Page 65 of The Butcher

Staying away from Indigo is the only choice I have, but every day that passes makes the decision to do so even harder than before.

My control is slipping.

I don’t really have control over myself, not that I did before but having Indy walk into my room at Nan’s made it worse, and seeing her go a little feral over watching them try to strap me down… There’s a word for the feeling that stirred, but it’s not one I’m willing to use.

After that? It was like I was on autopilot.

Most of my rational thought dissolved into one brain cell that kept me functioning on a primal level.

I growled, I fucking barked at her, and if I hadn’t been dosed with a fuckton of morphine, the immediate obedience would have resulted in a wildly inappropriate display of dominance after literally ignoring the female for months.

Can’t deny that I liked it.

Again, it’s something that can get intense with Nash and Clay.

The power exchange between my alpha and I is always a rush, even more so when he finally submits, and our beta’s bratty tendencies can get me going the same way.

My scent match, our omega’s instant submission? Yeah, if I wasn’t well on my way to high as fuck, I might have nutted under these hideous floral sheets.

Which would have made things way more awkward than just staring at her like a goddamn creep the rest of the time she was here.

I did that, though.

Stared at Indy from the time she rushed the bed, all the way until Nan took her out of the room to get something to eat. I couldn’t stop staring at her.

And she stared back.

It was bizarre and kind of erotic, but I have to give the omega credit because she did not take those indigo colored eyes off of me. Not once.

My reaction to her, as well as our exchange definitely weirded everyone out. I’m sure they appreciated it to a degree since I was easier to stab and stitch, but I don’t know how much of that can be attributed to Indy or the morphine. Either way, my dad gave me the strangest look I think I’ve ever seen on his face, Ezekiel was just smirking at me, and my partners kept alternating between angry, annoyed, and relieved.

I’m sure most people would have considered what went down—including getting shot multiple times—their come to Jesus moment. They’d change their ways, turn their life around, and get it on the right track.

Most people would take all of that as a sign to accept their fucking scent match, bond the pack, and start on some sort of happy forever kind of bullshit.

I’m not most people.

If anything, every single event that’s taken place since I fought with Nash until right now has only validated why I won’t accept Indy for what she is to me.

I don’t need an omega, and definitely not one that could easily drive me to obsession.

That type of connection, the bond of a scent match is no fucking joke, and I know for a fact ours would be stronger than I can probably wrap my head around. And that means it can’t happen.

The more intense the bond, the greater the loss.

And there will be loss.

As long as Bryce Harden is alive, any omega that finds themself in Obsidian Falls is in danger, and our omega is no exception.

“How long have you been awake?” Nan asks as she backs into the room, a large tray in her hands with something steaming on top of it. “You were supposed to call for me.”

“Not long.” I watch her set it down on the dresser then go back to staring at the fireplace, watching the embers as their glow dims.

I’ve actually been awake almost this entire time, I think I slept for maybe an hour after everyone cleared out, and the rest of the time I’ve been sitting in this fucking bed thinking about what I’m going to do.

“Your people are outside the door.”

I nod. “I know.”

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