fucking Groundhog Day. They’d had pretty much this exact conversation several times—she was not hearing him.
Alex pinned her gaze with his. “This is the last time I’ll say this, Drina. We will not be having the occasional fuck whenever you’re in the mood, or even a for-old-time’s-sake-one-night-stand. So go look for what you want from someone else. I can’t give it to you. I don’t want to. If you turn up here again, I’m just going to walk right past you as if you’re not even there.” He wasn’t kidding.
Alex gently nudged her aside, unlocked his door, walked into the apartment, and kicked the door shut. His beast’s hackles lowered; the animal shook his body to settle his fur.
Alex shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the sofa. Mila and his mother had decorated his apartment for him, determined that it wouldn’t look like a tacky or sterile bachelor pad. He’d let them have free reign on the décor because he didn’t give much of a shit. They’d done a good job. It was modern and stylish with a red, black, and gray color scheme. There was lots of gloss and leather and marble.
He headed into his kitchen, set up the coffee maker, and then switched it on. He pulled a mug out of the cupboard, stilling when he saw it was the cup that Bree had given him one Christmas. It had a picture of a wolverine on it, along with the quote: “I am Satan’s Spirit Animal.”
Her words whispered into his mind …
The person who’s not ready is you.
Biting out a curse, Alex returned the mug to the cupboard, slammed the door shut, and then switched off the coffee maker. He stalked toward the bathroom. He needed a fucking shower.
CHAPTER THREE
The following evening, Bree shifted restlessly in her seat. The meeting with the omegas was thankfully almost over. She needed to be home by six, since Elle would be arriving then. Bree had managed to coax the redhead into helping her redecorate her bedroom.
The omegas met twice a month in the break room at the pride’s daycare center, which Dani ran. The other omegas were gathered around the circular table, drinking coffee or tea. In Bree’s opinion, it wasn’t the best place to hold a meeting. Not simply because it was small and cramped with the most uncomfortable plastic chairs in the history of ever. The daycare center didn’t close until seven-thirty, and the walls didn’t block out the sounds of kids crying and fighting and playing with electronic toys that were loud as shit. It wasn’t exactly a peaceful or professional atmosphere.
The meetings were opportunities for them to raise issues, express their concerns over people who weren’t seeking counsel, discuss arrangements that were being made for any events, and to suggest that Dani speak to Vinnie about complaints made from pride members.
It was also Dani’s opportunity to check on the welfare of each omega. Constantly absorbing negative energy was much like regularly cutting yourself. It didn’t matter that the wounds would scab over and heal, just as it wouldn’t matter that an omega could purge their body of the alien energies—getting wounded day after day, feeling that slice of pain again and again, took its toll.
If omegas became too overwhelmed by their gift, it could lead to professional burnout. Anxiety. Stress. Even depression. All those things could cause an omega’s shields to weaken.
Such people often developed addictive habits, became agoraphobic, or isolated themselves from others—even from their loved ones. And then their seven-year-old daughter might one day find their dead body swinging from a tree … just as Bree had found her mother.
Charity Dwyer had been an amazing omega. Strong and patient and compassionate. Like Bree, she’d been able to hear snippets of people’s thoughts while reading their emotions. Some speculated that that had contributed to her “fall,” as it was termed. Those same people expected Bree to fall, too.
It hadn’t been easy for her father to survive the breaking of the mating bond, but he’d fought to live for Bree. It was a few days after her eighteenth birthday that Jim’s health began to deteriorate until, a week later, he passed in his sleep. It was almost as if he’d told himself he’d hang on until she was old enough to take care of herself. Then he’d lost the fight.