Page 211 of Unmarked
A fresh mug of tea.
Chamomile. With omega-safe calming herbs. Warm, thoughtful, and delivered like a peace offering from someone who thinks I’m a library book that just needs to be gently reshelved.
I shuffle tot he edge of the bed so that I can pick it up. I sniff it, and whisper,“You passive-aggressive bastard.”
It smells amazing. It smells like the exact thing I need.
And I amsomad that I need it.
I chug half, burn my tongue, and slam the mug down again just to prove a point.
If Lucian Vale thinks a nice cup of sleepytime omega-blend and some backup panties are going to fix the fact that he basically labeled me used goods, he’s got another thing coming.
I’m not a problem to be handled. I’m not some delicate flower with an expiration date. I’m an unregistered, multi-bonded, heat-shattered omega with four alphas in my scent trail and a to-do list that includes evading government prosecution and texting my best friend before she starts a war.
So yeah. I hate it here.
But at least I have tea.
Chapter Forty-One
Rhea
The half-empty cup of tea is still warm when I pass it on my way out of the bedroom.
I don’t touch it again. I don’t want anything from him.
I just want a snack. Something solid. Something normal. Something that doesn’t taste like rejection or emotional constipation.
Maybe toast. Maybe a goddamn pizza.
I’m barefoot and vaguely vengeful as I shuffle down the hallway, wearing one of Lucian’s many overpriced shirts that definitely cost more than my rent. I didn’t bother with pants. Why bother with pants? My dignity already left the building. Probably climbed out the window and hitchhiked to another city.
Also, I’m ninety percent sure I could still slightly be in heat, because I’m craving food, cuddles, and vengeance in equal measure.
Possibly also a cheeseburger.
Possibly also Kai.
Speaking of... The kitchen light is already on.
I pause in the doorway, and there he is.
Kai.
Shirtless.
Barefoot.
Eating cookie dough out of the tub like a human raccoon that fell into a vat of sex appeal and then got tattooed.
He looks up, sees me, and immediately grins like a gremlin who knows how to pick locks and charm mothers.
“Well, well, well,” he purrs, licking the spoon way too enthusiastically. “Midnight omega in my kitchen. Wearing Lucian’s shirt and nothing else. I must’ve been a very, very good boy in a past life - the gods have blessed me.”
I stop dead in the doorway and shoot him the sharpest, coldest, most judgmental glare I can manage.
“You’re eating raw cookie dough?”
