Page 10 of Knot Happening Again

"Oh!" Rhys says suddenly, cutting himself off mid-sentence. "I almost forgot. You said you had something to tell me earlier. Something worse than this, apparently." He grins, clearly thinking I was exaggerating. "What was it?"

My stomach drops. I'd hoped he'd forgotten about that in all the excitement.

I should have known better.

Rhys never forgets anything.

"Oh, that," I say, trying to sound casual. "It's nothing, really. Just... my next fight got bumped up. I have to leave a little earlier than expected."

Rhys's face falls slightly. "Oh. How much earlier?"

I shrug, hating myself for piling lie upon lie. "Just a few days. It's not a big deal. I'll still have plenty of time to train."

Rhys nods, but I can see the disappointment in his eyes. "Well, we'll just have to make the most of the time we have, won't we?"

I force another smile, ignoring the way my stomach churns with guilt. "Absolutely."

As we finish our meal and head home, I can't shake the feeling that I've just set something in motion that I won't be able to stop this time. And I can't stop thinking about the possibility, however remote, that this omega they meet will be more than a temporary distraction.

What if she smells like Ophelia?

What if she doesn't?

And what happens when the truth finally comes out?

Because it will.

Secrets like this always do.

I glance over at Rhys as we drive. He's humming softly to himself, clearly still riding the high of our conversation. I want to salvage what's left of my chance, to confess everything and beg for forgiveness.

But I don't.

I keep my hands on the wheel and my mouth shut, driving us home to a future that suddenly seems more uncertain than ever.

CHAPTER 3

OPHELIA

Iburrow deeper into my nest of pillows and blankets, inhaling the fading scent of jasmine and sea air. My own scent, barely detectable now thanks to the industrial-strength suppressants I've been popping like candy. The makeshift nest is pathetic compared to what the average omega would have, but it's the best I can do in this shoebox apartment.

A twinge of pain shoots through my lower abdomen, making me curl tighter into myself.

Shit. Not good.

I fumble for the bottle of suppressants on my nightstand, shaking out two pills and dry swallowing them. The recommended dose is one, andmyrecommended dose is zero—at least until I have a normal heat for the first time in years—but desperate times call for desperate measures.

I know it's not healthy. I can practically hear my doctor's voice in my head, lecturing me about the dangers of overdosing on suppressants.

But what choice do I have?

I can't afford to go into heat.

Not now.

Not ever, really, but especially not when rent is due in less than a week and I haven't been able to work for days because of these stupid pre-heat cramps.

The thought of entertaining clients makes my skin crawl. Even the memory of that alpha's hands on me at the Scent Bar sends a shudder of revulsion through my body. But beggars can't be choosers, and this omega is definitely begging.

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