Page 35 of Sweet Heat

“But … that can’t be true…” Flipping down her dress, I make sure she’s fully covered before removing my hand. Her brows wrinkle in confusion, but when she glances over my shoulder, her mouth drops open in surprise.

The waiter places our food on the table, and I bring my fingers to my lips, shiny with slick. Ever so slowly, I run my tongue over them, dipping into the valleys between, getting every drop of her flavor. Posie’s breath hitches, her eyes darkening with lust.

“Enjoy your meal,” he says.

“Oh, it’s delicious,” I say, keeping my eyes locked with Posie’s as cotton candy explodes across my tongue. “Nothing better.”

He leaves, and I bring us back to the conversation at hand. I need to understand the barrier stopping my omega from being mine. Too much time’s already been wasted keeping my distance and stalking her from the shadows.

Now that I’ve had a taste, there’s no going back.

“Tell me why I can’t want you,” I demand, infusing a bit of command in the tone to keep her from hiding the truth.

“Because I killed your parents,” she whispers… and the floor falls out beneath me.

Chapter Nineteen

Lights dance behind my eyelids. A loud bleeping stabs into my brain, ratcheting the headache I already have to a ten.

Every part of my body hurts. I don’t want to be here anymore.

“Sweetheart, you need to sit up,” my dad says gently beside me. “Until you eat on your own, we won’t be able to leave the hospital.”

It’s been days since the accident, and I don’t feel any better today than I did right after it. My broken leg, bruised ribs, and concussion are bad enough, but worst of all, they put me in a medically induced coma to get through my designation reveal. I got into the car as a child and left an omega. A thirteen-year-old omega with all the instincts and none of the control.

Nothing is right. Nothing is the way it’s supposed to be.

“Posie,” he says with a bit more force. “Sit up.”

With an angry hiss, I open my eyes,taking in the bruises dotting my father’s face. He’s nearly healed, and here I am, just as messed up as I was the day it happened. Frustration rolls off him in waves, slapping against my new omega instincts, and I quail at the harshness.

My mom, seeing my eyes open, rushes over to help, fussing at every twitch I make. Everything is overwhelming. The world is too bright, and I’m more drained than I’ve ever been. All I want is a dark space and a pile of blankets, but I can barely go to the bathroom by myself.

As soon as I’m seated, Papa comes over to my side, running a hand down my greasy hair. Gosh, I need a shower.

“Posie girl. The doctors are telling us that your vitals all look strong. Your presentation has officially passed, and your concussion and leg just need some time to heal. Don’t you want to go home?” he asks, the dark circles creating rings around his eyes.

All my parents got out of the crash with minor scrapes and bruises. Owen broke two fingers and needed some stitches. Miller also needed some stitches and had to have a lot of glass removed from his hands and knees. I ended up with the brunt of the injuries. Other than….

Tears prickle at the back of my eyes just thinking about them, and I sniffle.

The door bangs open, the sound cracking like a shotgun blast through the quiet room. I wince and flinch from the painful sound, unable to stop the true omega whine that jumps from my throat.

“Are we ready to go?” Owen asks, waltzing in with Miller trailing behind him, carrying a small pink bakery bag. Owen’s lips twist into a frown when he sees me still in the hospital bed,but it’s Miller who draws my attention. His eyes are bloodshot, misery etched on every line of his body. His knuckles are white from clasping the bag, and his nostrils flare as soon as he enters the room.

“We aren’t,” Dad replies, sighing in annoyance. Everyone in this room is mad at me, and my stomach churns, making bile rush into my throat. “It’s looking like today may not be the day.”

His admission prompts another grimace from my brother and his best friend.

“Dude. It’s not that freaking hard,” Owen complains. “Just eat a freaking meal and we can stop coming to this shitty place.”

Miller steps forward but doesn’t get too close before hurling the bag onto my lap.

“It’s a muffin,” he explains, and the weight of everyone’s irritation bears down on my shoulders. With shaking hands, I open the bag and spot the double-chocolate monstrosity. My favorite; second only to churros. But I still have no appetite. The concussion has stolen my sense of smell, and the anosmia makes food taste like dirt.

The pretty pastry just makes me sad. I won’t be able to taste it, so I shove it aside and curl up under my blankets. The move triggers Miller, and his snarl makes me quake.

“Fucking hell, Posie. Stop acting like such a brat. Eat the damn food. We know you can’t smell. Get. Over. It. You need to eat or you’ll die. Haven’t enough people died?” Miller shouts, leaping forward to shove the bag into my hands again. Anger shines in his eyes, the loathing piercing me to the core.

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