by Lola Rock
“Two,” he says with a bashful rub of his neck.
Two!
With all the hormone shit we have to deal with, that’s not even an intro to omega lore.
Orion needs my help.
But does he want it?
“Could I maybe give you some advice? I swear I’m not poaching your territory. Just, I know all the omega stuff, and I know what it’s like, and—”
“Lilah.” Orion reaches in, silencing me by softly cupping my cheek. “I’ll take any help you can give. I’ve been going insane.”
“I’ll help,” I say before I can question why I’m volunteering myself for more trouble.
His touch melts my brain.
Orion shows me the rest of the ground floor. There’s a conservatory with a grand piano that gives me flashbacks of music lesson hell, and a huge bar that connects to the living room and patio where I can picture basking in the warm sun while the alphas rub me down in oil.
I’m swaying on my feet by the time we hit the stairway.
“Go rest. I’ll show you the upstairs later.” Orion escorts me back to the basement. “You sure you don’t need anything?”
“I have everything I need.” I give an awkward little wave and duck downstairs. When I shut the door behind me, I take a huge, shuddering breath.
The more I get to know the guys, the more scared I am.
Because what happens to me when I have to let them go?
Twenty-Six
LILAH
If by “rest” Orion meant I should spend two hours hitting the treadmill on its highest incline, then I’m so refreshed.
The supply closet has zippy bags so I can stash my used pads until I find a way to burn them without setting off the smoke alarm.
After a shower and another change of bandages for the bullet wound that’s weeping, I flick on my tablet and hit the digital pavement. Curled up in my loaner nest, I balance spreadsheets until my eyes ache and I have to double-count the numbers to stop making stupid mistakes.
“Lilah?” Orion calls from way too close.
I drop the tablet into my lap, clutching my blanket tighter. “Orion?”
He swings open the heavy door but doesn’t cross into my space. “Would it freak you out if I came in?”
I take a second, waiting to feel the kind of hair-raising, gonna-stab-you-in-the-jugular rage that I felt every time some bitch snuck into my dorm room to mess with my shit, but nothing boils to the surface.
That doesn’t mean I’m still water.
The feeling bubbling up is more nervous excitement, a light, happy dance of electricity.
I want Orion in my space.
Damn it. I clench my legs, hoping I slathered on enough de-scenter.
“I don’t mind,” I answer, a smidge too breathy.
Orion crosses the threshold, both of us holding our breaths. When his nostrils flare and he doesn’t react to my scent or the fact that I’m occupying his basement, my shoulders finally drop.
“How are you not uncomfortable living down here?”
I shrug. “I’ve never had this much space to myself before.” The nest and kitchen are a palace compared to my dorm room. “It doesn’t bother you to be here?”
“I thought it would. Guess not.” He sits on the edge of the bed, but the mattress is so freaking huge we have our own zip codes. “Did you get some rest?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “So much rest.” I haven’t closed my eyes, afraid I’ll perfume in my sleep.
“I was thinking of cooking dinner, but then I remembered the only thing I can make is tomato soup.”
I laugh. “The OCC made me take culinary classes. I’m surprised the pack never sent you.” Older omegas were always popping in for day classes.
He scuffs his feet over the old carpet. “My blood tests said I was alpha. When I awakened omega and the pack chose me anyway, we were so caught up fighting the dads, classes didn’t seem important.”
“Why do they have a problem?” I wrinkle my fingers in the sheets. “Aren’t you guys a best-case scenario? Awakening to form a pack with your best friends?” It sounds way better than all the awkward courting rituals OCC omegas are forced into. You don’t get to know what a pack’s about from a few ice cream socials and tea parties.
“We’re not a scent match,” he confesses.
I hide my wince and pray he can’t sense the guilt that feels like lead pellets in my belly. “That shouldn’t matter. They care about you.”
“Do they?” he asks bitterly.
“Of course they—”
“Then why are they never here? Why do they avoid touching me? Why—” His rising voice chokes off and his pheromones sharpen like crab apples, bitter in my throat.
“Hey. It’s okay.” I crawl to him, something inside me needing to respond, needing to help him.
Steeling myself for him to throw off my touch, I smooth up and down his spine. He’s hot, vibrating like a leaf in a whirlwind.
“You’re okay.” I pat his shaking back, moving my other hand to his shoulder. “That’s your hormones talking.”
When he takes a deep, hitched breath, and turns wide, vulnerable, blue eyes to me, I flinch away like I’ve been burned.
The moment drags.
He stares at me. I stare at him, mouth opening and closing.
What do I say?
What do I call this—whatever it is between us?
I’ve never met an omega like Orion.
His pain hurts me, and his scent revs me just as quickly as his alphas’. When his eyelids droop, and he looks up at me from underneath thick golden lashes, I swear he’s attracted to me too.
But something keeps us from moving, from closing the space between our too-warm bodies, and seeing what the fuck is going on.
I’m too big a threat to his position, and too much of me wants, needs, craves his alphas.
And maybe I want Orion, maybe I want him just as much as I want them, but truth is, he’s stealing my alphas too.
I slink away, crushing the moment. “Dinner? You’ll feel better if you eat.”
“Yeah.” Orion rubs his shoulder. “Dinner.”
We head to the kitchen, and he texts while I grab ingredients from the fridge that someone finally excavated. The food is fresh, all the old takeout containers sent to dumpster graves.
“Burgers?” I pull out the ground beef.
“Can we make enough for everyone? The guys are on their way.” He looks at his screen instead of me.
I try not to let it bother me. “Sure. There’s plenty.”
I rummage around the kitchen, trying to find the right bowls and spices while Orion ignores me.
After a while, he tucks his phone into his pocket. “What can I do to help?”
“Chop the lettuce and tomato? And find a cutting board? Because I don’t see one.”
“Up here.” Without even lifting onto his toes, he easily grabs a board from the stash of pans in the cupboard above the fridge. “We need to get you a stepladder. Or a ladder ladder.”
My jaw drops. “Are you calling me short?”
“You fit in my pocket.”
Orion’s pockets don’t need to be on my brain, because then I’ll want to reach in and check what he’s hiding in those jeans.
While he starts cutting vegetables, I slow down, stuck in omega dick fantasyland. He’s super tall, so I can’t help wondering if he’s proportionate.
I wonder what the other pack members do to him in the madness of his heat.
I wonder if they’d let me watch?
A throat clears.
Orion and I whip to the entryway.
Craig strolls into the kitchen with a plastered smile for Orion.
“Omega. You shouldn’t be doing housework.”
“I’m cutting tomatoes. Not re-grouting the tile.”
“Let me do it for you.” The beta makes a grab for Orion’s kitchen knife.
“I’ve got it.” Orion dodges before Craig can touch him. He moves closer to
me, half-hiding me behind his back.
My stomach warms.
He’s protecting me.
“Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be picking up the guys?” Orion’s grip tightens on the knife handle. He’s taller than Craig, but the beta’s stockier.
Somehow, I know Orion could kick his ass in a fight.
But with some fights, starting them means you’ve already lost. My fingers drift to the switchblade tucked at my hip.
“They told me not to bother. I just want to help you.” His moon eyes make me twitch.
“You’re not on the clock. Go home.”
I’m gripping Orion’s sleeve before I realize, and Craig scowls when he tracks the motion. “She gets to stay.”
I open my mouth ready to defend myself to this creeper, but Orion takes a step, blocking me from his insanity.
“Her name is Lilah, and she saved my fucking life. If you can’t be polite to her, then you can get the fuck out of my home.”
“It’s not like that, Omega,” Craig whines.
“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Orion says, exasperated.
“First thing in the morning. Good night, Omega.” He sulks out of the kitchen like a stepped-on rat.
Orion sets down his knife with a shudder. “That dude has got to go.”
“Like, now.” I mean, I’ve grown up with a mess of textbook hanger-oners but I’ve never seen one so unable to read the room. The pack’s not even nice to Craig and he’s begging for their affection.
It’s a sour thought because am I any better?
We let out big twin breaths when Craig’s car rumbles down the driveway. Then we trade looks and laugh.
I rub my hands on my jeans. “I’ll finish the burgers. Do you like sweet potatoes?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Root veg is good for us. Plus they make killer fries and you have a fridge full of sauces I want to try.”
“The kranch will change your life.”
“Kranch?”
“Ketchup ranch. You’ve never had it?”
Ketchup! AND ranch!
What genius came up with that? And why have I never seen it before?
“Do you like spicy?”
“Love it.” Whenever I could do the dining hall without getting jumped, I slathered my tray in Tabasco, chili flakes, and cajun spice.
My palate is wrecked and I’m not mad about it.
“You have to try the Thai chili sauce.” Orion rubs his hands together like a mad scientist. “All the guys are meat and potatoes pussies. Hunter accidentally ate my hot Cheetos once and wouldn’t stop whining for weeks. Try this.” He makes me a rice cracker dipped in red sauce that’s polka-dotted with chili flakes.
I pop it into my mouth. “It’s not that—oh, shit!” I choke when the spice hits me, but swallow it down with a smile as whatever it is gives my lips that sweet tingle. “That’s so good.”
“Right? This one next.” He hands me bite after bite while we dance around the kitchen, finishing dinner together.
I’m laughing while Orion feeds me when I realize I’ve crossed into the Twilight Zone.
Because this can’t be real.
And if it is, it sure as fuck can’t last.
Twenty-Seven
ATLAS
We’re already home when I realize we forgot to grab takeout. It’s been a goddamned day tracking down dead-end leads on Dominik. We’re no closer to finding where he goes to ground after he slithered away from security at the ball.
Now we’re stuck waiting for him to make his next move.
My gears have been spinning as I watch and re-watch the CCTV video.
That bullet came a millimeter from ending Orion.
If Lilah wasn’t there…
Bile rises in my throat.
Orion would be dead. No question. We’d be planning a funeral instead of revenge.
But Lilah pulled him out of the way. Saved him. Saved us.
Now she’s hurt and she’s my responsibility.
But like the asshole I am, I didn’t even fucking think to bring her dinner.
Or Orion.
Feeding your omega is this primal thing, the most basic, most satisfying desire. Yet here I am, forgetting him.
Forgetting them.
“Pizza?” Hunter asks as we climb out of the car.
“I want the cup pepperonis,” Finn says. “Not that pineapple bullshit.”
Jett snorts. “Hawaiian too sophisticated for you?”
“I’ll call—” My voice dies at the smell wafting from the house. I swallow.
“Babydoll?” Finn barrels for the kitchen. “You cooked for us?”
I follow, the other guys close behind.
The sight knocks out my breath.
Orion and Lilah wear matching aprons, huddling shoulder-to-biteable-shoulder at the island, their lips swollen and suckable.
From kissing?
From fucking?
My dick presses my fly like I’m gonna whip it out right here, and I damn near black out.
Orion bending Lilah over the counter, grabbing a fistful of her long, luscious hair as he pounds into her dripping cunt from behind.
Orion sandwiched between us.
His hot, soft body at my mercy as I rail him into her pussy, controlling two sets of moans. Two sweet scents stroking me into an orgasm so mind-blowing, so intense, I don’t know if I’d fucking survive.
Hunter elbows me, lifting a brow sky-high.
Fuck.
Between my raging scent and the growing knot about to bend my zipper, I’m confessing all my forbidden fantasies.
I breathe through clenched teeth.
Orion has his goddamned hot sauces spread all over the counter. A smudge of red hangs at the corner of Lilah’s lickable lips.
The look is sexy as fuck, but the idea of them eating that garbage sends me rumbling. “You’re feeding her that?”
“I like spicy.” Lilah licks her fingers, and every one of my pack brothers—even Orion—stares like that sweet little fingertip is circling her clit.
We need to get laid.
And not by Lilah.
She doesn’t notice us panting, whirling to the stove where rows of burger patties are browning on a grill pan. “Are you hungry? We just threw these on.”
“I could use a snack.” Finn darts in, trying to nip at her, but she dodges so fast I’m not the only one suspicious how much she’s trained.
She swats Finn with a potholder, and the asshole grins like he just got tongue kissed.
“Help me put these together?” she asks Orion, not realizing how sweet she sounds when she isn’t trying to shove us away.
The four of us lean on the island as the omegas work. She plops a butter-toasted bun on each plate, Orion adds the toppings, then she flips the burger from the pan. He puts the top on the burger, walks his cute ass to set it at the table, and then they move on to the next plate like they’ve been cooking together for years.
A few days ago, Orion was fantasizing about ripping out Lilah’s throat. I was scouting for a soft spot in the garden to bury her body.
“Kranch?” Lilah asks hopefully.
Orion grins like he’s giving her a diamond ring when he hands over the bottle. “You’re gonna get addicted.”
Lilah pulls a pan of homemade fries from the oven, grabs one piping hot, and dips it in the pink sauce. Covering her mouth, she breathes in little pants, blowing out air when the thing burns her mouth.
A rumble builds inside me.
“Easy, Killer.” Hunter moves in faster than I can react, offering her a napkin.
I stand and stare, watching the surreal, oddly perfect moment, as she dabs her chin, eyes glittering. Jett and Finn are just as mesmerized.
“It’s amazing.” She flashes Orion a shooting-star smile that cuts through my defenses and craters somewhere in my chest cavity.
She has a beautiful smile. Pink lips, plump and perfect.
My gaze snaps back to Orion, praying he d
oesn’t flip because his pack leader’s drooling over someone else. But Orion’s not seeing me at all, busy watching the fun-sized omega scooping sweet potato fries.
I wait for my instincts to blow up in a jealous geyser, but there’s no heat, no steam.
I’ve never seen Orion give a shit about a single person outside our pack.
He’s rigid around outsiders. Guarded.
Lilah’s different.
“I’ll take my dinner downstairs.” She grabs the plate with the least amount of food. Not enough.
The pack turns to me.
Orion tips his chin toward the table we haven’t used in months. We always eat standing, always rushing off to the next mission, the next training, the next duty.
We could use a night to relax.
“Sit with us.” I grab two plates and set them at the head and side of the table where Orion and I would usually sit.
Tugging Lilah’s sleeve, Orion guides her to her seat. He drops an armful of sauces in front of them both and sits close beside her.
Finn snags the other seat next to Lilah, leaving Jett and Hunter to fill in the sides. I find myself facing her, watching her devour her meal.
“Try the spicy honey mustard,” Orion says in a coaxing tone that makes me want to haul him onto my lap and keep him there ‘til he’s writhing. He squirts a blob of sauce onto her plate, all sunshine and smiles that none of us can resist. Even Jett’s expression thaws.
Lilah casts her eyes down, sucking her lower lip between her teeth, but when she bites into another fry, she can’t hide her truth.
“So good,” she moans, the sound so fucking erotic, she should be bouncing on a cock. Preferably mine.
I shift in my chair, and fuck, I’m not the only one.
Finn devours her with dark intensity. Hunter’s gaze flicks back and forth over us all, drinking in our tiniest reactions, and Jett grips his knife and fork, twitching at every single one of Lilah’s ball-clenching moans.
Our plates haven’t been touched. Not one of us has taken a bite.
I’m hypnotized, watching Lilah and Orion laughing, eating. There’s a lightness in the room that I haven’t felt in years.