Page 46 of Break The Ice

I huff. “It was stupid.”

“It was one of the nicest things anyone has done for him, and I know he appreciates it.”

I think of the stunning alpha wrapped in Wren’s arms and try to hide the discomfort I feel. He made up for it.

“How is your head?”

“My head?” I squeak.

“From when your wig was snatched off, is it all right?”

I blink at him and raise a hand to my head. It’s a bit tender but nothing serious. “It’s fine.”

I stalk out of the kitchen before he can ask me anything else.

I went out in public with nothing to hide my face or hair. I went to a game where anyone could see me. My hand trembles, and I trip on a rug, staggering and catching myself on the wall. Coffee covers my hand and the floor, burning hotly. I didn’t even remember that I did that.

Oh, god.

I put the coffee cup on the bookcase and grab some clothes, cleaning up the mess I made, then I pace, but it doesn’t help. If anything, it winds me up higher and higher.

“What’s going on?”

I hear the voice, but I don’t look in their direction.

Someone grabs my shoulders, and I only just manage to keep the scream inside.

“Ryann, you’re safe.”

“Not safe,” I hiss. “I’m never safe.”

Callan’s expression sharpens, but I panic and jerk myself free of him.

“Forget I said that.”

He follows me into the lounge, but Wren is coming down the stairs, and that overwhelming sense of panic mixes with guilt. I speed up, heading for the back door, but now I’m here, trapped in a corridor, my hand on the door handle, and I just can’t fucking open it.

I can’t turn the knob. I can’t walk out the door.

I press my forehead against the wood and laugh.

“Ryann?”

I laugh harder because I can’t escape him, and I want him to hold me. I want him to make it okay. I want to be rescued. But, even more than all of that, I don’t want him to see me like this.

Callan’s scent wraps around me, and his hand rests lightly on my shoulder. These alphas are born to ruin me.

“Tell me how to help you?”

I shake my head, unable to answer honestly. Unable to tell him anything without needing to tell him everything. And that would be pointless.

“Go away,” I whisper. “Just turn and walk away and don’t look at me.”

“I can’t do that.”

I turn and look up at him, forcing him to see the nightmares that live in my eyes.

Blue eyes search mine. How is he so beautiful? Good people like him don’t exist. How can he be so caring and not ruined? Life would have chewed up and spat someone like this out if it had a chance. So how is it that he is here?

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