Obsidian Heat

Chapter Seven

Jonah pulled up a block away from the convenience store in his Ford Explorer, practically vibrating with nerves. His hand hovered over the radio and instead of his usual metal or punk rock, he turned it to classical. Gritting his teeth, he tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel as he waited. A figure emerged from the gloom of the night, then, telltale trudging steps and hunched shoulders coming toward him. A rare feeling twisted in Jonah's gut. And not just indigestion. No, this was anything but indigestion. 

Oh no, he thought to himself. Not this again. He hadn't felt this about another man in years. He frowned, the familiar rising churn of butterflies and self-loathing starting in his chest. He couldn't afford this distraction now. Not when his alpha needed his protection. No. He wasn't his alpha. Not yet. Jonah would do his best to make sure that didn't happen. He needed him. But not like that.

Isme got in and slammed the door, settling his backpack over his feet. Jonah's eyes ran over his tousled hair, his rumpled suit. Faded, but clean, the slacks hugging his hips just so. "You clean up good, kid." He squeezed his eyes shut. What was he, a babbling teenager? Fuck.

The remark earned him a sharp, stony glance, with a spot of warmth blooming in those hazel eyes. A shadow of a smile crossed his mouth. "Didn't think you noticed."

Rolling his eyes, Jonah tried to ignore the heat pooling in his chest at the sight of Isme in a suit. He didn't look so wan dressed up, when he was masking for work, Jonah realized then. He winced as Isme sank back in his seat, pulled on his seatbelt and stared morosely out the window. "I notice," mumbled Jonah.

That earned him another shallow smile, then the hunched shoulders again. "We're in trouble."

"What did you do now?" Jonah narrowed his eyes and pulled away from the curb, picking up speed on the way to his house.

Color tinted Isme's cheeks as he tightened his hands over his lap. Jonah's gaze took in his pale, slender fingers, spotted the hint of a scar along his wrist. He frowned, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach.

"It's not me, it's just... there's a Council agent getting involved because there was an omega. Carmen knows about me. She's a beta. She kept saying I was courting an omega. How could she know? What does that mean?" The words all came out in a clipped, panicked rush. Isme's breath hitched in his throat.

"Breathe, alpha. We'll figure it out." Memories darkened Jonah's thoughts, then, but also a hint of lightness as he imagined what it would be like to be properly, formally courted by an alpha like Isme. There would probably be flowers. Wouldn't there be flowers? Isme seemed like a flower guy. He banished the inconvenient train of thought from his mind. "Courting is what you do when you express interest in claiming an omega, but it's really just a formality. It's a business transaction." Nerves fluttered in his stomach as he stared out at the traffic and tried to focus on the road. Arden's cruel smile called to him from the past. He tried to quash it with fantasies of Isme courting him and failed. "When it was me... when it was my turn. With Arden. My mom needed the money. For a few weeks he was nice to me."

"Nice to you?" Isme turned around to stare at him, arching an eyebrow.

"Brought me nice things. Gifts. Toys. He was a wolf shifter. He used to call me his little fox," sighed Jonah. "He made me think... he made me think maybe he wouldn't be so bad."

Isme snorted. "Little fox. Little."

Jonah clenched his jaw. "I was 12, Isme. I was little, back then. Skinny little kid."

Isme paled and dug his nails into his leg. "Sorry. I shouldn't have..."

A sad laugh, then, came from Jonah's parted mouth. His throat was dry as he took a deep breath. "After, after he took me, and made me his... that's when I figured out I was demisexual. I had a lot of time to read. To think."