Page 145 of Captive Omega

That is omega territory. No alphas allowed. Lex is staying with Marie in her apartment, and when Vaughn goes to sleep, waking him up requires extreme patience and persistence.

The soft whimper arrows down the hallway. Louder this time. Like she’s hurt.

Makes it impossible to take another step away.

Something is wrong.

I can’t leave my scent match hurting like that. I have to help her.

Turning from the staircase, I move silently toward Resa’s door.

I knock softly and press my ear to the wood, straining to hear her response. “Resa?”

Silence.

I knock a little harder, raising my voice. “Resa?”

Again, nothing.

I stare at the white wood, knuckles raised, torn about what to do.

Do I get Garrison to take over? Or shove Vaughn out of his bed to wake him up fast? Both of them would do what needs to be done while I stand hovering with indecision.

“Get Garrison,” I decide, turning away.

“No. Stop. Please stop,” Resa begs.

I halt.

That soft cry changes everything.

I give up knocking. I need to do something about that desperate begging. It’s going to involve crossing into omega territory, but if Resa is hurting, I can’t walk away.

I twist the door open.

Resa is on her bed, in a pair of blue and white striped cotton sleep shorts and T-shirt, her sheets mostly on the floor, curled up in the fetal position. The lamp on her bedside is on. She either sleeps with it on or fell asleep before she had a chance to turn it off.

From the doorway, it’s clear she’s struggling through a nightmare. A bad one. Her cheeks are wet, dark lashes spikey with tears.

And she’s shivering. Or trembling.

She needs me.

The carpet in her room is softer than the hallway. This is a room we had decorated but barely anyone has stepped foot in it but Resa. My feet sink into it as I cross over to Resa. I place my empty glass on her bedside table next to the small sharp knife Vaughn gave her, and perch on the edge of her bed, lifting my fingers to her flushed cheeks.

And stop.

Again frozen with indecision.

The last time I reached out to touch someone was… years ago. Before that brief correction in the gym, I have done everything possible to avoid touch.

Now my scent match needs comfort.

Touch will not hurt. It is in your head. It is all in your head.

I can’t leave her suffering for another second longer. I touch her cheek, bracing myself for the pain anyway.

But I didn’t think to brace myself for the softness of her satiny skin. It’s addictive. This touching.

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