Harper’s [POV]
“You didn’t take your medicine today?” Michael booms, a mixture of panic and fury on his face. “What the fuck were you THINKING?”
It’s the first time he’s raised his voice to me, and alarm bells blare in the back of my brain.
He’s always too concerned about my health, but somehow the fear for my well-being has turned to anger.
Tears prick at my eyes and I gasp, shocked at his outburst. “I’m sorry. I forgot I’ll take them right now.”
“Do you want to get sick?” he yells, his face red and flustered. “Do you want to leave me all alone? Is that what you want?”
He’s not making sense.
“Of course, I don’t,” I sob, hurt. “I’m sorry. I truly forgot. I’ll take them now.”
He tosses the pill bottle at me and watches as I pop the pills into my mouth. I swallow them down dry as tears run down my cheeks, and he huffs. “I think you knew, deep down. But you pretended to forget.”
Alarm bells shriek louder, and I cry harder, confused and devastated at his words. “Of course not,” I sniffle.
He’s all I have, and I’ve made him mad.
I upset him, and I have no one else.
“I just want you to stay healthy,” he assures me as he pulls me into his arms. I shake in his hold, utterly terrified of his accusation.
This isn’t normal, right?
This isn’t how people in love talk to each other.
“I care about you,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Don’t cry, Harper. You know how that makes me feel.”
His words make my stomach churn.
“We’re all we have,” he sighs. “We have to take care of each other, alright?”
“Maybe I should go back to the doctor,” I sniff. “See if there’s a different type of medicine for me.”
His arms grip me tighter. “We’ve had this conversation. It would be a waste of time to go back. These are the best ones for you.”
But I should have fought him harder.
I should have…
I wake up screaming, flinging the blankets off me, and sitting up straight. The sun shines through the curtains, illuminating the room, and it takes me a moment to remember where I am.
Michael’s not here.
And he’s also agoddamn liar.
I grit my teeth, recalling our conversations and all the red flags I ignored.
The way he would build me up for weeks, then tear me down in one day, leaving me in tears for not feeling good enough.
And those stupid pills…
What the hell were they?
Why didn’t I question it more?
Why why why.
As if on cue, the headache returns sharper than before.
“Oh, shit,” I hiss, putting my face in my hands. It’s a full-on migraine, and I fight every instinct to hide under the covers, instead hauling myself into the bathroom. I keep the light off and turn on the shower, letting the stream of hot water run down my skin.
It helps marginally.
Once I’m out, I take the medicine I purchased from the pharmacy, hoping it will ease my discomfort.
Breakfast should help, too.
But my skin is flushed and overheated. There’s a tender spot on the junction of my neck and shoulder as if I bruised it.
And…
I’m wet.
Embarrassingly so, as lines of arousal drip down my thighs.
I wipe myself in the bathroom as best I can, hoping it will stop because I don’t know what could be causing it.
It’s as if I’m permanently aroused. I had hoped touching myself last night would help, but it’s only turned worse.
Could it be because of the Alphas?
Since the accident, I’ve only caught whiffs of them while running errands with Michael. Whenever we spotted one, he’d frown and steer me away from them. We would leave the area altogether before I could ever get too close.
“I don’t want them looking at you,” he would say at my confused expression.
And I just went along with it, because they appeared intimidating.
They were always painfully attractive, yet deadly powerful.
But I’m a Beta. My identification card says so, along with my anatomy.
I don’t have a mating gland, and I certainly don’t experience heat.
So, Michael’s reasoning made little sense.
He’s such a control freak.
He took so much away, under the guise of protecting me.
And then, when I pushed back too hard…
He put his hands on me.
“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath as I dress. I pull on a black maxi dress, which I grabbed from the back of the closet in my rush to leave the apartment. Then, I button up a black sweater, hoping the ensemble will be warm enough for outside.
I pass by the picture James drew, and my heart aches as questions loom in my mind.
Why would he bother to do that?
Why would Beau and Grey spend time in my bedroom, both agonizing over my fate?
They don’t know me.
As flattering as it all is, my stay ends in only a few days, and we’ll never see each other again.
Right?
I open my bedroom door to see a round mass of fur waiting for me.
“Good morning,” I murmur to Wilson, who meows expectantly. He leads me downstairs as the smell of coffee and eggs calls to me, distracting me from the pounding in my head.
Charlotte is in the dining room dusting the table, and she smiles at me. Her hair is down today, and she looks much more relaxed than last night.
“Harper!” she says. “I set up breakfast for you in the garden. Is that alright?”
Warmth spreads through me and I return her smile. “Of course.”
“Beau says you took a liking to it it’s impossible not to, right?”
I put my hand to my forehead and flinch. She frowns.
“Shoot. Is that headache back?” she asks gently.
I nod. “It’s strange. It comes and goes; one minute I feel like I have a fever, and the next I’m fine. It’s like my body can’t decide if it’s sick or not.”
Charlotte is quiet for far too long, staring at me. Her expression is the same as it was the night I checked in bewildered.
“What is it?” I ask. “What do you think is wrong with me?”
Do you know something I don’t? I want to scream at her.
“I don’t know,” she says gently, her eyes softening. “But keep an eye on it. There’s a hospital not too far from here I don’t think it will come to that, and I can see if we have any medicine here, so you don’t need to return to the pharmacy.”
I think of the awkward pharmacist and the strange encounter with Renee, the Omega that claimed to know me.
“That would be great,” I say. “Also, I’m sure being outside will help, too.”
“Oh, of course,” she agrees. “The garden makes everything better.”
I’m not used to eating alone.
Michael was always at my side, insisting I take my medicine, and only eat things he cooked.
There’s a strange sense of independence as I sip my coffee in between bites of the savory egg souffle. My fingers run over the intricate pattern on top of the dark glass table, tracing over the design that matches the gazebo.
The weather is overcast, the sky grey and white with a light breeze that makes the flowers dance in the wind.
Charlotte was right. The garden makes everything better. My headache is muted, and my body no longer burns with the promise of a fever.
I’m not alone, either. Wilson has a silver bowl on the stone pathway, a plate of quail eggs and chicken presented elegantly as he enjoys his breakfast.
I’ve never been jealous of a cat.
Yet here I am, wishing I could live like him, spending every day at the inn and lounging in the garden as I please.
That would be life.
Halfway through the cup of coffee, I feel a pair of eyes watching me.
Michael? Could it be Michael?
Oh my God, he’s here he knows I’m here.
But no. My panic subsides as the wind blows, a familiar delicious spice mixing with the gentle scent of the lilacs.
“It’s not polite to stare,” I say into the greenery, unable to locate him.
A chair scrapes behind me and James comes into view, taking a seat at the table. “You looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you,” he says.
“Yet here you are.”
His icy eyes stare into mine, his lips pulled into a smirk. “I can’t stay away from you long, it seems.”
I scoff.
I turn back to my food, but his eyes stay on me as I eat. He just watches, with no food or drink of his own, but I refuse to acknowledge him.
I haven’t forgotten the sketch he gifted me, but it doesn’t outweigh his outlandish behavior.
Maybe he’s always like this.
“Black suits you,” he adds thoughtfully.
I cock an eyebrow and take in his black pants and a long-sleeved shirt. “Is it your favorite color?”
“It makes your scar stand out,” he says softly.
I freeze.
“That’s incredibly rude,” I say softly, holding my hand to my cheek. My insecurities rise to the surface, and I feel like a disfigured mess.
“Your face was beautiful before the accident. It still is, but I miss the way it looked before.”
Michael’s voice taunts me, bile rising in my stomach.
“It’s not,” James says, snapping me back to the present. “It shows you’re a survivor. It’s beautiful.”
“I…” My voice trails off. Who compliments someone’s scar? It bisects my face, and I didn’t bother to cover it up today because I don’t feel well.
“It’s ugly,” I try again. But James just tilts his head, and a corner of his lip turns up.
“Never. It’s perfect.”
He’s so confident about it that it makes me angry.
“It’s a scar, James.”
At the use of his name, he grins widely, showing off slightly crooked white teeth. It’s a disarming smile full of danger and dark mischief. “Scars show us who we are, Princess.”
“Stop calling me Princess,” I growl, and he chuckles.
“It shows you survived your past,” he continues. “That you fought like hell, and you’re still here, sitting in front of me.”
I bite my lip, wanting to believe his words.
He thinks my scar is beautiful.
He even drew it in the sketch of me. I had thought he would leave out that detail, but he kept it in.
Just like the other day in the gazebo, I find myself spilling my soul to him.
“That’s the thing, though. I may have survived it, but I don’t remember it.”
He drums his fingers on the table, watching as I trace the woven design of the table. “You’ll figure it out,” he murmurs.
“Will I?” I mutter. “Because I feel empty. Like a blank slate. It’s as if the world is one big riddle, and I’m picking up clues but can’t fucking solve it.”
There’s a moment of silence as he stares at me. “Riddles can be fun,” he says quietly. “Especially if other people are there to help you solve it.”
Too bad I don’t have anybody.
But I don’t tell him that.
It sounds pathetic.
Pain.
I double over in shock, choking out a breath as my womb cramps. Fire flares through my body and I hold back a whimper while my insides burn.
“Fuck.”
James is next to me in a second as I lean over the side of the table, slowly sliding out of my chair.
The pain takes my breath away, and I collapse against him as he settles onto his knees by my side.
“Harp Princess, what’s going on?”
Gone is his mischievous tone; just a frantic whisper escapes his lips as my body cramps and the headache returns with full force. I’m halfway off the chair and falling into his lap, his arms wrapped around me, my face in his chest.
How embarrassing.
“Sorry,” I whisper against him, my face flaming as I drown in his scent. He’s massive; even as he crouches down next to me, he’s still taller than the table.
“I’ve got you,” he rumbles as another cramp hits me and I hiss in pain.
I need to get out of his arms. I wriggle in his grip, but he only holds me tighter, forcing me into an intimate position.
“Are you sick?” He asks me, his breath tickling my ear, and I fight back a moan.
Because, even though the ache, I’m painfully aroused.
His peppery, delicious scent floods through me, and I bite my lip to fight a whimper.
Get out of his arms get out of his arms.
But he shifts slightly, and the front of my dress brushes against his pants.
Oh, fuck.
He’s hard underneath me, his erection obvious.
My cunt clenches on nothing, desperate to be filled, arousal dissipating my headache.
He lets out a shuddering breath, the sound sending shockwaves to my clit.
If I tilt my head up the slightest amount, our eyes will meet, and I could kiss him.
STOP!
I will not dry hump an Alpha I don’t know in the middle of a fucking garden.
“Sorry, sorry,” I try again, as wetness floods my inner thighs. Thankfully the dress is made of thick fabric, so hopefully, I won’t leave a damp spot on his pants.
“Are you alright, Princess?” he tries again, his voice strangled.
My breath stutters as I remain in his lap. If I just moved my hips the tiniest bit, maybe the ache would stop.
“No one needs to know,” James’ voice is at my ear, his voice low and husky. “You can tell me, baby. I’ll keep your secrets.”
Alarm bells blare in my mind, but I can’t move out of his lap.
His hands roam down my back, and a whimper escapes me.
“Tell me what you need,” he growls. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”
I wrap my legs around his hips as he grips me. We’re both on the ground, me straddling his lap, him rocking us slowly back and forth.
“Do you need to come?” he whispers in my ear. “Is that what my scarred Princess needs?”
I’m delirious.
He doesn’t know me. This is wrong, he’s fucking dangerous.
“Yes,” I gasp.
He groans and I shudder at the sound, the guilt of my confession drowned out by the intense arousal.
“Then use me,” he whispers. “Come on, baby, it’ll be our secret. Give me something to think about when my cock is in my hand.”
Oh, my God.
Rational Harper is gone; replaced by a woman who is a slave to her arousal, not caring for anyone or anything outside of the sensation of her cunt rubbing against James’ clothed erection.
I need to put an end to this.
This isn’t right. This isn’t-normal.
You’re a Beta you’re a Beta stop!
But it takes one thrust of his hips to send me over the edge, my mouth opening in a silent cry as my orgasm floods me. My pussy walls clench on nothing and my thighs shake as wetness gushes from my body.
“That’s right,” James hisses in my ear. “Give it to me, Princess. Fuck, I can smell it fuck”
He lets out a low groan, the sound strangled in his throat as he shakes against me.
Is he did he just
I don’t bask in the afterglow. I scramble out of his lap, shame coursing through me at what we just did. He doesn’t give any resistance when I pull out of his embrace, but he flashes me a wicked grin.
“Don’t worry, Princess,” he says, standing up and adjusting himself to my horror. “It’s our little secret. I promise.”
My mouth hangs open; now that the arousal has dissipated, I’m vaguely aware of a liquid running down my thighs and the bruise on my shoulder intensifying.
What did I just do?
“I…”
I turn and race down the stone pathway, back to the inn, desperate to get away from him, the alarm bells ringing in my ears.