Page 77 of Impossible

I should have known better than to try. “We might not have a month,” I say.

“Can she not take a short course of suppressors?”

“Thanks for the info, Aaron.” I smile at him tightly. “I wish you the best with your omega.”

I turn on my heel and walk back to my desk. Post-nasal drip coughs. The radiator rattles.

There are no answers. Indie will be alone in a heat suite and Leon will hate me and Risk will self-destruct and Joshua will slowly fade to nothingness.

I can’t stop her hormones. I can’t force Risk and Joshua to be sane enough for their assessments. That’s my fault too—because of my position on the board, we’re subjected to more stringent psychiatric evaluation than just the usual pack clearance. Usually, it would just be ensuring we’re not narcissists or sociopaths, but because of me and my ambition, we also have to prove that we’re of sound mind and judgment. A higher bar for higher aspirations. My fault.

I can’t make them want what I want. I can’t fix them. They probably want me to open the bond. And stick them with this feeling in my stomach? I don’t have words for it, all I know is I want it gone.

My brain is hot. I open Marcus’s folder and the sick feeling is compounded by tasteless disbelief that his proposal has somehow made it to a vote.

The Pack registry has been a boon for omega safety since its inception. He’s framing this as a choice, but it’s no choice at all. Bodily autonomy or the wild west of forming pack bonds outside the Coalition’s vetted list. Omegas, at the mercy of alpha packs that have forsaken the Coalition and the protections we offer. Handing the most vulnerable among us, the ones we’ve vowed to protect, to the very enemies we promised to protect them from. The very purpose for the existence of the Coalition to begin with.

Everything I’ve stood against my entire career, and he’s having me write the justification for it. A test. Another test. How much bullshit can Hollis put up with before he explodes? Just like the rest of his pack. How long until we can get him to throw in the towel, just like them?

I used to think I could do it forever. Now I’m not so sure. There are some shortcomings I can’t make up for on my pack’s behalf, no matter how much overtime I put in.

I spend the afternoon trying not to think about the words I’m typing. I do my best to brainstorm ideas for Indie and her heat. For how to motivate Joshua to put himself through another traumatic interview. How to make Risk seem even semi-sane. How to soothe the rage in Leon’s eyes without opening the bond. I can’t open the bond. I can’t be the Pack Alpha they need, not now. They might not understand it, but I know it’s best. I can’t subject them to this. I burn away at myself as the hours pass. Post-nasal drip breathes wetly. The radiator leaks and rattles.

At one point—with another intrusive thought of Indie alone in a heat suite crossing my mind unbidden—I stand, cross to the dripping radiator, and deliver a swift kick to its coiled metal side. There’s a metallicthunk, then silence.

Post-nasal drip stares at me in horror.

“Fixed it,” I grunt. And I did—the radiator isn’t rattling any more. The steady drip of water into the pool underneath has also ceased. Likely due to the size fourteen dent in the side, but that’s beside the point.

The silence is arguably just as bad as the constant rattle.

I need a fucking drink.

22

Imprudent

Indigo

Ispendclassclenchingmy legs and quietly spraying more de-scenter and wishing I could go back to my room and bury myself in my nest and never emerge. Not to face Leon, or Cecilia, or my heat. No more therapy or weigh-ins or tutoring with Ms. O’Brien. Just darkness, and quiet, and solitude.

It’s a giant lie. I know that the second Leon opens his office door when I arrive for lunch.

“Hey, little bird,” he smiles. “How are you doing?”

“Embarrassed,” I say, my stomach doing a complicated flip at the sight of him. “Would you mind?” I thrust out the bottle of de-scenter. “Clearly I am young and impressionable and not to be trusted without pharmaceutical aid.”

His smile falters. “You want me to…”

Warm cloves are already swimming in my head. His eyes are piercing, matching the evergreen scent of Hollis that I can faintly detect on him. Joshua’s rain-sweet freshness too.

I nod tightly, trying to hold my breath. “I’m sorry about last night. That was… a lot.”

“Oh.”

What does‘Oh’mean?

I give the bottle a little shake. “Please?” I ask. “I just… I don’t want to not trust myself around you.”

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