3. Amaya

3

AMAYA

“ H ow's the temp back there? Not too warm?"

I stifle a sigh, not wanting him to get upset with me. "I'm fine," I say for probably the eighteenth time in the past three hours.

If Paul isn't asking me about the air conditioning, he's making sure the backseat is comfortable. Not only that, he's also made a point to let me know multiple times that I can move to the front whenever I want. Oh, and I can also tell him when I want to stop whether it's for food, to use the bathroom or even just to stretch my legs.

I avoid his gaze in the rearview mirror and narrow my eyes on his bouncing leg. Thank fuck for cruise control, because this guy is far more anxious than I'm comfortable with for someone driving.

"Are you hungry yet?"

You know that feeling in your throat when you get overwhelmed and annoyed at the same time? The one where it feels like a scream is bubbling up and your chest starts to concave? That's what I'm battling. I don't think Paul would hurt me, but that's not to say I would ever feel comfortable yelling or outwardly showing my frustration to an alpha.

The academy taught me well , I think bitterly.

An omega is meant to submit. Never to disobey an alpha or even a beta. We are lesser and our respect for the other designations must override our true feelings.

My true feelings right now? Paul is acting weird as fuck, and I don't trust it. This worried father charade, if it's even real, isn't born of anything besides guilt. Or maybe he's just worried I'll throw myself out of the moving car if he doesn't keep an eye on me.

"I'm not hungry. Thank you, though," I reply hesitantly.

Lie.

"When's the last time you ate, Amaya?" Paul eyes me in the mirror.

It's the first time he's looked at me with something other than worry and pity. I see the lawyer beneath his fancy suit now; the part of him I should probably be wary of.

A sweat breaks out on my lower back making me itchy but I hold myself still and keep my gaze lowered. The only thing I don't do is cock my head to bare my throat in the wake of his dominant tone.

Progress.

"I ate breakfast at eight this morning," I murmur.

The leather steering wheel creaks beneath his grip. "That was six hours ago, Amaya!"

I flinch. I can't help it.

I barely notice the tickle of sweat dripping from my hairline or the way my hands begin to tremble, too shocked by his abrupt volume. Fighting the haziness that steals some of my vision and forcing air into my lungs, I miss the car pulling over.

A gush of hot air descends over my shaking body, then the seatbelt is being yanked away and arms are pulling me from the car. If Paul wasn't disappointed by my earlier flinch, the scream that bursts from my throat sure as shit will do the trick.

I don't know what comes over me, but being grabbed by an alpha in such a vulnerable moment sends me headfirst into self-preservation mode. A setting I didn't think I would be capable of after all these years of submission.

"Shit! Amaya!" he grunts, then suddenly there's only blessed humidity gripping my bare arms.

I sink into the hot summer feeling on my skin, but next comes the solid cement burning my bare feet.

"Ow!" I hiss. Hopping from side to side, my panic dissipates as pain floods my senses. "Fuck," I grunt, and bolt to the weedy grass a few feet away.

"Where the hell are your shoes, Amaya?!"

Paul sounds exasperated, and honestly, me fucking too asshole.

The fire licking the soles of my feet and the audacity of this fucking alpha make me snap. "Who the hell grabs someone mid panic, Paul ?!"

As the heat cools and my toes quiet their screaming, I huff and blow my sweaty hair out of my face. I'm about to check for burns when I realize what I just said to him.

I expect to see rage twisting Paul's features when I look up, but he's just watching me wide eyed with his hands up in surrender. I'm ready for my body to descend back into its demure state, but it doesn't.

Instead, I defend myself. "I kicked my sandals off. I don't like feeling suffocated, even if it's just my toes."

"Okay," he says slowly, gulping. "I'm sorry I grabbed you. I didn't know what to do, so I panicked."

"You and me both," I grumble and eye the stretch of the black tar from the car to my spot on the grass. "Just don't touch me, please."

He nods frantically, even if a little pained. Thankfully, the moment passes quickly when he snags my abandoned shoes from the footwell and places them in front of me.

It's odd, this big alpha kneeling before me. I haven't been above anyone since I climbed my childhood tree with— No, can't think about them right now.

There are streaks of gray in Paul's dark wavy hair. It's slicked back, adding an air of professionalism to his white button-up and blue slacks. Honestly, he looks like he just came out of a meeting.

"There you go," he says softly and stands. Not bothering to wipe the dirt or the gravel from his knee, he gives me a small smile. "Take your time out here if you want. I'll give you some space."

Then Paul's walking to the car and leaving me alone between a field of tall grass and a highway.

What the hell has my life become?

I take the small gift he gave me and close my eyes. A few deep breaths, and a dried teardrop later, I'm slipping my sandals back on and preparing myself for the final three hours of our drive.

It hasn't been more than a few minutes since we got back on the road when my eyelids start drooping, my panic attack making it hard for me to stay alert.

Just as my eyes fall shut for the last time, I hear Paul try to soothe me. "You can rest now, darling. I got you."

What I would give to trust my father...