Regrets

"I didn’t know you’d be given our old bedroom, I’m sorry about that," Remington says, giving himself permission to lean against the doorframe, "Sometimes I stay here, when I... don't want to go to the main bedroom."

With his wife.

"I noticed," I reply, trying to keep my tongue in check. Even if I hate his guts, he's still my Alpha. Buagh, "It smells like terrible decisions in here."

And terrible consequences, even if the consequences are the cutest boy I've ever seen.

"You’re still a sharp little knife,” he murmurs, his eyes narrowing with just a speck of playfulness.

"And you're still standing here like you want to get cut or something," I scoff, looking down his big body, "Don't you have some Alpha business to attend to?"

"Yes, actually. I just came to say something else,” he says, all playfulness gone.

"About the rogues?" I ask, already turning back toward the room, "You can come in."

He follows me, but he doesn’t sit down next to me. Instead, he stands just inside the door, watching me with a look that makes my skin prickle.

"I don't know how to do this with you, this…” he starts, trying to look for the right words, but that just makes me chuckle.

"We're not doing anything,” I interrupt him, “Don’t get any ideas just because I’m back, I’m still not willing to be the omega whore of a married man. I would rather die.”

His whole body becomes tense and he gives me a sharp look that would make anyone else cower and apologize, but I just raise an eyebrow.

"I was not implying that,” he spits out with an offended tone. I just scoff and roll my eyes, “I mean, I don’t know how to navigate around our bond during this moment of forced proximity. I don’t want to make things unnecessarily complicated or a—“

"We just ignore it,” I interrupt him before he can continue giving me more jumbled polite bullshit, “We’ve been nothing for seven years and we are nothing now. You are simply being a good Alpha to me, protecting me as you would any other omega you considered in danger and I appreciate it, but that’s it. Trust me, I won’t try anything with you, I’m not into married men. I like my men single and fun, without big responsibilities.”

His eyes light up with indignation, but he can’t do or say anything about it, just swallow whatever he’s thinking.

“I was simply trying to set boundaries to keep both of us comfortable,” he says, but I roll my eyes again, “What, Ivy?”

“Just keep the interactions with me at a minimum. If you see me around the house, pretend you didn’t see me and don’t even say hi, I’ll do the same,” I shrug, he frowns as if I’m asking for an impossible task, “It’s just two weeks, Rem, then we’ll continue our lives far away of the other.”

I wait for his response but he says nothing, forcing me to stay there, in the most awkward silence ever.

This is what I mean, he should just go.

But instead of that, he walks closer. Not enough to touch, but close enough that I feel the heat of him, the steady thrum of his presence crawling up my spine.

"You still think I wanted to reject you?" he asked, voice low.

"I think you did reject me," I shot back immediately, "That's a fact."

Remington inhales slowly, as if trying to rein in whatever storm is brewing behind his stormy eyes.

"You were an omega, Ivy,” he says, allowing me to see some real emotion on his face for once, “I couldn’t make you my Luna, that would make me look weak as an Alpha. That would make our pack an easy target.”

That’s bullshit. No Luna would ever be allowed to be a part of a war anyway, it was all about appearances. It’s as simple as that. The Silvans were embarrassed by me and they spent a whole year trying to brainwash Remy into being embarrassed too.

They succeeded. I lost.

"You didn’t care about that at first, you stood against your family for me, you defended me for a while," I remind him, he closes his eyes in stress as he’s forced to remember, “But then they corrupted you and turned you into someone else. They got inside of your wonderful head and turned you into someone that I didn’t mind leaving behind. That’s how I survived without my fated mate, I knew there was no getting him back anyway because he was a completely different person all of a sudden.”

His breath is shallow. I can feel my pulse in my throat. The space between us is buzzing with energy, tense and sharp and dizzying.

"You still wear the mark," he says, his gaze dropping to the place just above my collarbone—where the faint outline of his mating mark remains. Barely visible. But still there.

"What did you want me to do? Remove it? It’s supposed to be a forever thing,” I remind him, even though I’ve heard about a procedure some people have done in extreme cases, literally cutting the mark off them. Even if I had the money for that shit, I wouldn’t do it. As a single omega in the worst of places, that mark and my mated scent helped me more than I’ll ever admit, “I didn’t keep it for emotional reasons. Or for your sake.”

His eyes met mine again, darker now.

"But it's still mine,” he whispers, his voice deeper and realer than it’s been this whole time. It freaks me out because of the way my body responds to it, like he’s a fucking siren.

Before I can respond, his fingers are on my neck. Not in a violent way, just... grabbing me while his thumb is resting on my mark, feeling the heartbeat there thudding like a traitor.

"It’s still alive, it means something,” he whispers and makes the mistake of looking right into my eyes. Just like before, the pull starts winning and he shows weakness, wetting his lips with desire burning in the storm of his cold eyes. It matches the burning in my tummy because he looks just like the man I used to love, all intense and beautiful.

But this guy is definitely not him. He’s not my Rem.

"It means you’re going to regret your decisions forever, babe," I whisper, loving the way he stops and looks stunned for a second, as if I snapped him out of a trance, “Please stop touching me, Alpha. I don’t think your wife would like it.”

He turns into Alpha Remington again in just one second. He swallows and takes two giant steps away from me, holding himself so rigid, it almost seems like a self inflicted punishment.