Mike looks up at me, and I know he can see right through me, but all he says is “should be ready in about twenty minutes.”
At least I have one person I can confide in, I remind myself as I settle glumly on a log to wait. It could always be worse.
Chapter Sixteen
LANE
It feels like the entire world has shifted on its foundations, so I’m startled to wake up the morning after my encounter with Clay and discover that nothing at all about our daily routine has changed.
That is, almost nothing.
There’s one moment that stands out to me as strange. It comes when Mike asks Bruno who’s going to be assigned to go fishing today. Bruno takes an unusually long time to answer. By the rotation we’ve been using, it should be Clay and Mike. We’ve never deviated from that routine, which makes me wonder why Mike is even asking the question. But Bruno puzzles over it for so long that I begin to think there must be something I’m not seeing. Is he considering leaving me and Clay together again? Going out to the river himself, so that Clay and I can spend the day together and explore our new connection?
That would be generous. But it’s not like it would be a big deal. They’ve been rotating to make sure everyone has equal opportunities to get out of the shelter, not because fishing is hard work. Now that Clay and I have this new thing going on, I’m sure he’d rather stay here and spend the day with me. So that must be what Bruno’s going to do. It would be the best choice for everyone involved.
But when he finally speaks, he surprises me again. “You two go,” he says to Mike. Not like Mike asked a stupid question, but like he’s made a decision. “It’s your turn.”
“You sure?” Mike asks.
“I don’t mind going,” Clay says, and I can tell he’s as mystified as I am.
“It’s your turn,” Bruno says again, and he lopes off into the woods to pick up wood for the morning’s fire.
Clay glances at me and shrugs. “See you tonight, Lane.”
“Have fun,” I say, feeling strangely domestic. “Bring me a big fish.”
He shoots me a thumbs up and runs off after Mike toward the river.
The rest of the day is staggeringly normal. It’s hard to believe such life-altering things happened just last night. If it weren’t for the pleasant ache that stays with me as Bruno goes silently about the day’s work, I might actually question whether I’d dreamed it all.
What will happen now? I hadn’t planned to stay with these three long-term. No one’s given any indication of wanting me to go away —in fact, I’ve been told repeatedly that I’m welcome to stay as long as I’d like —but I don’t know whether that literally means forever. If I left, would Clay come with me? It seems strange to think it after just two weeks, but I don’t want to be apart from him.
Maybe it’s not as strange as it seems. Maybe I’m just still thinking in human terms. After all, he imprinted on me. And that’s not a one-sided thing. I can feel the connection too, always orienting me toward him whenever we’re in the same space, pulling me closer to him as if I’m his satellite. To leave him now would actually be physically painful.
I think these same questions must be on Bruno’s mind, because he spends most of the day ignoring me and working twice as hard as usual. He builds up the pile of firewood so high that it begins to topple over. He reworks the roof of our shelter. At one point, he takes off a boot and uses it as a makeshift broom to sweep away the rocks and leaves on the ground around our fire pit. When you’re sweeping the dirt, you’ve officially run out of chores. He’s reaching, looking for anything to do so he won’t have to talk to me. It’s painfully obvious. But what can I say? I might be the reason his packmate leaves him behind.
God. I don’t want to be that. I don’t want to take Clay away from his family. I want to add to his life, not separate him from it.
I’m actually relieved when the next day is Mike’s turn to stay at camp while Clay and Bruno go fishing. Maybe they can talk about what’s on Bruno’s mind. Maybe they can resolve some of the issues. And in the meantime, Mike is easy to be around. As intoxicating as I find Clay’s presence right now, it’s nice to be with someone simple. Someone I can relax with.
As soon as the others have left the area, Mike turns in a slow circle, his gaze eventually landing on me. “There’s nothing to do here,” he says.
“No,” I agree. “Bruno did the chores for the whole week yesterday. It was like he was jacked up on caffeine or something. I have no idea what was up with him.”
“You know how he gets,” Mike says. “He really wants the best for the pack.”
“Of course, I understand that. It’s just that he’s usually more logical about it. This is the first time I’ve seen him go over the top like that. I know I haven’t been here long. Does he do that often?”
“Well, he is the one who encouraged us to run away from our old pack in Montreal,” Mike points out. “So, it’s not like he’s never done anything intense before. By comparison, overdoing it on the chores is pretty tame.”
“Okay,” I agree. “But you left home because your alpha there was turning your pack into a prostitution ring. It wasn’t exactly a random impulse. Even if you want to argue that Bruno was being kind of reactive about it, it’s easy to understand why he had that reaction.”
“Sure,” Mike allows.
“But yesterday? I have no idea why he was acting like that.”
Mike shrugs, picks up a stick, and begins drawing patterns in Bruno’s freshly swept dirt.
I give up. We’ll probably never know why Bruno was being so weird yesterday. It doesn’t really matter, I guess. He just had an off day. I should take it for what it is —a gift. Now Mike and I can spend the day relaxing instead of working.
But an entire day of relaxation in the middle of the woods with nothing to do turns out to be worse than chores. We’re bored within an hour. Mike finds some rocks and tries to make a game out of tossing them to see who can land them in circles he draws in the dirt, but that gets boring in a hurry too because we master it too quickly. Eventually, Mike decides to head back to the shelter for an afternoon nap.
I’m planning to stay up, I really am, but with no one to talk to the plodding afternoon drags on even more slowly than it was, and before long I find myself drooping with sheer boredom. My head feels heavy and my eyes keep drifting shut as I sit staring into the fire. There’s no reason for me to be awake, really. The chores are done. There’s no one here to socialize with. The others won’t be back for hours. It’s a great opportunity to catch up on some of the sleep I’ve missed over the past few weeks while things have been so hectic.
I drag myself up off the log I use as a seat and over to the shelter. Mike is snoring quietly, but I know he won’t wake. He’s a heavy sleeper. I all but collapse next to him, my eyes closing as soon as I’m horizontal. With the wind lightly kissing my face and the sound of forest birds singing me to sleep, I let myself drift off.
WAKING UP IS GRADUAL.
I’m warm. I’m warmer than I’ve been in a long time. I remember being this warm, back when I lived in a house with central heating, back when I slept under blankets, but that was in another life. The warmth is back, though, and I don’t want to question it. I pull it closer. I wrap myself up in it. I drift back towards sleep...
A hand is on me. Splayed across my stomach, fingers wide. It’s possessive, somehow. Clay?
No. Mike. He’s still sleeping. He must have wrapped an arm around me in his sleep. That’s all right. I don’t mind. He’s so warm. I slide my hand into his and give it a squeeze, hoping to subconsciously communicate that we’re all good, and I let myself drift away again...
He’s so close.
The third time I wake up I’m spooned against his body. His breath is a whisper on my neck. His knees are tucked into mine. My hips are tucked against his. And it feels like we’re right on the borderline, dancing up against something that’s maybe more than keeping each other warm, but I’m not all t
he way awake yet, so I’m probably just imagining things.
This time, though, I don’t go back to sleep.
This time I’m caught, like a fish on a hook, caught by consciousness and being drawn up against my will. Waking up has never felt quite like it does today. It’s not painful. It’s not unpleasant. But it does feel like I’m being dragged through my own mind. Like something larger than me is pulling me from sleep. I’m not too out of it to question this. What the hell is going on.
Behind me, Mike lets out a ragged gasp. He sounds like he’s being tortured.
Suddenly fearful, I roll over just as I rise to full consciousness. I search his face for some sign of pain, but there’s none.
It takes a moment for me to see what there is.
His eyes are dilated. He’s breathing fast, his hands clenched into fists at his side. His erection presses against my thigh, and I realize with a shock that I am still so close to him. We weren’t this close together when we went to sleep.
We closed the distance between us in our sleep.
And I know what’s happening, because I feel it in the heat between us and the desperation I feel for his body. I know what’s happening because it’s happened to me once already. But I can’t believe it. Can this really happen? Clay did warn me that other people might imprint on me, that it was something I should be mindful of. But he didn’t say anything about other members of the same pack.
What will the others say when they realize something has happened between me and Mike?
Because, I understand suddenly, looking into his eyes, something definitely is going to happen. I’m not going to be able to stop myself, and neither is he.
His hand moves to my hip. He is so, so careful. So gentle. But his eyes are wild.
“God help me,” he whispers, his eyes searching mine. “Oh, God help me.”
And then we’re on each other.
I don’t know who breaks first. It doesn’t matter. Our hunger for each other feels both equal and uncontrollable. We don’t even manage to get our clothes off. My panties are still around one ankle, and his jeans are down to his knees as he thrusts into me, and it’s so good and so necessary that I arch my back and lift my hips to meet him and he grabs me and holds me there and we just stop for a moment and revel in the sheer relief of it.
How can I need something this badly?
I need more.
“Keep going,” I say, and my voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. “Mike. Please.”
He moves his hips in a slow, excruciating circle. I groan. “You’re driving me insane, you know.”
“I’m driving you insane?” His voice is hoarse. “Lane. I’m about to lose my mind here.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
“Not waiting,” he says. “Savoring.”
Fuck. Mike. Who knew he had a silver tongue?
And now I’m thinking about his tongue.
I grab the back of his neck, pull his head down, and kiss him with every bit of intensity and frustration in my body, and finally, finally, his control shatters and he snaps his hips forward hard, making me moan into his mouth.
God help me.
Chapter Seventeen
BRUNO
The roar of my bike as it eats up highway isn’t enough to drown out the thoughts that are screaming in my mind, ricocheting around on the inside of my skull, driving me insane.
Mike imprinted on Lane.
MIKE imprinted on Lane.
First Clay, and that was bad enough. Painful enough. But I thought, given time, that I’d probably adjust. After all, it could be worse. Clay is quiet. Clay is thoughtful. Clay goes out of his way not to be an irritant, or to be in any way obnoxious. He couldn’t help bothering me by constantly touching Lane and pulling her away to kiss her behind trees, but I knew it wasn’t aimed at me. Hell, he doesn’t even know about my feelings for Lane.
My stupid, stupid feelings for Lane.
And now it’s Mike too. And that’s a whole new level of hell for me, because Mike knows everything. Mike knows that I wish to God it was me instead of him.
He came to me the minute I got back to camp, bursting to confess. I didn’t even need him to say it. It was all over his face. He’d either slept with Lane or he called Harlan and gave away our location. My stomach dropped so fast that I almost threw up right there in camp.
“Bruno,” he said. “Listen. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“You imprinted.” I felt suddenly hollow. My voice rang in my ears.
“I can’t believe it either. Two days after Clay. I’ve never even heard of something like that.”
Two days after Clay. Neither of us acknowledged that first day, the day I spent alone with her. The day absolutely no spark was lit.
“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding absolutely wretched. “I know this is...I don’t know what this is, actually. I’m just really sorry. I didn’t mean to. If I could have controlled it, I —”
“Stop it,” I interrupted. My temper was boiling just below the surface, and I knew in that moment that I needed to get out of camp right away before I said or did something I’d regret. “It doesn’t have anything to do with me,” I told Mike. “You don’t owe me any apologies.”
“I know how you feel —”
“It doesn’t matter how I feel,” I said. “I don’t get to draw lines around her.” Suddenly I couldn’t stand the sight of any of them anymore. “I’ll be back in a while.”
“Where are you going?”
“For a ride.”
So now I’m on the highway, speeding so fast that the lines on the road blur together, running away from the only family I’ve ever had. The family I no longer feel like a part of.
Because even if you set my feelings for Lane aside —which I can’t do, of course; every time I look at her my heart rate picks up and I feel like I’m losing my mind all over again —I’ve found myself in another unlivable situation. How can I belong to a pack where everyone but me is intimate with the one woman who’s a part of our group? It’s impossible to be around them and not imagine what camp life would be like if I wasn’t there. What’s probably going on right now. No one would ever have their clothes on, because why would they need to? It would probably be a constant orgy.
I’m not being fair. I’m being insane. Just because they’ve imprinted doesn’t mean they’re no longer human. They’re not just going to devolve to their basest selves.
Wouldn’t you, though? If you were allowed to hold Lane, wouldn’t you want to do it every hour of every day?
Shut up.
They won’t want you around anymore. You’re the only thing stopping them from living their best lives.
I rev the accelerator and drive faster, focusing on the roar of the engine. Anything to drown out that voice.
And she’s an omega. Can’t forget that. Eventually they’re going to breed, and then there will be a litter of little ones running around. Maybe they’ll be Clay’s. Maybe they’ll be Mike’s. The one thing they won’t be is mine.
How am I the alpha of this pack? How am I the alpha when we’ve found a true omega and yet I’m the only one who doesn’t imprint on her? What kind of sense does that make? If I’m an alpha, even if I’ve simply risen to the position by virtue of circumstance instead of inheriting the gene from my father, shouldn’t I be passing on my genes to the next generation? Shouldn’t it be the best thing for the pack for me to breed with our omega, to produce a son who will be alpha himself when I die?
Maybe it doesn’t work like that. Maybe when you gain your alpha status the way I did, you can’t pass it on. Maybe no sons of mine would ever be alphas. In which case, what difference does it make?
I should have known better than to think I was a real alpha. Of course, I’m not. I’m just some kind of stopgap, filling a void because the three of us are without a leader. I shouldn’t have let myself get carried away with the idea that I was special.
I pull my bike over by the side of t
he road, drop the kickstand, and climb off. Riding is great, but I didn’t actually leave the campsite to take a bike ride. I needed to get far enough away. I needed to reach a place where my brothers wouldn’t be able to find me if they decided to come looking.
Because I need to run.
I toss my clothes over the branch of a tree and jog into the woods, stretching as I go, feeling the animal within me take hold and dominate. The familiar shape of my bear self is so comforting, and so is the simplicity of my thought. So much of what draws my focus is sensory. Lane? She’s nowhere near me. She’s nothing to worry about. I know my human self is torn up inside, but from this vantage point it hardly matters. What matters is the dirt beneath my paws as I run and the little animals that skitter away when they realize I’m nearby. What matters is these woods and this night. That’s all I have room to think about.
I run for what feels like hours. I don’t know how much time has passed. The sun isn’t starting to peek above the horizon, yet, but it’s very dark. I wonder if my brothers are worried. I wonder if they think I’m not coming back to them. I wonder all this in a very detached way, the way I might wonder about something I see on a TV channel I’m just flicking past. Those things are far away tonight, and although my pack matters more than anything else in the world, what matters to my animal self is their safety, not their emotional comfort. And I know they’re safe.
A light in the distance makes me think I’m coming back up on the road, that I somehow got turned around, but as I draw closer, I realize it’s coming from a little cottage. I slow to a walk and approach, knowing that if I’m seen I could have trouble on my hands. Some people living in a cottage in the woods will run from a bear. Others will pull out a rifle.
And then, as if conjured by my thought, I hear a gunshot split the night, followed by a guttural cry.
I withdraw behind a large tree as the door of the cottage bursts open. Three figures run out into the woods straight toward me, and my heart leaps into my throat. Before I can formulate a plan, though, before I can decide whether to retreat or to stand still and hope they run right by me, they change before my eyes.
The Hidden Omega Page 10