Classic Novel
Chapter 11
The scent.
Her scent.
Invades my every thought.
My every breath.
Need to taste it on my tongue.
Pace outside the clinic door.
Clench and unclench my fists.
They’re keeping her in there.
Away from me.
‘Hey freak, whatcha doing?’
Whiskey. His voice grates like rusted metal on bone.
Ignore him, keep pacing.
One-two-three-four, spin on my heel.
One-two-three-four.
Omega’s aroma grows stronger near the door. Sweet and tangy.
Vanilla.
Honeysuckle.
Things I’ve never smelled before, but recognize.
Makes my head spin.
‘You’re not thinking of going in there, are you?’
Whiskey steps in my path.
Big mistake.
‘The little omega is off limits,’ he says. ‘Boss’s orders.’
Curl what’s left of my upper lip.
Baring metal fangs he can’t see behind my gas mask.
No words.
A rumbling growl from deep in my ruined throat.
‘Fucking psycho.’
He backs up, hands raised.
Smart boy.
‘Don’t know why Thane keeps you around. You’re a rabid dog that needs to be put down,’ he says.
Mockingly.
With fear.
Slam my fist into the concrete wall, leaving a crater. Chunks of cement crumble to the floor.
Whiskey flinches.
Stare him down, breathing hard through my mask.
Whiskey turns, shaking his head. ‘Whatever man, it’s your funeral. Fucking freak.”
He disappears around the corner.
Freak.
Monster.
Abomination.
Let them fear me.
Better that than pity.
Mind returns to omega.
Thane told us to scent her.
Her fragrance still lingers in my nose, my mouth.
Mouthwatering.
Want to bury my face against her neck.
Drink her in.
Consume her.
A possessive snarl builds in my chest.
The omega… Ivy.
Mine.
No.
Dangerous thoughts.
Thane would rip my throat out.
I’m already missing enough of it.
Wouldn’t be able to scent her at all then.
Fingers twitch with the urge to tear down the door. To see her, breathe her in.Content rights belong to NôvelDrama.Org.
She smelled of fear too.
Acrid and sharp beneath the allure.
I could protect her.
Wrap her in my arms, shield her.
No.
Who am I fooling?
I’m a beast, a killer.
I’d snap her delicate bones just holding her.
But I ache to try.
To press my marred face to her silken skin. To feel her hands on me.
Would her hands soothe instead of inflicting pain?
Has a touch ever not hurt?
Strikes and kicks.
Crowbars and stones.
I shake my head viciously.
Stupid.
Weak.
I am not a pup craving softness.
I am Wraith.
I don’t feel.
Except I do.
I feel too much.
Always have.
The one thing they couldn’t carve out of me.
Drag my fingers through my hair. Grip it. Trying to center myself.
Her bouquet still surrounds me.
A torment and a balm.
Vanilla.
Fresh-baked cake.
Honey straight from the comb.
They can’t keep me from her forever.
Sooner or later, someone will fuck up.
My omega.
Mine.