Page 38 of Mark & Don't Tell

For a moment, all I can do is stand there and breathe.

Lavender.

Rich. Almost smoky. That scent seeps into my skin and bloodstream, so familiar, it’s like I’m instantly transported home. Fragrance D? Is it possible she uses the same oil in a diffuser?

Maybe, but the perfume is so heavy in the air. Daria would need at least three diffusers for the scent to be so tangible. My fists clench and unclench at my side. The night at After Dark and at her dads’ house, she still had the scent-suppressing pills in her system. I have no idea what she smells like.

Daria’s the only person listed on the lease.

There’s no roommate.

Her younger half-brother, who also happens to be an omega, lives with her mother on the outskirts of town and is in a theater club that holds practice now. Even then, the fourteen-year-old doesn’t have the means to get to his sister’s apartment.

No. This scent is all Daria.

As I greedily inhale again, pinching my eyes closed and tipping my head back against her door, I make a vow to find a way to keep her. We can be a pack with a scent match, but I don’t have to be with that omega. I could have my own omega. Though it might be unconventional, it’s not unheard of.

My phone chirps in my pocket. The first of three alarms warning me that I only have a little bit of time before Daria gets home. Fuck.

I force myself away from the door and pull the collar out of my pocket, smoothing my thumb over the metal heart that will sit at the middle of her throat. There’s no telling how she’ll react to this invasion of privacy, but I did tell her I’d find her.

Now she’ll know how serious I was.

I carefully place the collar so it’s prominently displayed in the middle of her kitchen counter.

Ignoring all sense, I turn my back to the door, head into her bedroom, and reach for her pillow, bringing it to my nose and burying my face against the soft material. She smells as good as she tastes.

Mine. That possessive word rolls around inside my head, and I inhale again. Yeah, Daria smells like she should be mine.

The second alarm goes off.

Reluctantly, I set the pillow on the bed and pause. Her box spring and mattress are on the floor. With a frown, I take in the apartment again. Daria has all the basic furniture that you might find in a home, but it’s all cheap. The dresser has a drawer that’s off-kilter. I walk to it and attempt to reset it, but when I step back, it’s still out of alignment. Narrowing my eyes, I look around and find more imperfections.

The nightstand’s cheap vinyl wrapping is peeling at the corners.

Her floor-length mirror has a strange sheen to it, and it’s more like mirror paper than actual mirror.

Her bedding is cute, but the designs are at least ten years old.

The thing that bothers me the most is that her mattress is on the floor.

Do her dads know their daughter can’t even afford a bed frame?

I move through her apartment, noting the threadbare couch, the worn coffee table and TV stand, and stop in front of the fridge. Wrapping my fingers around the handle, I wrench the door open and growl as empty shelf after empty shelf reveals itself. There’s a bottle of ketchup and ranch dressing in the door. An energy drink and...a package of sliced cheese, but not even good cheese. That weird fake shit they call American.

Slamming the fridge door, I check the freezer. Two frozen pizzas and a container of ice cream, but that’s it. No meat. No frozen veggies. No frozen meals. Nothing that would last longer than a few days. Before I can stop myself, I’m opening and closing every cabinet in her apartment, the vein in my forehead throbbing as I discover that all Daria has to eat is cereal, ramen, chips, and that shitty cheese.

She doesn’t even have milk.

I close the final cabinet right as the third alarm goes off.

A warning.

I should leave.

But my hand is still gripping the handle of the cabinet, my body vibrating with frustration. Irrational rage on her behalf. How long has Daria been living like this? Letti has dinner at her house every weekend. Knowing my sister, she’d send Daria home with leftovers, but still.

What about medicine?

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