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I’ve only seen grocery stores in the movies. It’s more colorful than I imagined, the bakery smells amazing, and I can’t fucking fathom why there need to be five hundred kinds of cheese, but I am on board this crazy mozzarella train.
Cheese is life
Hikaru stares down his nose like an emperor passing a divine proclamation. “Lilah Darling is your pack’s fated mate.” Mic drop. It’s not true. It can’t be.
“And treat her fucking right,” Kieran growls. “She’s walking like she took a beating.”
“We do jazz aerobics at the Center.” “That wasn’t dancercise, Killer. You were about to flip Brock on his ass. Why would you let him hit you?” He cups my chin, his palm so big and warm and safe—but his touch is lies.
Dad and I have a church relationship. I think about him on Christmas, then eat a chocolate orange and make myself forget he exists until next season.
“Orion!” Atlas bellows, his rough, aching despair jabbing my eardrums like blades. I stumble into the backup nest and shut the door behind me. Thundering footsteps echo, and for a heart-squeezing second, I think the alphas are on their way to me. But the shouts fade upward as they dash desperately toward their real omega. I huddle into myself, hugging my ribs tight. If one of them comes, I’ll break. I’ll jump into their arms, all my plans of escape shot to hell. If I even smell one of them, I’ll melt. But no one comes for me. Not to check if I’m hurt. Not to check if I’m alive.
“She’s our mate!” I throw off his hands, voice rising in panic. “She’s our mate, and she was in heat when she saved my life. Again!” Jett snorts. “Whatever she said—” “She didn’t say shit! She’s a scent match, you absolute fucking idiots. Why do you think you’ve been hanging off her?”
