Page 45 of Impossible

“Indie…” he breathes. “You’re spiking.”

I know what spiking is now. I do. Logically. It’s my pheromones getting tricked into thinking it’s heat time and getting my body all ready for sex, aka the warmth and wetness between my legs and the absolute flood of my scent I’m sure is battering Leon right about now.

But all I can think of is how beautiful he is. So strong, and capable, and calm. How he fought Risk to protect me.

Risk.

I look off in the trees he disappeared into. The ghost of his lips crushed against mine still lingers. I bring my fingers to my mouth, bruised from the force of him. Flashes of emotion collide against each other, each carrying words and thoughts with them, but none able to claim my brain long enough to play out. Lust and worry, for Risk. Need, for Leon. Fear, for me. Shame, for the feeling in my belly and groin. Pain in my knee. Hurt, from Cam and Rose.

“Did he injure you?” Leon asks, grounding me again.

I shake my head. “No. I fell. He heard me in the woods and came over and I think I was already spiking. He didn’t mean to. He just…”

“I know,” Leon sighs.

We’re both silent. At first, I’m lost in the memory of Risk’s kiss, the pleasurable jolt that traveled down my body, ricocheting and returning to my brain as fear. Then I’m noticing Leon’s expression, troubled.

“The incident where I lost my hand…” he falters. “He was also hurt, in a different way.”

“How?” I can’t stop myself from asking. The spike begins to fade, pushed back by my curiosity.

“You know about compulsion dominance?” Leon asks.

“It’s how you stopped him.”

Leon nods. “He was dominated. A lot. It’s disrespectful to compel people outside of extenuating circumstances. You saw me dominate my combat class on Friday, but before that it had been years since I’d done it. During the… incident, though, some alphas began tormenting him. Compelling him with contradicting orders, telling him to hurt himself.”

Leon begins absently rubbing around his stump as he speaks. I realize the long-sleeved t-shirt he’s wearing has come untucked, and for the first time I can see the scar from his amputation. It’s still red and angry, not fully knitted together yet. It looks painful.

Incident. He’s so careful with his words. They were attacked, they had to have been. But he won’t say it, won’t let slip the violence that must have led to the puckered red scar capping his left arm. Or his packmate’s damaged psyche.

“Risk has always been a little unpredictable,” Leon continues, “he didn’t come from the best home life and manifested way too young, and what those alphas did just… broke something inside of him. He hasn’t been the same since. Dominating him just now was the cruelest thing I could have done. I just couldn’t… I had to.”

I let out a long breath. “Thank you,” I say. “I’m ok. Honestly. He did nothing wrong. If he did, it was my fault. I disobeyed you, I went up to Adams. I… saw my old friends.” The wind goes out of me with the words. With the memory of Cam and Rose, tangled on the bench together.

Leon doesn’t say anything.

“You were right,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have gone.”

“What did they smell like?” he asks knowingly.

“Styrofoam and printer ink. And they were kissing.”

That makes him smile, just slightly. “Should they not have been?”

“I had a crush on him for years, and she knew all about it. I was gone for three days and they were all over each other. My two best friends.”

“Oh, little bird.”

“It’s stupid,” I mutter, “they smell bad anyway. I don’t even want him anymore, not now, but the fact that they did that…”

The shaking overcomes me. I’m not crying, but the aftermath of the shock and adrenaline and spike combine to wrack my body with shivers. I grimace as my bad knee knocks my good one, letting out a low hiss. I can’t stop it, no matter how hard I try.

Leon sighs, then lifts me, like I’m a feather, and suddenly he’s sitting on the ground and I’m cradled in his arms and he’s rocking slowly, shushing me as I shake.

Why does this always happen? Why does he always see me like this, when I’m falling to pieces?

“My god, you must think I’m a mess,” I laugh bitterly. What can I do but laugh? This beautiful man has witnessed me at such lows. He’s been through so much, lost his fucking hand, watched his packmate have a mental break, and here I am quivering over petty teenage heartbreak and missing a fucking play.

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