Page 43 of Wicked

My legs are achy as I walk toward the door where the box waits for me. I want to be on my hands and knees, presenting for Manny, not kneeling in front of a box with a pink dildo inside. I should still open the damn box and get out the dildo before my lust makes me lose all awareness of where I am and what I’m doing. But I can’t.

I don’t want some fake, pink dildo. I want Manny. I want the gentle way he held me when I was scared in the sky and the featherlight pressure of his fingers as he traced my face in the darkness of Revolver’s guest room. I want to hear the timbre of his laugh and run my hands along the lean muscle the stupid shark shirt did very little to hide. I want to see the yearning in his eyes as he looks at me, and know for certain that the connection I feel to him isn’t one-sided.

There are so many songs and poems about fated mates. What about fated heartbreak? Destined loneliness? A rejection so painful it guts you until you’re kneeling on a hard floor with nothing but lifeless plastic to keep you company while your body rages for more? Where are all the songs about that?

I bring Manny’s shirt to my nose and inhale deep.

15

Manny

The new location of the Lost Red Wolves Sanctuary is a breathtaking combination of beautiful architecture and security. Steppe was able to convince a famous architect to donate the design, while also coordinating with the security firm we work with to keep the omegas with a thrall safe. The end result is an enormous structure with an amazing amount of bulletproof windows. As I approach, the sanctuary’s numerous security cameras pivot in my direction.

At least Ken will know I’m here.

I had my Uber driver drop me off near the back entrance because that’s where the playground is. The fence around the playground is high and covered in barbed wire. I understand the precaution is necessary to keep the children safe, but it’s still a little sad.

Currently, there aren’t any children sliding down the slides and climbing the monkey bars. The only person standing outside in the cold weather is a hunched figure in the corner. He’s turning the other way, so I can’t see his face.

I guess this is the only guarded outdoor area for the adults too. I wonder how it feels for them to go from being trapped and controlled by one group of people to being guarded by another, even if the sanctuary has their best interest at heart.

I find Ken’s name in my phone contacts and press call.

“Manny? Are you already here?”

“Yeah. The Uber driver was fast.”

The man hunched in the corner of the playground turns his head to look at me. His face is covered in bandages. Only his eyes and the outline of his lips are exposed. As his eyes lock with mine, I feel the subtle pull of his thrall.

My stomach drops. I’m at least thirty feet away from him. I shouldn’t be able to feel his thrall from here. Ken had mentioned that some of their new intakes had thralls they suspected were enhanced by magic. Maybe this guy is one of them.

What happened to his face? I’ve heard of omega red wolf shifters who mess up a thrall hustle being beaten by their handlers, but an omega with a powerful thrall like his would be worth millions if he was trained. Who would hurt his face so badly that he was bandaged up like that?

Ken emerges from the back doors of the sanctuary. Unlike Steppe, who is always in a full suit and ready to charm our donors, Ken is far more casual in slacks and a button-up shirt, no tie. While I was flying all over the world with Anne and Timber was doing porn, Ken got his masters degree in both public administration and social work. He absorbs information like a sponge. His office is stuffed with books on both his areas of study, and I’m pretty sure he’s read them all.

If anyone can help me feel comfortable seeing Candlewick through his heat, it’s Ken.

He drags a hand through his shoulder-length hair that is now streaked with silver and smiles at me, his eyes crinkling with more wrinkles than I remember. Ken is the oldest of us at forty-five.

“Hey, Manny,” he says, opening the gate with his key card. “I’m glad you came.”

I slip inside and give Ken a long hug. “Thank you for helping me.”

“Of course. Let’s go inside. It’s freezing out here.” He pulls away from me and starts walking toward the entrance, stopping when he spots the omega in the corner. “Milo, it isn’t safe for you to be out here.”

Milo doesn’t acknowledge Ken. He just sits there, completely still.

“Should I ask Carrie to go get the folder of suitors?” Ken calls out.

That gets Milo’s attention. He stands up and walks toward us, glaring at Ken the whole way. Ken stiffens and carefully schools his face as Milo walks past us and uses a key card of his own to get inside the building, but I notice the way Ken stares at the door, long after it shuts behind Milo, as if he’s in a trance.

It’s hard to work with omegas who have thralls. Especially for us, because we will never be able to take a mate.

“Tough patient?” I ask.

Ken finally looks away from the door. “He’s just angry at his situation, and I don’t blame him. He has one of those super-thralls I was telling you about, and we can’t let him outside until he takes a mate. It just isn’t safe.”

“What is the folder of suitors?” That’s something Ken hasn’t told me about before.

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