Page 2 of Discover Me
"Pass." I'm halfway down now, and I can see them more clearly. There's something in their expressions that makes unease prickle at the back of my neck. They're not just being persistent—they're being aggressive about it. "Go find someone else to torture."
I try to tune them out as I continue down, counting rungs in my head. Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen. My arms are starting to ache from holding the toolbox, and I'm looking forward to solid ground under my feet. Just a little further.
That's when the ladder jerks beneath me.
My heart jumps into my throat as I grip it tighter, looking down to see Colt with his hands on the ladder, shaking it. Not hard, but enough that I can feel the movement transferring up through the metal rungs.
"Fucking stop!" Fear cuts through my annoyance. I'm still ten feet up, and a fall from this height with a heavy toolbox could do serious damage.
"It's just a joke," Derek laughs, but there's nothing funny about it. "Hold on, you big ole Beta. Don't be so dramatic."
"Stop it!" I try to keep my voice steady, an edge of panic creeping in. The ladder's shaking harder now, and I can feel my grip starting to slip. "This isn't funny!"
Colt keeps shaking it, apparently thinking this is hilarious, and I watch in horror as the ladder starts to lean backward, away from the building. Physics takes over, and I know what's coming even before it happens. The ladder reaches its tipping point and then slams forward, the top edge crashing against the building's edge with a metallic clang that reverberates through my bones.
My head connects with the metal rung in front of me, and pain explodes across my forehead. Stars burst in my vision, my body sliding down a few rungs as my grip loosens. Everything becomes a little hazy, like I'm looking at the world through frosted glass, a high-pitched ringing in my ears suddenly starting up.
"Shit, shit!" One of them is saying something, but I can't focus on the words. My hands are slipping, sweat and shock making it impossible to hold on properly. "Please," I manage to gasp out, my voice sounding strange and distant to my own ears. "Please stop, just stop—"
But they don't. Maybe they don't hear me, or maybe they're too caught up in their own panic to register what I'm saying. The ladder jerks again, harder this time, before it starts to slip away from the building entirely. I make a desperate grab for the rungs, but my toolbox is still weighing me down. That’s when everything goes from bad to downright awful.
The ladder slides off the roof's edge with a sickening scrape of metal on concrete.
I don't even have time to scream before I feel something jagged catch the side of my neck, tearing through my skin like I'm made of paper. A white-hot line of agony drags down from my neck, across my chest, following the momentum of my fall. I cry out, and then my grip finally gives out completely.
The ground rushes up to meet me, and I have just enough time to thinkthis is going to hurtbefore I hit the concrete. The impact drives all the air from my lungs in one violent rush, and I lie there gasping, unable to draw breath. My toolbox lands somewhere nearby with a crash of metal on concrete, but I can't focus on that. Can't focus on anything except the burning in my chest and the wet warmth spreading across my skin.
"Shit! Oh shit, oh fuck!" Derek's panicked voice sounds far away. The sound of rapid footsteps and multiple people converging on where I'm lying hits my ears,
I try to move and assess the damage, but my body's not responding the way it should. Everything feels disconnected, like my brain's sending signals that are getting lost somewhere along the way. There's a copper taste in my mouth and the world keeps tilting in ways that don't make sense.
Then there are hands on me, someone carefully rolling me onto my back. I blink up at the sky, quickly darkened by a face appearing above me, and even through my hazy vision I can see the concern etched into his sharp features.
"Hey, hey, stay with me," a voice says. "Can you hear me? Don't move, okay? Just stay still."
I try to focus on the face, details starting to filter through the fog in my brain. Dark hair falling across his forehead. Multiple piercings—eyebrow, nose, several in each ear. Tattoos creeping up his neck, disappearing under the collar of his shirt.
It's the guy from the poster. The drummer. He's crouching next to me, one hand hovering near my shoulder like he wants to touch but isn't sure where it's safe to make contact.
"Someone call 911!" he shouts over his shoulder, and I hear another voice saying she's already on it.
Then his scent hits me, and everything else fades into background noise.
Sweet rum. That's what he smells like. It's intoxicating and warm, wrapping around me like a blanket, and despite the pain radiating through my entire body, I find myself smiling. It's a small smile, probably looks insane given the circumstances, but I can't help it. Something about that scent feels right in a way I can't explain, like coming home after a long day, like safety and warmth and everything good in the world distilled into one perfect smell.
My tunnel vision narrows further until he's all I can see—this tattooed stranger with worried eyes and gentle hands, smelling like sweet rum and concern.
I reach up with a trembling hand, my fingers brushing against his jaw. His skin is warm beneath my touch, the need for contact more than I need my next breath. He catches my hand gently, his fingers wrapping around mine.
"Don't move," he says again, a desperate edge to his voice. "Just stay still, okay? Fuck, I don't even know what's broken. The ambulance is coming, just hold on."
I want to tell him I'm okay, want to reassure him even though I'm pretty sure I'm not okay at all. But my tongue feels too heavy in my mouth, and the edges of my vision are going dark despite the bright afternoon sun. The pain is starting to fade too, which some distant part of my brain knows isn't a good sign, but mostly I just feel tired. So incredibly tired.
The sweet rum scent intensifies, the Alpha saying something else but the words don't make sense anymore. They're just sounds at this point.
Sirens wail in the background and I think about how I should probably stay awake for this part. Should probably try to keep my eyes open, keep breathing, keep holding on. But it's so much easier to just let go, to sink into the darkness that's pulling at me with gentle insistence.
The last thing I'm aware of is that scent following me down into the black.
