Page 39 of Mark & Don't Tell

I storm toward the bathroom, ignoring the alarm. The medicine cabinet has one bottle of ibuprofen. As I shake it, a few pills rattle around, but it’s not even a full bottle. What if she gets sick? She doesn’t have cough drops. She doesn’t have a thermometer.

Closing the cabinet, I glare at myself in the mirror.

You’re way out of line. Calm the fuck down.

Even as I try to reason with myself, I already know it’s too late. Tomorrow, I’m getting Daria groceries and basic supplies. I turn, finally ready to leave now that I have a plan, but the door handle rattles. I freeze. My stomach clenches and my heart jumps.

Fuck.

I didn’t plan on her finding me here.

And I’m far too pissed off right now.

The fire escape is my only option. I quickly shove the window open and climb out right as the doorknob twists. As quick and quietly as I can, I shut the window and rush down the rickety staircase, growing more pissed by the minute.

That window was unlocked.

That fire escape is dangerous.

I glare up at Daria’s window. She deserves better.

But I don’t have time to stick around and fume; I have to go get ready to meet the omega Kai and Linc think will bring our pack together. Every step away from Daria is like an act of betrayal.

I swallow my guilt, determined to make it clear that I’m not part of the deal, because Daria takes up more space in my mind than I should allow, but there’s no way around my new obsession.

She’s there.

And it’s right where I want her.

Fifteen

DARIA

I’m a nervous wreck by the time I get off work and head home, so much so that not even the angry grumbling of my stomach bothers me. I didn’t have any money to get lunch and nothing for a packed lunch, so I didn’t eat. But even if I had food, I’m not sure I would’ve been able to eat it without feeling sick with nerves.

As I push through the lobby door, the scene in the conference room plays over and over in my head. The way Malakai—Kai—had stumbled over his words. The look he and Lincoln shared when they realized what they were scenting.

I walk right past my landlord and don’t hear a thing he shouts in my direction. After all this time, how is it possible? I mean, I understand how, but at work? With them? Don’t get me wrong—they’re hot as hell for older men, but I always pictured myself with a pack my age.

And look at how well that’s worked out for you.

Maybe the age difference will be a good thing. And, regardless of that, we’re fated mates. Scent matches.

They invited me to dinner with their pack.

Bergamot and cinnamon.

They still cling to my skin. I can practically taste those scents on my tongue.

Sighing, I push through my apartment door, close it, and toss my keys onto the counter, pausing when I see something I didn’t leave there.

A collar.

No, not just any collar. The collar.

The one Vic took off me at After Dark. The one I’ve been thinking about, nonstop. I suck in a sharp breath, my pulse fluttering. How did it get here? That’s a dumb question, isn’t it? What did he say the other night?

I’ll find you soon, little doe.

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