Page 23 of Ready or Knot
“Did something happen?” he asks, his voice still a quiet murmur.
Licking my lips, I admit, “I have a hangover. I was going to see if there was any coffee to try to curb the headache.”
He nods. “I’ll be right back.”
He’s gone before I can ask what he’s doing, disappearing through the slightly ajar door to the room he and Carter slept in. I walk to the minibar, careful to keep my head still, the throbbing in my temples growing worse. The door closes with a soft click, and I see Jude move back into the room from the corner of my eye. I rummage in the drawer under the single-cup coffee maker, looking through the small cups.
Are they seriously all hazelnut? Who decided that was a good idea? For some reason, tears well and make my eyes sting.
Jude steps up next to me as I’m still digging through the drawer, hoping to find something I actually like. Or at least will tolerate.
“Here,” he murmurs, holding out his hand. He drops four small pills into my palm, and then sets a disposable plastic cup in front of me, the straw still half-wrapped. “It’s a vanilla macchiato.”
I offer a small smile before taking the pills and drinking half the coffee.
“Thank you,” I murmur when I’m done, turning towards him. He’s leaning against the counter, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweats, his hair disheveled.
“Give it about ten minutes,” he says. With a nod, I lean my hip against the counter and sip on the remaining coffee. He’s content with the silence, his gaze rapt on me as the minutes pass and my headache becomes more manageable.
When I’m nearly positive it won’t hurt to talk, I say, “Sorry you had to see me like this. I didn’t mean to drink quite so much last night.”
Jude shakes his head. “We’ve been matched, Faedra. Seeing you handle a hangover is par for the course.”
I tilt my head, moving slow enough that it doesn’t ache, and bite my lip. “You’re an expert on matches, then?” I ask with a soft smile. “I didn’t realize you were hiding a previous Omega from me.”
He scowls, crossing his arms over his chest, bringing attention to a tattoo I hadn’t noticed before. It’s a small, flowing script across his rib, just under his heart and half covered by his arm.
“What does that say?” I ask, reaching out and tracing the words I can see.
Non amoris.
Without love?
Jude moves his arm without answering my question.
Finis vitae sed non amoris.
My hangover is bad enough that I can’t manage a decent translation, even with the headache mostly gone.
“What’s without love?” I ask, tracing the rest of the words. His stomach muscles tighten, but he doesn’t back away. He also doesn’t pull me closer. I try to not be worried about what that might mean.
“It means end of life but not of love,” he says, voice gruff, before grabbing my hand and pulling it off of him. He wraps my fingers in his grip, looking at me with an eyebrow cocked. When I don’t ask an immediate follow up question, he murmurs, “I got it after my sister’s funeral.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, pulling my hand out of his grip. Jude nods once and then covers the tattoo completely when he crosses his arms again. I look around the room, biting my lip as the awkward silence extends. Eventually, I mutter, “I’m just going to go get ready then.”
He blows out a breath and grabs my hand.
“How’s your head?” he asks, looking me over, his gaze intense, his jaw ticking under the clean lines of his beard. My belly flips, my thighs clench, and he breathes deeply as a soft trace of my scent surrounds me. His hand flexes around mine as he pulls me closer.
It takes me two tries to answer. “Better. Thank you.”
“Good,” he says and pulls me even closer, my feet stumbling over his and crashing me into his chest. My hand splays wide on his stomach to keep my balance. He lifts my chin with one finger before telling me, “I’ve never matched. I’ve never bonded. I’ve had one serious relationship that was less than ideal and that was with a Beta.”
I swallow. “It was a joke.”
He nods, his thumb running along my jaw. Despite everything, my scent increases, and he groans under his breath. “That doesn’t mean I haven’t been with enough Omegas to know what a half decent Alpha should do. It’s instinctual, Faedra. The day I don’t want to take care of you is the day you know to put a gun to my head. Understand?”
His voice skates over me, rough and low, and I bite my lip to keep from making an embarrassing noise. His grip tightens as the moment stretches, his eyebrow rising.