Page 129 of Stolen Omega

“I know that because I know you. The trouble is you don’t know me. At least, you don’t remember knowing me.”

“You’re one of the men who took me?” My voice trembles when I ask the question. I still don’t know who they were or what they did to me.

“No,” he says softly. “Never. I need to ask you something.”

“You can’t come in,” I warn him.

“Do you remember Mrs. Parson’s tulips?”

The name means nothing, but I can picture the boy with the vibrant green eyes giving me a bright pink flower and telling me he’ll bring me one every day. And he did, too. All different colors.

“Is she the neighbor he stole them from?” I ask, a murkier memory surfacing of a neighbor telling my mom someone had been stealing her flowers, so she had to keep planting more. That made me feel a little guilty.

“Yeah, she was a salty bitch. Hated kids. That’s why he took them.”

“And how do you know about that?”

He’s quiet for a few seconds, and then he starts to hum something that makes the hairs on my body stand on end. It’s from a song I used to sing for the shy, blond boy. He wasn’t bold enough to sing, but every time he started to hum it, I would sing along.

“It’s you,” I murmur, not believing it.

“You used to call that song something else,” he adds, not confirming it, but I already know it’s him.

“Dale’s Song. Your name is Dale, and I knew you when we were kids.”

“Right. That’s right. Do you remember the boy who brought you flowers?”

“I remember him. He had bright green eyes.”

“You remember his name?”

I try, but nothing comes to me. “No.”

“You used to tell him his name was perfect for him. That it suited him like crazy.”

“Like crazy?” I ask, vaguely starting to remember saying that. “How did we meet?”

“You guys were riding bikes the day you met. I was home sick with a cold. That’s why he was out that day on his own. It’s why he rode out farther than usual, too.”

“I … My bike was purple.”

“That’s right! You guys almost crashed into each other rounding a corner. He’s got a tiny scar on his hand from the handle of his bike that happened that day.”

“He cut his hand,” I murmur, trying to keep the memory going.

“And he asked if you’d kiss it better.”

“To which I screwed up my nose and asked if he was insane …” And he said no, but his name was Zane. “Oh my God. His name was Zane.”

He was an Alpha, and he swore we were going to be fated mates, one day when we were older.

“Is that what this is?” I ask. “Did your pack kidnap me like they did when I was a kid?”

He lets out a sigh. “No. You met us before that happened. When you were kidnapped, we looked for you for a long time. Zane didn’t find you until you were famous. And it was hard to get a chance to speak to you once he found you.”

I met them before I was kidnapped? That doesn’t make any sense.

“I guess my parents decided we should move away after that happened.”

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