Page 40 of The Rejected Omega
“Was it recent, then? How long has it been?”
My voice is thin and reedy. “High school.”
His entire frame stiffens beside me. “Lana….that’s not possible.”
“Sometimes I wish that were true.”
Connor goes very still. There’s an air of threat filling the car.
I press my head into the steering wheel harder, daring it to beep.
“Where are you getting them?”
The implication of his question takes a moment to hit me. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fucking designation studies.
I swallow a dry clump of air. “Getting what?”
“The extra suppressants. I know you haven’t staved off a heat for three years on what Kanata prescribes you alone. She’d lose her license.”
It’s a struggle to keep from reacting. This is why I can’t be honest with people. Even him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Connor reaches for my sleeve and begins to push it up. I yank away from him, but his grip is like iron on my arm. Each inch of flesh reveals another tell-tale circular bruise left by my black market shots. There are even more on my belly and thighs.
I stare wide-eyed at Connor as his throat works. He’s positively seething. Barely hanging on to control.
Bad omega. Alpha is mad.
“I am trying very hard not to yell at you right now. Suppressant abuse isn’t uncommon. We studied it in one of my classes. But the health risks…”
“You’re yelling with your face.”
His jaw flexes.
“Three years?How many fucking blockers are you on? You’d have to keep increasing your dosage to maintain suppression.”
Enough to be in the same room as my alpha without him realizing I’m his mate.
He groans. “No wonder you’re working two fucking jobs. It’s to afford your habit.”
I jerk my arm away from him. “I need it to live. It’s not ahabit.”
“This isn’t living, Lana.”
“I’m fine. I’m handling it.”
“Said every addict who wasn’t handling it ever. Do you know how risky this is? How do you even know what you’re getting? What you’re injecting yourself with? Unregulated suppressants aren’t easy to come by—for good reason. They’re often diluted, not to mention the risk of contamination and infection. The DEA cracks down harder on them every year.”
“I’m just doing what I have to to get by.”
Connor tips his head back against his seat, staring at the discolored roof of my car.
“Does Mac know?”
“No. He knows I go too long between heats, but not the extent of it.”
“Good. I was going to kill him if he stood by and let you do this.”
