GIDEON
I leaned back against the headboard of the sprawling, California-king matrimonial bed, the Egyptian cotton cool against my damp skin. The room smelled of expensive cologne and Marisol's vanilla floral perfume.
My fingers traced the curve of her backside, tracing the faint red marks I'd left there only minutes ago. She was humming, a little tune of victory that grated on my nerves just slightly, but I let her have it. After all, a happy accomplice is a silent one.
"She smells like a trash fire," Drey, my wolf, snarled from my mind. "And you smell like a coward. Why are we rolling in another man's daughter's bed like a mangy cur? We are an Omega, not a maggot."
I shoved Drey down, slamming the mental iron door on his pathetic whining. Omega. The word was a curse I'd spent every waking second of my thirty years trying to outrun.
