Page 89 of Impossible

His dark brown hair is perfectly styled, olive skin glowing, his five o’clock shadow clean-cut around the edges, and he looks like he’s about to step up to a podium and tell me about my taxes. He smells of fresh pine, pungent and sharp. I’ve only spent a short time with him prior to this, but his scent seems stronger now as well, somehow more saturated than it was before. I have to be wrong—it was probably just all the other scents around us that diluted him.

He turns as soon as I enter the room, a brisk, business-like smile spreading across his face.

“Indigo! It’s good to see you.”

“Hi, Mr. Midas.”

Unlike Leon, I have no issue calling Hollis Mr. Midas.

His brow furrows. He clears his throat. “Please, call me Hollis.”

Unlikely.

I wish I had opted for the chair—I’m sweating from the exertion of the crutches. I can only hope I haven’t made pit-stains on my shirt. I smooth my hands down my front and notice the spots where my jeans are worn down to the threads. My shoes have holes in them. I’ve always thought that if I’m skinny enough, my clothes don’t matter, but standing in front of Hollis Midas, I feel horribly shabby.

“I saw your medical heat registration come through this morning. I figured I’d pop over on my lunch break to invite you over tomorrow for dinner.”

“Dinner?” I echo.

“Oh—er,” he blanches. “I mean, we don’t have to eat, we could, I don’t know—”

“Dinner is fine,” Leon cuts Hollis off, saving him from wherever that sentence was going.

I look between the two packmates—they both hold themselves in the same way, their stance wide, shoulders squared. Leon’s barely taller, a tad bulkier, more muscle-bound, while Hollis is more lithe. Of course, for Hollis, ‘shorter’ here means a casual six foot six.

The thought of eating a meal with them makes me faintly nauseous. Still, I thrill at the thought of spending time with them. Seeing their home.

A warm feeling tightens my low belly. A second later, the smell of bergamot and black tea and something else, something fresh and sweet, fills the room.

Hollis is a politician through and through—his nostrils flare when my scent strikes him, but it’s his only tell. His smile remains plastered on his face, bright and fake. Leon, on the other hand, makes no effort to hide his reaction. I swear I can hear his teeth grind, and he shifts in place, rocking from foot to foot. He turns away from me, his good hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling the color leave my face, along with every last shred of my dignity I had remaining. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“This is natural, Indie.” I wasn’t expecting Leon to speak, but when he turns to face me again, the anger from before is replaced by something else entirely. “It’s natural. It’s ok. Don’t be embarrassed. We live close by, if anything happens we’ll drive you right back here and you can be in the suites within thirty minutes. It’s what we used to do for a living. Escorting pre-heat omegas. Tell her, Hollis.”

Hollis nods, his smile cooling to something a little more real. “It’s true. Ensuring an omega’s safety when she’s about to enter her most vulnerable state is a privilege, and one we take very seriously.”

It sounds like a slogan, not a promise, but the calm sureness in his voice works. Or maybe I’m just a sucker for him, for the way he looks like the lead in a rom-com and seems to always be in charge of his own life. I wish I could stand beside him, seem so polished and presentable and confident for the world.

This is what I wanted, right? Get registered for the medical heat so I can hang with them without the Coalition bothering us? Now that the opportunity is here though, it feels dangerous. Too tempting.

Already I can feel myself yearning for Leon to come closer. I want him to carry me back to my room. I want to curl up with him in the dark and let him make this tight feeling inside of me go away. Hollis too, though he seems too perfect to ever be sprawled out in a pack bed, sweaty and high on sex and pheromones.

The thought makes me blush, and I find myself looking at everything in the room but the two alphas in front of me—the old magazines and health pamphlets spread on coffee tables, the strange chairs in varying widths and heights you only ever see in doctor’s offices, the posters on the wall about safe sex and recognizing signs of abuse and covering your coughs and sneezes.

“Sure,” I finally choke out. “I’d like that. Risk and Joshua too?”

“Absolutely.” Hollis’s voice is butter, warm and silky. “Risk has been talking about you non-stop since Wednesday. I took the liberty of bringing a permission slip in hopes you’d say yes, let me just zip it over to the Headmaster, then I have to get back to the Coalition. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

I turn just in time to catch him in a moment of doubt—he looks like he doesn’t know if he should shake my hand or give me a hug or just leave, and he ends up settling on a curt nod. One for me, one for Leon, and then he’s gone.

“Am I ever going to do anything but humiliate myself in front of you and your packmates?” I turn to Leon. I meant for some part of that to sound funny, but it only sounds pathetic and sad.

He’s smiling anyway.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, because it sure as hell isn’t me.

“I don’t know who was more humiliated there, you, or Hollis.”

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