Page 6 of Desperate Decisions

It certainly fucking felt like I was. The twelve-hour flight home was a nightmare of sweating, squirming, and so much horniness I was surprised I didn’t simply burst into flame. It wasn’t a heat—I’d have been completely lost in the sauce if it was—but I didn’t know what the fuck this was. The whole way home I curled into a ball in my blessedly empty row of economy seats, draped my coat over my head, and simply tried to sleep. I was pretty sure I hadn’t actually slept a wink, and I didn’t miss the concerned glances the flight attendants gave me when I rejected every meal and drink offering. I just needed to get home and climb into my nest and let whatever the fuck this was run its course.

I stumbled through the airport and nearly toppled when I tried to hook my bag onto my back. An omega-only taxi service took me home and I felt no better when I’d gotten inside my apartment. The air was stale but I didn’t dare open the windows with my scent this strong. I wrestled through my cabinets until I found what I wanted—a container of allspice and a bottle of amaretto.

Stupid. I huffed them both, and the combination helped clear my brain fog but set my body on fire again. With a whimper I grabbed both of them and a bottle of water and disappeared into the depths of my nest.

I had so many missed calls and over a hundred text messages, but I wasn’t in any state of mind to deal with them. I needed sleep and food and—no. I needed that fucking alpha. He was across the ocean and I didn’t know his name. Even if I felt brave enough to try to find him, I wouldn’t be able to.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Good job, Amara. Not even getting the names of the people we fuck now, apparently.

I squirmed with misery in my nest. Ordinarily, it was a source of comfort, but now it felt empty and wrong.

I slipped away, woken only by what sounded like a battering ram against my front door. I was too tired to move to investigate. A few moments after the pounding stopped, the blankets covering me were ripped away and I stared up in a daze at the face of my father.

“Jesus Christ, kid. The fuck have you been doing?”

I blinked at him, trying to figure out what he was doing here. “What?”

“Your friends have been losing their fucking minds. You’ve been missing for three days. Why are you here and not in Italy?”

“I…” I curled into myself.

“Fuck. I’m calling the paramedics.”

I stopped listening, curling around my little jar of spice and bottle of amaretto until there were bright lights shining in my eyes and hands poking me. They dragged me out of my nest and onto a gurney, loading me into the ambulance.

I slipped in and out of consciousness, and when I emerged again, I was in a sterile looking room, the steady beat of a heart monitor breaking the silence.

My father sat on a chair nearby and glanced up when I shifted. “Did you go into heat in Italy?”

I shook my head.

“What the fuck were you doing there?”

“Traveling,” I croaked.

He leaned back with a sigh, looking a lot older than he should have in the two years since I had last seen him. His hair was more salt than pepper, exhausted lines etched into his face and marring the tattoos there.

Had my friends reached out to him? They had his contact for emergencies, but they all knew I wasn’t speaking to him.

“Did someone hurt you?”

“No, I—they tried but I…got away.”

Thinking felt like I was slogging through waist-deep mud. Why did he have to keep asking questions when all I wanted to do was sleep?

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Amara. The doctor told me you have signs of a recent bonding, not to mention the dehydration and dangerously low blood sugar.”

What was I supposed to tell him? The latter two were my own fault, but the first… It took a moment for the words to break through the fog, and I choked out, “Bonding?”

“They found the mark when they checked you over and your labs are consistent with a recent heat. So I’ll ask you again, what happened?”

“I don’t know! God, just give me a fucking second.”

Who was I kidding? My father had never been good at that. He barreled forward. “Give me a name and I’ll cut off his balls and feed them to him.”

I swallowed the rise of bile in my throat. “No! Can you shut up for two seconds?”

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