Dani lifted her chin. “I would have known if he’d been manipulating me.”
“Did he let you read him?”
“He said he wouldn’t be comfortable with that.”
Bree gave a weak snicker. “I’ll bet he did.”
Dani planted her hands on her hips. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to help you here. I don’t like that you don’t have one of your best friends in your life. If something happened to him, you’d regret not hearing him out. He’s in pain, Bree. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Don’t you care at all that you could ease that pain just by talking to him?”
“You’re the primary. If anyone can ease his pain, it’s you.” And if anyone could ease the pain in Bree’s head that had now spread to the back of one eye, making it feel like it was being stabbed, she’d kiss their damn feet.
“He won’t let me help him that way.”
“Ask yourself why that might be. Better yet, ask him what he did that night, Dani. If he tells you the truth, I’ll speak with him. But I’ll bet you every cent I have that he won’t.”
“He already told me everything he said.”
“But not what he did.”
The glare slipped from Dani’s face just as her hands slipped from her hips. “What did he do?” she asked, her voice softening. “What did he do, Bree?”
“Something I’d rather not talk about.”
Her eyes flared with what Bree would love to believe was concern, but she very much doubted it. Dani briefly touched her arm. “You can tell me.”
“Like I said, ask Mateo.”
“Fuck Mateo. If he hurt you, I want to know about it. What did he do? You can trust me. You know that.”
Bree almost laughed. “Sad as it is, no, I don’t know that.” Before the other omega could in any way respond, Bree walked away. The pounding in her head seemed to worsen with every tired step she took, until it honestly felt like someone was battering her skull with a sledgehammer while also ramming an ice pick in the back of her eye. She placed a hand on her head and exerted pressure on it, but it didn’t help.
She didn’t switch on the lights when she entered her house—that would only make it worse. She went to the kitchen, swallowed some pain pills, kicked off her shoes, and then stepped barefoot onto the outdoor deck.
Her backyard was pretty with its wild rose bushes, decorative pots, novelty planters, curvy step stone path, and the rockery in the corner—none of which she appreciated right then while in so much pain.
Too fatigued to stand, she sat on the grass and rested her throbbing head on her bent knees. Purging the mix of varying energies was easy. Her system naturally released them into the ground below her—as if her entire body had taken one giant exhale. It left her feeling lighter and calmer. But just as she’d worried, the pain didn’t ease.
Bleh.
Heading back inside, she traipsed up the stairs and went to her bedroom. She didn’t bother undressing or even flicking back the covers; she just curled up into a ball on the bed and closed her eyes, tempted to beg for death. Thanks to the headache, it might take a little time for her to drift off, but she was so dog-tired that it hopefully wouldn’t take too long.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been lying there—probably only ten minutes or so—when she sensed a presence in the room. The only reason she didn’t panic was that she recognized Alex’s scent.
“Go away,” she slurred, not even bothering to open her eyes.
If he was anyone else, she’d have been stunned that he’d broken into her house and she’d have demanded to know how the hell he managed it. But there was no keeping a wolverine out of anywhere they wanted to be; they often went into people’s homes uninvited to raid fridges and kitchen cupboards. It was natural, albeit irritating, behavior for them.
She hadn’t seen much of him over the past few days. He’d nipped into Pot of Gold occasionally, but he hadn’t spoken much to her. He’d watched her, though. Closely. Too closely. Whenever she’d met that gaze, his broody eyes had stared into hers in a way that was far too intimate. It made her skin tingle in awareness every time.
The mattress dipped beside her, and a hand lightly stroked her hair. She almost flinched in surprise. Alex very rarely touched her. When he did, his touches were always fleeting and impersonal. Never deliberate or … soothing. She wouldn’t have thought he had it in him to be soothing. Or that he’d ever care to be, for that matter.
“Heard you left the apartment complex looking like you were in pain,” he said quietly. “Wanted to check on you. Headache?”
“I’m fine.” Albeit confused that he’d bothered to check on her—he’d never done it before.