him.
But maybe, for now, it was for the best. When, eventually, his knot subsided enough that Zeke could ease out of Darcy, he cradled her in his arms and climbed out of the pool. He left their clothes where they lay and headed for his cabin, knowing that unless he used this brief respite to bring her home, they would spend the next four days of her heat locked in a tiny shed.
Bring her home.
The words echoed in Zeke's mind.
He was bringing another omega home—something he thought would never happen—his greatest fear.
He could only pray this time wouldn't end like the last.
Stephanie had ripped his world apart when she rejected him, and somehow, by the skin of his teeth, Zeke had survived.
But he knew down to the marrow of his bones that if Darcy ever left, it would kill him.
Chapter Fifteen
Darcy slowly emerged from the haze, her senses returning as if layers of filmy lace were being removed one by one.
She knew where she was—in Zeke's bed, their bodies tangled together, as they had been for four days straight.
At first, she was aware of only a peaceful, floating warmth. Then she felt her heart beating in harmony with Zeke's, the steady, strong rhythm traveling between them as she lay curled up next to him, her right arm and leg draped loosely across his body.
Four days.
Darcy had experienced a great deal of pleasure in many men's beds. She had what she considered a healthy libido; others might call it voracious. But never in her wildest dreams had she ever thought she could spend four days straight doing nothing but fucking, with occasional rest breaks spent in dreamless sleep.
Her conscious mind had never really disappeared. She hadn't experienced anything like the horror stories she'd heard. She'd never lost control. She wasn't enslaved by her alpha master. She retained her free will.
It was just that her will wanted to screw day and night until she collapsed in exhaustion.
Okay—maybe she hadn't been fully aware during every moment of her heat. Though her senses had processed every thrust and grind and searing orgasm with an intensity she'd never experienced before, there had been an ebb and flow to her consciousness.
Some moments she felt fully present, but others were more like a fever dream. Her vision had faded in and out. The hard details were obscured by memories of sensation.
Darcy had paid little mind to what time it was. Her body abandoned its natural rhythm and attuned itself to a much more primal clock. When she was exhausted, she slept. When she was awake, she fucked.
For four long, blissful days, her life had been as simple as that.
But now Darcy felt her heat subsiding and her consciousness being fully restored. More complex emotions began to intrude. Real life was returning.
And with it came the realization that she was sore all over.
Really sore.
As it turned out, riding a seven-plus-foot-tall alpha for days on end came with some physical consequences. Muscles that Darcy never knew she had ached like hell, having been strained and tested in ways that no beta body was ever meant to endure.
But that was the thing: Darcy didn't have a beta body anymore. She was an omega now.
And the strange thing was that she didn't mind.
Until she'd come to the Boundarylands, Darcy's first thought when waking up in a man's bed was to figure out how to get out of it with the least possible drama. Some men didn't mind when she tiptoed out the door at daybreak, but an uncomfortable number of them wanted something more from her.
They'd ask for her number, or make a play for her to stay for one more round. Some seemed to think that a night of fucking made them her boyfriend. And a few were insulted, being used to girls who stroked their pride and begged for more.
Darcy always found a way to leave. She'd never been the girlfriend type. She liked to keep her options open.
But this time was different.
When her eyes finally fluttered open, her lashes brushing against Zeke's chest, she wasn't itching to get to the door. Even if she somehow found the strength to move, she didn't want to. She was perfectly comfortable where she was.
Which was another first—contentment wasn't a state that Darcy had much experience with. She was an engine that revved just a little too high, waking up in the morning itching for next new thing, falling asleep at night imagining what tomorrow might bring.
Some unquenchable kernel of optimism kept