Page 88 of Fallen Omega

And I liked the thrill of the chase, the hardcore finger fucking, and eating me that Reaper did.

Both are iceberg tips with so much more beneath the surface. How can I want to dive in and explore both in equal measures? How can I want a man that tells me I’m a good girl and asks me to call him Daddy, and also want the dark, bloody danger and thrills that the primal chase with Reaper brings?

Those are so different, yet…they both make me feel unbelievably good.

If they do that, what would Dante like, want, desire? How would he take his fill? What pleasures await from him?

The man doesn’t like me. Sure, he got hard when he was around me, but that’s because I’m marked by another alpha in his pack. And I was in heat.

I deliberately shut the door on them all, and continue to my solitary confinement. It’s safer that way.

Reaper doesn’t come.

Do the others knowI’m here?

All the ways I decided I could see him, into him, understand and know him, start to fray as the doubts build.

Maybe he mirrored back the things I want because of my stupid naivety, my loneliness, and he isolated me.

To kill me.

I make myself keep that in my head.

Because he is a killer.

A person only has to look at him to know that. It’s the one real truth that I can be sure of from all the things I saw or thought I saw in him.

I go through my phone. Rearrange my things. I pack, repack.

Finally, with my stomach rumbling, I get something to eat.

It’s late afternoon, and I keep looping back to the photo the woman showed me.

Who took it?

And when?

I think about what we wore, and…the photo is about a year old by my estimations. We were laughing about something that happened at my job, something so stupid Dad couldn’t stop his mirth and it set me off.

The memory pierces so sharp and bright I can’t breathe for a few seconds.

I hug myself and look around at what my life’s become: hiding, a prisoner again.

“But that’s not true,” I whisper. “Reaper gave me keys.”

So, what am I meant to do? Every sound outside that filters down here, like when a truck backfired with a boom, I jumped. Some of the time, it’s in my imagination, like footsteps that approach.

No one comes.

I try to nap, but I can’t. I finally start looking at places I could go. I’ve still got my money.

Does it matter if I find somewhere? The Council has reach, and if they or the mythical people who might be worse canbreak into my apartment, can watch me and Dad and take photos and seemingly wait until he died to make a move, is anywhere going to be safe?

I know this city. In the world beyond? I’d have to go somewhere big. Congested. Another city. But that’s another set of dangers. And?—

It hits me why I repacked.

There’s no way I can stay here. It’s dangerous. Lonely. I’m a murder waiting to happen at the worst, and a sitting duck for someone to find me and take me to the Council. Or to that alpha I’m supposed to mate with.

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