Page 73 of Pack Fever

I flinch, dropping the blade into the sink with a light clanking sound, a few drops of blood rolling down my arm.

“Hey, Danica, can I come in?” Seth asks.

“No, wait outside,” I answer frantically, grabbing the blade, rinsing it, then shoving it back into the cabinet.

“No rush with the bus. We can wait until the storm passes, okay?” Silence. “Can we talk?”

“Just go without me.” I desperately snatch the white towel and soak one edge in the running water in the sink, then wipe my blood. Rapidly, I search for a Band-Aid in the cabinet when I knock over the plastic tumbler I keep my toothpaste and toothbrush in.

It hits the tiles, bouncing around, thunderously clashing each time it hits the floor.

I’m cringing, murmuring. “Fuck, fuck.”

As I dive for it, the door shoves open, the lock snapped open.

A yelp escapes my lips as I spin to face Seth in the doorway, the towel dropping from my grasp.

His gaze zooms in on my arm, and I freak out, rapidly tugging the collar of my shirt up and over my shoulder. Then I whip around from him, my chest pumping for oxygen while my cheeks are on fire. He can’t see the ugliness I am.

Heavy silence leaves me feeling exposed and cornered, knowing he must think I’m damaged and undesirable—broken.

“Danica, what’s going on?” His voice sounds almost brittle.

His footsteps approach me, but I can’t turn around to face him. I want to drown and escape. His hand is on my waist, and I flinch away.

“Talk to me,” he says. “Why is your arm bleeding? Did you do that to yourself?”

It’s unsettling to be attracted to someone so much that I’m terrified of him rejecting me.

I start to twist around to dart out of the bathroom, but he blocks my path with his huge frame. I don’t get far as he snakes an arm around my waist, pulling me firmly against his body.

“Danica, look at me,” he demands, his hand under my chin, lifting my head, making me meet his gaze.

I can’t stop the damn tears tracking down my burning cheeks.

“It’s nothing,” I murmur and hiccup for breath. “I accidentally cut myself.” Fighting his grasp, I push against him. “You can let me go.”

His stare is on the bloody towel on the floor, at the slightly ajar cabinet, at the tap still running with water, then on me. Those enormous eyes hold me, and I’m trembling in his arms. He knows. God, he knows the truth. He’s not an idiot.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I murmur. “I already know I’m broken, not good enough for any Alpha, let alone someone like you.”

My heart’s thundering in my chest as loudly as the storm outside, expecting rejection. Instead, he just stares at me, his lips tightening, and there it is. He’s finding a way to push me away because everyone wants the perfect Omega. A tainted one is an embarrassment.

I start to pull away, but his breathing quickens, and he draws me strongly into his arms, hugging me tightly like somehow, I’m his entire world.

We mold together, our bodies fitting perfectly as one. His chest rises and falls, and for a moment, it’s as though we’re sharing the pain and suffering. Which can’t be right. But he’s not releasing me, either. His hands are pressed to my back as if he’s afraid I’ll escape.

I have no idea how long he holds me, but I soften against him. Never before have I melted into a hug like this, the kind of embrace that can chip away at the darkness that’s been swallowing me whole.

He finally pulls back and walks me over to the edge of the bathtub, and I sit. He kneels in front of me, taking my hands in his. I study the glistening in his eyes, and it hurts me to see him this way. It also confuses me why he’d react that way… over me.

“It pains me so much to hear you say those words,” he murmurs softly. “From now on, when you feel this way, when you want to hurt yourself, I want you to hate me. Punch me. Cut me. Whatever you need. Let me be your punching bag, okay? Throw it all at me, and I’ll carry all the weight of this world for you.”

My chin trembles, my chest constricting. I’m suddenly crying heavily into my hands. No one has ever said something like that to me, not even my friends. They were understanding, but even they were grossed out by my arm.

To have an Alpha, the frontman of Fever, say this to me is unexpected, too much.

I don’t deserve it…

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