Page 133 of Captive Omega

I’m aware I owe him a thank you for building my nest. I’m also actively trying not to think about Henry or ask Blaine what else he discovered. The pain yesterday was excruciating. I have no desire to go through it again.

Seconds tick into minutes, and Vaughn doesn’t show up.

“Maybe something came up?” I suggest.

“Hmm. I guess.” From Blaine’s slightly narrowed eyes, I can guess exactly what came up.

“He set us up, didn’t he?”

But why? At our last lesson, Blaine all but sprinted out of the room. Why would Vaughn set up a self-defense lesson, conscious that Blaine doesn’t like to be touched and I’m still not exactly comfortable around alphas, and then not show up?

“He probably thinks he’s helping,” Blaine says.

Helping who?

I flash him a false smile, hiding my disappointment as I turn to leave. “I guess we can do it another time. Maybe when Vaughn isn’t busy setting us up.”

I’ve taken two steps when Blaine stops me. “Wait.”

I turn around. His discomfort is so visible I’d have to be blind not to see it. “Look, it’s clear you don’t like being touched, and I’m not about to push you into it. So I’ll just go.”

“That obvious, huh?” His tone is wry.

His glasses slide down his nose, and he pushes them up with his index finger.

The movement draws my gaze to the scar on the back of his right hand.

“Because it hurts?” I ask, curious. “Because I know I said I’d kick your ass if you ever did something to deserve it, but maybe it’s Vaughn’s ass I should kick.”

Smiling faintly, he shakes his head and takes a seat on the mat, cross-legged. “My scars don’t hurt.”

I have no reason to stay here. Vaughn’s absence has put an end to a practice neither of us is eager to do. I could be spending the rest of the day thinking up how I intend to get Dexter Pieter to call me. Instead, I fold my legs under me and sit on the mat as well.

Not too close, though.

He is still an alpha.

Even if I’m forgetting my knife on my bedside table with increasing regularity.

“I was in a car crash,” he explains. “I was trapped in the car for some time.”

His voice is calm, unaffected.

“It was on fire,” he continues in the same calm voice. “My right side was the worst, as that was where the fire was.”

I don’t believe he’s the least bit calm. And he’s looking in my direction, but he hasn’t met my gaze once since he started talking.

“That sounds…” I struggle to imagine what that might be, “…like hell.”

His eyes dart to my face, and after a searching look, his shoulders relax. I’m not sure what he expected my response to be, but he seems relieved. “It was. I was in the hospital for a long time. Every part of my skin felt like it was on fire, and any time someone touched me, it was agony.”

So touch became pain, and pain became something to avoid. “Does it still hurt?”

He shakes his head. “Hasn’t for a while. Sometimes I get what the doctors will call phantom pains, but there’s no reason for it. I’m healed. When someone moves to touch me, I have to remind myself?—”

“That it doesn’t hurt at all?” I softly interrupt, and he nods. “My first instinct when I see an alpha is to curse him to die a painful death. My second is to kick him where it hurts. But eye gouges are better, right?”

“Eye gouge is better.” He smiles. “Or a punch to the kidney.”

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