When You Were My Mate (Demetra and Emris) novel Chapter 114

114

114

Alpha Emris.

“I want every Delta positioned at the entrance, the exits, and every corner of that floor. If you have to shut the building down to get her out safely, you shut it down. You find the Luna and you bring her to me. Am I understood?”

I say it as I enter the club myself, after being delayed by a truck that fell flat on the road just after Demetra’s vehicle drove past.

I’d sat behind it for an hour while the road crew worked and my patience systematically dismantled itself, and by the time I made it here I was not in the mood for a crowd, or any version of whatever she’s been doing for the past hour.

I step through the entrance and the bass hits me like a wall.

The bass of the club hits through my chest, through my teeth, through the marrow in my bones. I’m not smiling. I am in fact pissed. This whole place disgusts me. I can’t even believe I spent so much time in places exactly like this before I had Milo.

This noise used to be comfort. I would find comfort in the bass of the club and I would only get back home after I had no more energy left to party.

Half of those nights I had a mate but I kept choosing rooms full of strangers over the one person who was cosmically assigned to me.

I understand now why Demetra was angry that I was always going to the club. How she must have felt, sitting alone in her maid’s quarters, knowing exactly where I was.

I understand it the way you understand something only after it’s already cost you.

I move through every cluster of bodies under the lights but I haven’t caught Demetra’s scent yet-

Someone walks directly into me.

“Sorry

sorry-” She keeps her head down, won’t look at me and moves away fast.

I pull masks off faces as I go. The Lycan’s Eve decorations mean half the club has decided anonymity is an aesthetic tonight.

“Hey what the hell-”

“Alpha.” Creed shoulders past two people to reach me. “We found Tiffany and Sabrina. They were on the dance floor… said they left Demetra at a VVIP bar counter. With-” He hesitates. “Some dude.”

“What counter?” My knuckles crack.

“The one at Aisle Seven.”

“Get the girls out of here safely into the car in case I have to beat everyone in here.”

Creed nods and disappears back into the crowd.

I move toward sector seven, past the velvet ropes and the bouncers who step aside when they register what they’re looking at.

The same girl in the leather jacket bumps into me again… for the second time tonight, which is statistically improbable in a club this size. This time she looks up.

We make eye contact for exactly one second.

“So sorry,” she says.

Something about it is too deliberate to be accidental. I file it away and keep moving because I don’t have time for it right now, and I come around the corner into the VVIP bar section where I find Demetra.

She’s sitting at the edge of a table, alone, with several empty martini glasses arranged in front of her. She’s not looking at anything in particular cause her eyes are on the floor, fixed on some point that doesn’t exist.

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And as if she finds my scent, she lifts her head.

Her eyes are teary when she sees me.

Not crying yet… but the specific glassiness that comes right before. When she sees me, something in her face moves and my first instinct, before anything else, before the anger or the frustration or any of the other reasonable things I came in here carrying, is to close the distance between us.

I scan the immediate area in one sweep and throw a hand back toward Jupiter….to search the perimeter without taking my eyes off her.

“Demetra. Are you alright?”

She gets up from the chair and her legs wobble

“I… reject you, Emris Covenant.”

I squint at her.

Reject me.

I process this for a moment. She’s omega. I am a Trybrid….

Has she forgotten that her being omega and me being hybrid makes her unable to do that? I’ve got centuries of advantage running my body. For a rejection to take hold, my wolf would need to be genuinely, catastrophically broken.

What’s happened between us these past few days is bad. It is genuinely bad. But it is not that to allow her rejection to go through.

“Are you drunk?” I say quietly.

Sure, her breath smells of lemon martinis. And with the amount of glasses here…five, six, maybe seven…I genuinely like to have a conversation with whoever kept refilling them.

“Emris?”

“Mmh.”

“I’m sorry.” Demetra says, and the water that was pooled in her eyes becomes tears. She wipes her face, digging her hands into her hair, her cheeks puffy and red. Her shoulders are doing the small, involuntary shaking of someone who has been crying for longer than just right now.

She sits.

I simply take a seat right next to her and bring her chair closer to mine…close enough that our knees almost touch, and look at her properly for the first time in days.

“I…I don’t know why I just said that…”

She’s probably not drunk often, so I can understand this. I can understand the crying and the confusion and the words that don’t make sense.

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