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But this is Gabriel, and he’sthatgood at coaxing my Omega instincts to break through. The compulsion to be of service. Provide respite. I’ve never experienced it so profoundly before, definitely not with Lennart, but there’s a first time for everything.
I don’t know. It’s hard to think, and I’m confused. Gabriel’s scent is sothick. Nearly impossible to wade through.
Maybe Iamill. Cooking up a fever. “I’m sorry.” I chuckle to myself after realizing that I’ve just been staring at him for whole minutes. “My head has been pounding. It’s like everything… Is it possible that the scents in the military wing are more vivid than everywhere else?”
“No,” he says, unsurprised by my ridiculous question. “It’s not.”
“Right. I must just be sick, then.”
He blows out a scoff. “You know better than that, Sofia.”
“Do I?” My palm finds one of the glands on my neck. Rubs it in a small soothing motion.
“You’re not sick,” Gabriel says. “The opposite, actually.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You are…”
He shakes his head. Something unsaid lingers between us, something neither of us can fully acknowledge to the other. Me, because I want it too much, and being wrong would break me from the inside out. Gabriel… I wonder whathismotives are.
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Shakes his head. “I’ll tell you when I’m sure.”
“Yeah. Okay.” I force myself to take a step back, hating every inch of distance between us. Push down a swallow. “Since I’m obviouslyfastasleep and staying one more night, how will we pass the time?”
Something flashes in his eyes, but he doesn’t reply. Instead he pulls up the chair even closer than it was last night, and a minute later, I’m on the bed once more, watching Alex as she settles in for a nap at his feet.
This could be a routine, I think.
Him and me and the night. Or the day—like in my dream. It’s right there, the turquoise of his eyes in the sparkling sun. The weight of his scarred forearm resting over my waist. Right there, ready for me to pluck.
Except that no. It’s justnot.
I have amate.
Gabrieltookme from my mate.
Without asking.
And here I am, wanting to roll in his scent.
While he obviously reads my mind. “Do you want to go back to him?” he asks, locking his eyes with mine.
“What?”
“Do you want to go back to Lennart?”
“Of course. He’s my?—”
“Do you want to go back to Lennart?” he repeats, slower this time, and I take it for what it is: an invitation to actually reflect before giving him an answer.
So I do. I wait for a beat, consider the matter, a roaring heat in my ears the whole time.
No, my gut says.I don’t.Why would I leave this place? This scent?When is the last time I’ve felt this good about something?
But what is the alternative? “House Larsen is my home. I have nowhere else to go. I have no one else. I?—”
His blue eyes harden. “Sofia.”
