We Said Never: A Taboo Romance

The glittering capital city of Bisari rises on the far horizon and my ears perk up with nostalgia. Home. It’s been three years since I’ve seen the capital, Hazalu’s city of dreams. My heart gladdens as we near, but instead of Pops taking the main highway leading into the city, he makes a U-turn and crosses over into another lane.

“Uhh… where are we headed?”

“I didn’t tell you. Lora moved out of the city. She’s up on a farm in Yolandra now. Very cozy there. Michelle loves it. This would be good for you, Nolan.”

“A farm?” I’m a bit thrown by that choice seeing as the Lora I remember adored the city and its chaotic bustle. It went well with how she saw the world. Her on a farm seems a bit… out of place.

I close my eyes for a moment and exhale, returning my attention to the window. Lora and I, alone, on a farm? How am I ever going to be able to survive that? At least in the city, there are a million places to go, distractions to entertain.

Pops tries to fill the rest of the ride with little conversations here and there, but I can’t bring myself to indulge him, it’s as if the mere act of talking would drain me of all the energy I need to stay sane when the time comes. Every moment in Lora’s presence is spent trying to stay sane, trying to not let myself slip.

A mere thirty minutes later, we are driving up a hill, then into the large farm with rolling green pastures stretching as far as the eye can see. An old yellow farmhouse sits with pride at the top of the hill, its weathered exterior telling tales of years gone by. Pops packs in front of the house, then turns off the engine just as Lora and Anna are pulling up beside us.

“I’ll get your things,” Pops says as we climb down from his truck, my heart pounding with a mix of apprehension and anxiety.

Lora’s pheromones hits me the second she climbs out of her car, very hard this time, as if I’m being doused with hot water, and my body tenses, a tremble taking over. I swallow hard and let it take its course. I have endured this before. For a year after my eighteenth birthday, the day I experienced my first heat circle and foolishly—stupidly, took advantage of Lora’s care.

I thought I was above succumbing to a flimsy teenage fantasy that would pass as all my crushes I had before her had, but nothing could have prepared me for what it felt like to be so consumed by a heat so fierce, the world around me turned red. She was all I could see, all I could breathe. I needed her with a ferocious hunger that bothered on obsession.

All you have to do is wait it out, I told myself again and again. It’s just the heat. But day after day, it worsened, sickening me to my core until it was impossible to contain.

Lora hadn’t expected me to unleash my pheromones on her the way I did that night, the shock on her face would forever haunt me.

It would be a lie to claim I hadn’t known her rut circle was coming. Ever since I was sixteen, I learned her circle just as I had learned most things about her, because even the most minute thing about Lora was extremely interesting to me, from the way she folded clothes to the way she laughed, the way she spent time with her journal, gently chewing her pen as she thought up what to write. She was fascinating and I was charmed beyond what one would call a crush.

I knew her rut cycle was coming in a few days and she would retreat into her alpha nest like she always did but I didn’t want to be alone.

Lora had been caring for me throughout my first heat circle, helping me with sweets, poems, and comfort ice blankets, all the things an omega needed to weather the storm of a heat circle. I needed her there, by my side, with me. I wanted her to do the things Alpha’s were supposed to do to omega’s to ease their heat, things that had remained perfectly confined to the web of my fantasies, never to see the light of day, and for years I had gotten good at keeping those things shoved deep into the darkness of my sick twisted mind.

But that night, there was no holding myself back, I can’t even remember when I began to let it all go. My pheromones exploded in the room, forcing the rut out of Lora and no matter how much she tried to get me to calm down, all I did was unleash more of it, and then like an idiot, got down on my knees and begged her to make it stop—to mark me.

I blink away the memory, turning my gaze from Pops who has successfully unloaded my things and is closing up. Without trying my gaze meets Lora’s soft eyes as she climbs the stairs up the porch with Anna. We both look away at the same time.

“We made roast with sweet potatoes,” Pops says, walking up the steps beside me. “Hope you’re starving.”

I pass him a smile as we follow Lora in, the wooden floors creaking beneath my feet. The interior is rustic yet cozy, filled with warmth and the homely scent of her pheromones and freshly baked bread–Lora’s signature banana bread. Dear heavens, I have missed that.

As we continue in, I find banners strung up with my name, and all sorts of decorations hanging on the walls.

“Michelle spent the whole day making preparations for your birthday,” Anna explains. “She’s been looking forward to your return ever since we told her you’re coming home, then she threw a fuss when I told her you couldn’t stay with us.”

“I’ve missed her quite a lot too, Anna. Still have her drawings.”

“Try and act surprised when you see all of this tomorrow, we promised her we wouldn’t let you see.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll check in on her, relieve the Nanny,” Anna says, turning into the stairs.

“Come on, buddy. I’ll put you up in your room. Lora set up the one downstairs so you don’t have to bother your knees with the stairs.”

My eyes find Lora, who has remained standing by the fireplace ever since we arrived and she passes me a smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says calmly.

I nod once and follow Pops through the hallway, sparing no second to linger. Her pheromones are almost suffocating, and the weight of her gaze is damning. Arriving by the door at the end of the hall, he lets himself in and I follow.

Pops switches the light on and my gaze sweeps through the modest space of the guest bedroom, free of any decorations or bright colors. I suppose Lora followed the protective protocol laid out by the psychiatrist and made sure there are no sharp objects or triggering materials. In a way, it feels like I’m back in that psych ward. Everything is gray and bland, a heavy contrast to the warmth of her home.

Pops puts my box away in the closet, and nodding, glances across the room, hands on his hips. “I know it’s not much,” he grunts out, averting his gaze from mine. His eyes are bloodshot and tired from the tears he shed at the airport, but something softens in them as he glances back.

I open my mouth to say something, but my voice is lost to the whirlpool of emotions churning inside me. Thoughts crash into each other—and I’m left struggling with the weight of it all.

Pops clears his throat, rubbing a hand across his jawline. “You can use the bathroom down the hall. Towels are in that drawer.” He points and my forehead slightly scrunches.

“You’re well acquainted with Lora’s home. You both haven’t lived together in six years.”

“She insisted we come over for a couple days to set things up. Couldn’t argue with that. You know how your mother is, things must always end up being her way.”

“Step-mother,” I correct.

Pops sighs. “Not this again. What the hell happened between you both? You have always loved Lora, she is the only one of my ex-wives you ever treated like a mother, probably the reason why I put up with her for as long as I did. I know kids grow out of certain things, you’re a man now, but still…” He pauses and then very slowly appraises me. “You can tell your old man, maybe we can talk it over with Lora.”

“Nothing happened, Pops.”

“Do you not want her in your life anymore?”

I squeeze my palm tight. Lora not being in my life is the hell I have fought to endure these past few years. The only reason I made it out of that plane crash alive was because I had to see her face one more time, I had to hear the sound of her voice. But being back here, seeing her, remembering the truth of what we are, somehow feels worse than being in a plane crash.

All this time I have told myself the only reason I’m nervous about coming home is because of what Pops would think of me, but no, it is becoming clear to me that it has nothing to do with Pops. The panic attacks, the fever, the headaches, it’s all her.

I hadn’t anticipated that she would be here, I thought I would have time to settle in and prepare myself, plan what I would say, and how I would apologize.

“Talk to me, Nolan,” Pops insists.

I walk over to the bed and slowly sink into it. “I told you, Pops, it’s nothing.”

“Listen I know Lora can be tough.” He chuckles. “To be honest, a bit of a bitch sometimes.”

My gaze snaps to him. “Pops.”

He waves a hand. “Yeah yeah, I know, I know. But you’re grown enough now to listen to your old man curse.” A little laugh. “But it’s true Lora can be tough.”

“Why did you marry her, then?”

He shrugs. “Have you seen the woman? She’s stunning,” he says, sitting next to me. “I was overcome by her the second we met. If I’m being honest, she was too much from the beginning. Expensive, demanding, self-absorbed, I just wanted to tap that ass.” He laughs. “Heavens she was a good fuck. Still miss that about her. Anyway, you both met, and she was surprisingly really good with you, didn’t think she had a single motherly bone in her body. It was also the first time you smiled at someone I brought home, so I figured it’d be nice to give you a mother. I thought with you as a responsibility, and her role as my wife, things would, you know, change. She’d kind of tone down the attitude a little. But nope, Lora is Lora.”

I give it a minute, letting the disgust swirling at the tip of my tongue settle before opening my lips to speak. “You wanted to shrink her.”

“What?”

“You wanted her to play housewife with your child instead of just being with someone like Anna who loves being a stay-at-home Mum. You treated her like she was an ornament in our home. Spoke over her again and again. She’s an alpha, Pops, what were you expecting?”

Pops stares back at me for a minute, his forehead tightly squeezed. “You don’t know the first thing about our marriage. Lora was happy, she couldn’t have cared less about anyone but herself in that marriage.”

“Right, must be why she spent all those nights sobbing under the staircase.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You were never there, not really. You never truly saw her. How hard she worked to keep us happy. All you ever saw was all the things you needed from her.”

“That is a lie.”

“Keep telling yourself that, but from where I sit, you were a terrible husband, Pops. And please don’t ever use the B-word on Lora again, you’re a wolf, not a dog.”

The room falls into silence and I let it sit undisturbed.

“You’ve been mean to her since you got off that plane for whatever reason, and now you’re all up in my face defending her?” He scoffs and rises to his feet. After a few steps toward the door, he turns back around. “You’re a good son, and I appreciate you standing up for your mother. But next time, watch your tone with me, boy.” He opens the door. “Get some sleep.”

The door closes and I stare at it for a long minute before making my way to the two-armed sofa by the corner and slumping into it, my legs stretching out as my walking stick hits the floor. Finally, I’m completely alone and the relief of not forcing a smile or putting up this false pretense of strength forces a large exhale out of me.

Gradually as I remain in the silence, the weight of the day’s events crashes over me like a tidal wave, threatening to pull me under. I shut my eyes and let out another shaky breath, trying to calm the storm lurking inside me, waiting to rage and split me open. It’s always the same when I’m alone, my demons are always waiting in the dark.

The memories flood back, vivid and unrelenting. The sound of explosions, of chaos and destruction, echoes in my head, first faintly then so deafening I can barely hear my heartbeat. I see their faces, I hear their voices, I smell their burning flesh. The guilt gnaws at my insides, threatening to rip me apart.

I rub my temple and reach for the photo tucked into my left pocket, worn out and creased from years of handling and though the room is dim, I can see her face, the brightness of her smile, the soothing curves of her delicate features. Loranne. Through her eyes, I see the man I was before I became a shadow of myself.

I trace the familiar contours of her face, committing every detail to memory as I have done every night since I signed up for the Air Force, remembering that look in her eyes just before she succumbed to the weight of my pheromones and bit me, marked, claimed me as a mate. And then once her senses returned, the way she shoved me away from her, fear and something else, dark and twisted glowing in the same red eyes that once looked at me with the utmost care.

Her eyes kept me alive in the steep of battle. They reminded me who I was, and told me I could survive when I had all but given up on escaping from under the rubble of the plane. I made it back so I could look into them again, so I could hear her voice again, feel the warmth of her smile—apologize for that night.

There are a million things I never got to say to Lora, things I know I will never say because she is the one alpha that can never be mine. My father was never man enough for her. But I am. I know deep down I am, if these lines between us did not exist, if we were strangers, discovering each other for the first time, no man would ever go the lengths I would go for Loranne.

She was good to me as a stepmother and I violated her trust in my head as a stepson. Long before that night, I violated her trust. Every time she smiled at me, patted my hair, cleaned out my injuries from sports, tasted her food, got scolded or grounded by her, there was always a part of me that chose to ignore the fact that she saw me as a son.

I don’t remember when it began. When the little innocent affections she showed me out of the goodness of her heart began stirring dangerous desires in my soul. When listening to her hum to her favorite tunes while making dinner made my heart warm in the wrongest ways. When watching her pack her hair into a ponytail triggered goosebumps across my back. When the sweat dripping down her neck as she stretched on the mat became maps to places only illicit desires lurked.

She had always been beautiful in my eyes, but not that way, never that way.

The last time we spoke, it was a fight about my enlistment. Lora stood against my enlistment, begged me not to go. I couldn’t bear it anymore. I couldn’t bear to be close to her and think those thoughts. I needed an out. I needed to be far away from her, to get over her, to fall in love with a girl my age in a foreign country like everyone else did. Maybe I wanted to be normal. I was sick of the self loathing, the weight of constantly hating myself for holding those desires was crushing me.

I thought being an Air man would take it all away. I’d finally be seen as a real man in the eyes of my father and there’d be no space for me to see myself through her eyes. Things didn’t quite work out that way, I had been marked and claimed. I was hers, blood and soul. Not even the distance, the war, the plane crash could save me from myself.

I did try. Heaven knows I did. I sought out many alpha’s my age, tried to have them mark me to undo her marking. I gave myself to whoever would have me, werewolves, vampires, succubi. None of it helped. Her mark retained it’s strong hold on me, reminding me over and over again all the things we could never be.

My gaze flutters back to the bed and I sigh. If I sleep, I know I’ll wake the whole house up with my nightmares, and I need pops to sign off on me so I can re-gain my legal independence. Perhaps for tonight, I can stay awake. It’s not as though sleep comes easy anyway. I only need to be chaperoned for a week, then I’m free.

I can do it; I can stay awake for a week.