42. Aria

42

ARIA

I come to slowly, the haze lifting from my mind like fog dissipating under the morning sun. My head throbs, each heartbeat sending a pulse of pain through my skull. The stench of stale cigarettes hits me before I even open my eyes. The room swims into focus, a depressing tableau of faded beige and peeling wallpaper. The stench of stale cigarettes and sickeningly sweet air freshener assaults my senses, clinging to my clothes and hair like a second skin. It's a perfect reflection of how I feel—cheap, used, and desperate to wash away the memories of the past few days.

Where am I?

I sit up, the scratchy bedspread rough against my skin. Panic flutters in my chest as I take in the unfamiliar room. A small, outdated TV sits on a rickety stand in the corner, and a faded armchair rests near the window. The curtains are drawn, casting the room in shadows, but a sliver of moonlight peeks through a gap, highlighting the dust motes swirling in the air. Snippets of the night flit through my mind—a flash of headlights, the echo of my own footsteps on wet pavement, and the cold, biting air wrapping around me like a shroud.

How did I get here?

I grasp at fragmented memories, each one slipping away like smoke through my fingers. Zane's angry words echo in my mind. Get the fuck out. I never want to see you again. The bite of cold air as I ran, blind with panic and hurt. After that…nothing. A yawning chasm of lost time that sends a chill down my spine. What happened to me in those missing hours?

My heart races as I try to piece together what happened. How much time has passed? Hours? Days? I glance around, looking for any clue that might tell me where I am or how long I've been here. My brain feels sluggish, struggling to emerge from the fog.

As I swing my legs over the side of the bed, a wave of nausea hits me. I clutch my stomach, willing the churning to subside. My mouth is dry, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. I need water. My hand brushes against something in my pocket—a credit card. Memories flood back, of fumbling with my phone, calling Cayenne in a panic, her calm voice guiding me to this motel. "Use my card," she had said. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

I push myself to my feet, swaying slightly as a rush of dizziness washes over me. I steady myself against the nightstand, my fingers brushing against something cool and metallic—a room key. At least that's one mystery solved.

I make my way to the bathroom, flicking on the light. The harsh fluorescent glare makes me wince. I turn on the faucet and cup my hands under the stream, greedily gulping down the water. It soothes my parched throat but does little to quell the pounding in my head.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and recoil, barely recognizing the wraith staring back at me. My usually vibrant hazel eyes are now dull and bloodshot, sunken into dark hollows. Smudged black eyeliner streaks down my cheeks like tear tracks, and my faded pink hair hangs in limp, greasy tangles. The harsh fluorescent light accentuates every flaw, every sign of my recent ordeal. I look like I've been through hell, and in a way, I have. I look like hell.

I splash some water on my face, trying to clear the cobwebs from my mind.

Think, Aria. What happened after you left Zane's?

I vaguely remember walking for a long time, my feet aching in my high heels. I remember the chill of the night air and the sound of distant traffic, but everything after that is a blank.

A knock at the door startles me, making my heart leap into my throat. I freeze, staring at the door, my pulse pounding in my ears.

"Aria? It's Cayenne, Ginger, and Willow. We're here to help."

Their voices, familiar and comforting, break through my panic. A tidal wave of relief crashes over me, propelling me towards the door, despite my trembling legs. I fling it open to reveal Cayenne, Ginger, and Willow, their faces a mirror of the concern I've been feeling for myself.

The moment I see them, the dam holding back my emotions breaks. Memory after memory floods through me. I collapse into Cayenne's arms, sobbing uncontrollably. She holds me tightly, murmuring soothing words as I cry, my tears soaking into her shirt.

"They kicked me out. They didn't believe me. My own scent matches."

"It's okay, Aria," Cayenne whispers, her voice steady and calm. "We're here now, and we're not leaving without you."

Ginger and Willow close the door behind them, giving us some privacy. They move to the bed, making space for me to sit. Cayenne guides me to the edge, her arm around my shoulders, offering support as I try to regain control.

"I couldn't stay. I had to get out. I couldn't think straight, but I knew I had to run."

"You did the smart thing by running," Ginger says, her voice firm yet gentle, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Sometimes, the bravest move is knowing when to get the hell out."

Willow gracefully sinks to her knees before me, her eyes brimming with compassion. "We were so worried about you, sweetheart, but you're safe with us now, and we'll get through this together."

Their presence and unwavering support provide stability for me. I take a deep breath, trying to quiet the internal turmoil. I feel secure with them, completely opposite of the fear and uncertainty that overwhelmed me before.

"How did you find me?" I ask, my voice trembling.

"We followed the breadcrumbs you left," Cayenne explains, her tone steady and reassuring as she brushes a strand of hair from my face. "The credit card transaction, the call you made—it wasn't easy, but we weren't going to give up. Not on you."

"We were worried Noah might have tracked you down first," Ginger interjects, her expression hardening. "Now that we're here, we can plan his murder."

"Ginger," Cayenne admonishes, shooting her a warning look. "Not now."

"Cause Earl had to die," Ginger sings under her breath, earning a snort from Willow.

Not me. The mention of Noah sends a fresh wave of fear through me, but I push it down. I can't deal with him right now either. I wish he'd just disappear from my life.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice breaking. "I don't know what?—"

"Hey, we've got you, girl," Willow says, her hand warm and reassuring on mine. "Remember what I told you my job was? Keeping omegas safe."

I nod, tears still streaming down my face, but the panic is easing. The fog in my mind begins to clear, and I start to feel a glimmer of hope.

"Good." Willow nods. "Because I got you set up in one of our omega suites. Baby, you are about to have your choice of any pack."

I'm not sure I want that, but I'm not about to argue, especially when I'm approaching my heat.

"We need to get you out of here," Cayenne says softly. "Somewhere safe. Can you walk?"

I square my shoulders, feeling a spark of my old determination flicker to life. "Yes," I say, my voice stronger than it's been in days. "Let's get the hell out of here." For the first time since this nightmare began, I feel like I'm taking a step forward instead of running away.

With their support, I stand, my legs still unsteady but stronger with each passing moment. We gather my few belongings, and I follow them out of the motel room. The night air is cool and fresh, a welcome change from the stale confines of the room.

As we walk toward their car, I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the past few days begin to lift. But a nagging sense of unease remains, a prickling at the back of my neck that makes me glance over my shoulder. The parking lot is empty, but shadows seem to loom larger than they should. I'm not out of danger yet, but with Cayenne, Ginger, and Willow by my side, I at least have a fighting chance. We climb into the car, and as we drive away, I lean back, letting the hum of the engine soothe my frayed nerves.

All my life, I was told omegas need an alpha pack to survive. What they failed to mention was the importance of my bestie pack, because at the end of the day, it's not the men we want but the friends we need who show up.