Page 72 of Examining the Bond

“Yes.”

She only hesitates for a beat, her jaw working as she slowly nods, processing my response.

“Fine. If that’s what you need, I’ll go.” She turns and walks away, grabbing her jeans and her hoodie off the floor. I watch numbly as she pulls them on, snatching her hat up and sliding her shoes on. “But, Riann? I can see you're struggling. I can smell it in your scent.” She keeps talking as she dresses, not looking at me, her voice scarily monotone. “You're asking meto share myself with you, but you won’t even tell me what’s happening to you right now.”

Once she’s dressed, she pauses in the middle of the room, staring at me, but I refuse to look at her. I can’t.

“Have a safe trip tomorrow,” she says softly. She runs a hand through her short hair and slips on her baseball cap in my peripheral. “Just… I can't put into words how much I care about you, preciosa. Please don't forget that.”

“Sure.” I nod, my eyes fixed unwaveringly on the corner of the room. Even seeing her in my peripheral vision makes me bristle.

I can’t even say anything; I’m both on the brink of tears and worried I’ll attack her if I move.

A part of me expects her to stop and beg me to reconsider. Maybe it’s a result of all the romcoms that have been playing on the TV, giving me some delusional, rose-colored idea of what relationships should be like.

However, Skylar doesn’t stop. She doesn’t say another word before she's gone, the door closing softly behind her.

The red rage of the rut is suffocating me, and I fling my fist out, slamming it down on the table with a fierce bark, shocking myself. There’s power in that sound, the same call that alphas use to control omegas.

I don’t want to be an alpha.

I don’t want to get sucked into this spiral of rage and hurt.

But what if this is my life?

Skylar said I could choose with a bite, but they barely know anything about deltas. What if my designation chooses me?

A sob escapes me as white noise fills my ears.

The alpha in me is laughing while the omega in me cries in disbelief.

Why the fuck am I even still here?

The clinic was meant to fix me, but I’m more broken than ever. The heat pounding in my body sends me into overdrive. I can’t see through the crimson rage fogging my mind.

I rip the blankets off the bed with a snarl, trying to get rid of our scents. I swipe the bottle of champagne before kicking at the table, watching it tumble. It’s like I’m watching someone else slam their fist into the wall, shattering a lamp, and yelling out as I lift the TV and fling it to the floor with everything I have.

I’m torn between sobs and wheezes, my chest growing tighter.

I can’t see.

I can’t think.

I can’t hear a single fucking thing.

I’m spinning around the room, trapped in my body, more broken than the shards of glass that pepper the floor.

“Skylar,” I choke out, my lungs too tight to draw in a breath. There’s nothing left. The energy that ripped through me has taken its prize and fades along with my consciousness.

I drop to my knees, wrapping my arms around myself, unable to stop trembling. I can feel myself slipping further and further away, and the red rage that filled my vision goes dark.

Maybe it’s better this way.

The thought swirls around me, and it’s the last thing I hear as I fall onto my side, my head hitting the carpet as the darkness takes me.

CHAPTER THIRTY

RIANN