Page 146 of Captive Omega

“It’s a dream,” I whisper. “No one is hurting you. You’re safe.”

I stroke back the damp hair from her face, speaking in low, soothing tones as I will away the nightmare that has its grip on her.

She’s been going downstairs in the middle of the night, working on a puzzle with Garrison. Sometimes I hear the soft pad of her steps down the stairs. I wondered why she did it when we all knew she hates alphas. Is this why? Nightmares have made sleep something to fear? If I could kill every single person who hurt her, I would do it in a heartbeat. No regret. No guilt. None of them deserve an easy death.

She whimpers again, the sound returning me to the present.

She’s not as restless now. And as I stroke her cheek, she makes a soft sound in the back of her throat and leans into my touch as if she craves more of it.

So do I.

The desperate need to crawl into her bed, pull her into my lap and bury my face against her neck and shoulder to inhale her scent is overwhelming.

I stamp the urge down.

I’m invading a space I shouldn’t. That’s bad enough as it is. I can’t invite myself into her bed when she’s not even awake to accept. I can’t.

There’s a reason she’s sleeping with a knife beside her bed, and that reason has everything to do with her fear of a certain designation.

Alphas.

But she still needs soothing, and only an alpha has the ability to soothe an omega. As I stroke her cheek, I purr, the rumbling sound that brings comfort to omegas filling the room.

She makes that soft sound again and shuffles closer, her face nearly pressed against my thigh. I keep expecting her to wake up, find me here and scream at me to get out. She sleeps on, and gradually, her breathing evens out.

I don’t know how long I stay perched on the side of her bed, my eyes on her face. My fingers alternate between caressing her cheek and sweeping damp strands of her hair from her forehead. And purring. Always purring to comfort her in one of the few ways I can.

When she fully relaxes, I know she’s out of the nightmare.

So there’s no reason to stay.

I don’t move.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper.

Too beautiful to be mine. Someone, somewhere, decided our scents were compatible. Just as it decided that Garrison and I would share a scent match. I don’t deserve it. Not the way I am now.

But she looks at you and doesn’t see the scars. She just sees you.

I should stop touching her now that I’ve done what I came here to do.

I consider kissing her cheek. Just once. But her cheek is dangerously close to her lips, and I’m not sure where my kiss will land. Probably somewhere it shouldn’t.

I force myself to get up, pick the fallen sheet from the floor and cover Resa with it, tucking it under her chin. I walk out, closing her door before I give into the urge to crawl into the bed beside her and never leave.

In my room, I can still smell the sweet peach fragrance of her skin on my hands, and I have no desire to scrub it away. It’s a reminder my scent match isn’t just here, I’ve touched her, and it wasn’t painful but pleasurable.

And I helped her out of a nightmare.

Me.

The smart thing to do would be to take a shower, wash away her scent, and pretend tonight didn’t happen. So why do I crawl into bed, switch the light off, and pull the sheets over my head?

And why do I sleep better with her scent surrounding me than I ever have?

Chapter 42

Resa

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