Page 23 of Storm
I remembered Marigold well. Fuck. "That explains why some omegas look so happy at their Choosing Day, while others have to be dragged off the stage."
"Exactly." Harley's eyes are big and bright, her excitement infectious. "And Dahlia showed me how." Her voice drops to an awed whisper. "She told me to make my dreams come true."
A slow smile spreads across my face, my heart swelling at the possibilities. This is it. This is my chance to change things. I can pick a pack that lives close to where I'm meeting Rook. I can use this to my advantage. But for Harley, oh I know who she is gonna have on her ticket.
"So you can choose that blueberry pancakes alpha of yours?" I don't even try to hide the teasing in my voice, knowing how she lights up at the mention of him.
Harley watches me, eyes wide, her expression a mix of nervousness and excitement. Then she nods, the movement small but filled with certainty.
"I just need to know his pack name and I can pick him." Her smile mirrors mine, full of hope. We slip out from beneath the tree.
"Let’s go make our dreams come true."
* * *
I twirlin front of the mirror, admiring the way the gold, glittery off-the-shoulder dress hugs my curves and barely covers my ass. The large hoop earrings catch the light as I move, and I feel a flash of my old self coming through. Today is the last day of meet and greets and I want to make an impression.
I wait in the rec room for Harley to emerge from her room. When she walks out, she's looking like a total badass. Her red lipstick is on point, her earrings match her necklace perfectly, and she's wearing jeans with a Black Sabbath tee cut at the midriff, showing off her belly piercing. She wolf-whistles at me as she spots my gold, glittery off-the-shoulder dress, and I spin on the spot, showing off.
"Not bad yourself, girl," I say with a wink, watching her twirl in response. "Your ass looks hella fine."
"Both of you, stop," Jonathan's voice cuts through our moment as he strolls into the room.
My breath catches in my throat, heart stumbling over itself. He's wearing that dark tailored suit that clings to his massive frame like it was crafted specifically for him, the fabric stretching across his broad shoulders and tapering at his narrow waist. Four years I've spent hating this man, and yet my treacherous body responds to him like he's oxygen and I'm drowning.
The smoky cedar and black pepper of his scent hits me in waves, making my knees weak and my pulse flutter wildly at the base of my throat. He glances at Harley with casual dismissal, grunting disapprovingly at her outfit, before his eyes find me.
Those green eyes move over me slowly, deliberately, a physical caress that leaves heat in its wake. The weight of his gaze leaves goosebumps in its path. I try to swallow, but my mouth has gone dry. I should look away. I need to look away. But I can't.
"Like something you see?" The words teasing. My fingers trail down my side, hip, and the top of my thigh. This is dangerous—playing with Jonathan is like playing with fire. Every rational part of me screams to stop, to run, to remember who he is and what he represents. But another part, deeper within, wants to see how far I can push him.
He growls, the sound vibrating deep in his chest—a warning, a promise, a threat. The sound bypasses all rational thought. To my horror, a whimper escapes my lips, my body arching slightly toward him. I can't stop the rush of heat flooding through me.
"Storm," he barks out in warning, my name on his lips both a command and a plea.
But it's too late. My scent explodes around us, rich dark chocolate notes thick and heavy in the air. My body has made its choice, regardless of what my mind wants. Before I can stop myself, my hand reaches out, fingers pressing against the solid wall of his chest. The contact sends electricity shooting up my arm and straight to my core. I feel him, hot and hard beneath my palm, his heart racing as wildly as my own.
He moves into my space, one large hand gripping my hip, fingers digging in with a possessiveness that should terrify me but instead sends a shiver of desire down my spine. I whimper again. The sound torn from somewhere deep inside me. I find myself nuzzling into his chest, wanting his scent on me.
What am I doing? This is Jonathan Kingsley—the alpha who I hate. The alpha who stands between me and my freedom, between me and Rook.
Rook. The name floats through my mind like a distant echo, but it can't penetrate the fog of pheromones and need clouding my senses. All I can feel is Jonathan's hand on my hip, his chest against my cheek, his scent wrapping around me, claiming me.
"Jonathan?" Veronica's shocked voice shatters the moment.
He freezes, his body suddenly rigid against mine. The room falls silent, the only sound my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. I hold my breath, mortification rushing in to replace desire as awareness returns. What have I done?
He steps away, his eyes dark and unreadable, pupils blown wide with what could be desire or anger or both. He looks at Veronica, then Harley, then back to me for one searing moment before strolling out of the room as if nothing happened, as if he hasn't just turned my world upside down.
"Girl," Harley whispers, drawing closer to me, her eyes wide with shock. "What the fuck?"
For once, I have no clever comeback, no snarky response. My mind is blank, still reeling from the intensity of what just happened. My body hums with the ghost of his touch, my omega instincts preening with a satisfaction I refuse to acknowledge. I feel lost, confused, angry—at him, at myself, at this whole fucked-up omega biology to crave the very thing I hate.
I shake my head and push my hair behind my ears, trying to ground myself in the familiar gesture. "Let's go, before he comes back."
Harley nods in agreement as Veronica comes up behind us, ushering us along.
"I should really take my blockers," I mutter to myself as we head to the final meet and greet. But even as I say it, part of me wonders if I actually want to.
