Page 36 of Wicked

“Taxi. Anne is probably already there.”

Candlewick hails down a cab for us and rattles off Dorian Gray’s address as easily as he did Revolver’s. It’s a reminder of how much time he spent with Dorian. That makes me sad. Both of us are coming into this relationship with lots of baggage. Maybe we can push past it together.

Candlewick scoots over to the middle seat to snuggle closer to me and fastens his seatbelt. I slide my arm across his shoulder and hold him close.

“You’ve met Buddy, right?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“I risked everything to set him free, and I’m happy that he is. Really. But I do worry how people will treat him. He’s so innocent.”

I didn’t spend much time with Buddy, so I didn’t notice. But I did notice how taken he was with H.

“Do you think he’ll bond to an Illusor?” I wonder.

Candlewick thinks about that for a moment. “I hope not. I think he has a thing for H, and I really like H.”

“Good. He’s one of my dearest friends.”

I tell Candlewick about the alphas I escaped the pits with. He’s particularly curious about Timber, which is nice because Timber’s the one I’m the closest to. We talk about Steppe and Ken too. While I’m not as close to them as I am to H or Timber, I do spend a lot of time with Ken. He coordinates the care for the kids who end up at the sanctuary. While I’ve never admitted that most of those kids are from rescue operations I run with Anne, I think he knows. He tells me about the sweet moments with the kids when I visit. Little boys who were silent until they met the sanctuary’s dog, and then they couldn’t stop giggling. Little girls who insisted on braiding tufts of H’s short hair and laughed hysterically when he kept the braids in for the rest of the day. I share some of the stories with Candlewick during the drive to Dorian’s house, and he listens with rapt attention.

Towards the end of the drive, he shifts around in his seat. Maybe returning to Dorian’s house bothers him more than he wants to admit. I keep my arm tight around him, hoping to provide him a little comfort.

It isn’t until we’re about to get out that I smell it. I would recognize that scent anywhere. In the pits, it was a constant. We could never get away from it. It drove me wild in there, to the point where I could no longer control myself. The scent brings back memories of self-loathing and shame. Of desperation and a sadness so deep, I wished I could die.

“Candlewick…”

He unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs out of the car with record speed. I pay the driver and slowly get out, not sure how this could happen. We should have more time. It’s the middle of winter. Candlewick shouldn’t be going into heat already.

At the end of his heat, I’ll need to bond to him or our connection will fade. I’m not ready. We don’t have a warlock lined up yet. This is all happening way too fast.

“It’s okay,” Candlewick says, waving to a security guard manning a booth at the entrance of a large estate. “We’ll tell Anne that we need to get a rush on the warlock, and we’ll move forward as planned. Everything will be okay.”

He doesn’t understand.

“Warlocks worth their salt are booked months in advance. How long do your heats last? Two days? We don’t have time.”

Candlewick gives me a forced smile. “Right. But I’m sure if we explain the extenuating circumstances, they’ll make an exception.”

“Have you ever met a warlock? They are not the kind of people who make exceptions.”

Candlewick keeps a smile plastered on his face, but his eyes fill with tears. “Okay, but we could ask, right? It never hurts to ask.”

His scent is stronger now, and it’s sweeter than anything I’ve ever smelled. I could get completely lost in it. A part of me wants to do exactly as he says and beg Anne to find a warlock who will help us last-minute.

But Candlewick is going into heat now. I was counting on us having sex before this. Then I could explain myself before he saw me. I could satisfy him. Will I even be able to do that during his heat? Several of the omegas in the pits made it clear that I couldn’t.

There isn’t enough time. I haven’t learned what he likes. He hasn’t gotten to know me. I haven’t had the chance to prove to him that I can make him happy in other ways.

An image of Candlewick looking away from me while I make love to him flashes through my mind. I wish I could have that with him. More than anything.

But he’d be disappointed. He’d wish he could be with someone else. Heshouldbe with someone else. I’m not good enough for him.

“This is a sign that we aren’t meant to be,” I say.

“What are you talking about? We are literally fated. How much more meant to be can we get?” His fingers tremble as he gestures for emphasis. I’m hurting him.

I’m no better than Dorian, and I don’t deserve to spend the rest of my life with him.

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