Page 20 of Captive Omega

You’d get an omega who just came face to face with her scent matches.

Chapter 6

Blaine

My doctor likes to remind me that my physical pain is in my head. A product of trauma leaving an indelible mark on my mind, not just my body.

The grafts took. My scars have healed as well as they ever will. I’m healed. The only pain I feel is psychological. The type a therapist could delve into and help me overcome, if I let them. And that’s the thing. I would have to let them.

I never will, so the pain that is as real to me as the burns covering the right side of my body will linger forever.

But coming face to face to my scent match and watching her take one look at me and turn around to walk away? That’s a new kind of anguish that completely blindsides me.

Vaughn had shot off a quick text on his way home.

Vaughn

OMW with a pretty guest.

That’s all he’d said.

A pretty guest.

Instead, he brings home mine and Garrison’s scent match.

Her back is stiff, radiating tension as she hobbles away. Leaving. And I’m too busy yanking my turtleneck up to cover the burn on my cheek to stop her.

“Hey! You’re safe here.” Vaughn reaches out to stop her as Garrison calls out a warning to give her space.

She nearly falls, scrambling away from Vaughn. Back against the wall just inside the kitchen, she glares at Vaughn. “Don’t touch me.”

He backs up, palms up in the universal sign of peace. “No touching. I got it.”

She stares at him a beat longer, chin raised, large brown eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I’m leaving. I have no interest in alphas, scent matches, or staying here a minute longer.”

“Of course,” Garrison says calmly. “We have no interest in scent matches either.”

A muscle pulls in my neck as I jerk my head toward Garrison. “What!”

He continues in the same calm tone as if I haven’t spoken. “You’ve had a shock. We’ve also had a shock. There’s no reason we can’t just set the whole idea of scent matches aside and pretend it’s not there.”

I forget about hiding my burn before she notices how ugly it is. “What are you talking about?”

Garrison motions to the long dark wood dining table that takes up the left side of our kitchen, where we eat all our meals. “Perhaps we could sit and discuss how we can help you.”

This is our scent match. The beautiful woman with lush curves, long dark hair, rosebud lips, and a sweet peach scent so alluring and so perfect that she stunned him as much as she did me. And he’s talking to her like she’s a client?

But our scent match, at least for the present, is no longer hobbling out of the kitchen. Her expression is as disbelieving as mine must be.

“I’m Garrison,” he continues when she doesn’t respond. He nods at me. “And that’s Blaine. Can I have a name?”

In the two drawn out seconds before she speaks, she’s thinking of giving him a fake name. We’ve been in the security business for years. Long enough to have dealt with people who, for various reasons, don’t trust us when we suddenly intrude into their lives.

“Resa,” she eventually says.

Maybe if Garrison hadn’t blindsided her with his talk of scent matches being an inconsequential thing you set aside like an umbrella you no longer need, she’d have given us a fake name. But her words carry a ring of truth.

The name, like her sudden appearance, is another shock to the system.

---