16. Clara
Clara
Bram looks pale when I get back to the house after my shift at the café. Good thing I still have some royalties coming in from my books, because business has definitely slowed with the colder weather rolling in. Peak season’s passed.
Jack comes in not long after, his car packed with goodies that Bram helps him unload.
The softest blankets, a pumpkin essential oil diffuser.
He adds fairy twinkle lights across the fireplace, fuzzy pillows to the stiff couches, rustic baskets filled with warm shawls near the door, and a few new teapots with an assortment of fall-themed teas in the kitchen.
It’s… perfect. Soothing in a way I didn’t know I needed.
“Did you—” I start, but cut myself off before I can sound too hopeful. But Jack just smiles and bends down to scent-mark along my neck. His dreads fall around his face, tickling my cheeks.
My heart soars. I clutch the front of his shirt with both hands, running my nose along his chin and scent-marking him back.
“Omegas need soft things,” he says. “But besides that, I couldn’t stand how sterile this place was. It felt like a walk-through museum.”
The light above us flickers. We both look up. Bram growls behind us, low and sharp, and we turn toward him.
“Problem?” Jack asks, voice still easy.
Bram clears his throat. “No, I—no.”
I t ilt my head at him, instincts rising. But before I can ask, the front door swings open and Dagan and Victor walk in.
Victor doesn’t even look at me. He heads straight upstairs like I’m not there at all. I try to ignore the sharp sting in my chest.
Instead, I turn to Dagan—and for one heart-wrenching moment, his expression is so sour it twists my gut. What if Victor’s convinced him I’m an unworthy omega?
But Dagan strides toward me and lifts me right into his arms. Relief crashes through me so fast my scent probably soured for a second. But he doesn’t pull away. Just smiles and scent-marks the other side of my neck, nuzzling against my pulse like he’s claiming me.
When he sets me down and I step back, I take a breath and sign, " Did you have a good day?"
At least, I hope that’s what I said. My hands are shaking, nerves tumbling through me. What if I accidentally asked him about his poop or something?
But Dagan just grins, broad and bright, and pulls me into a slow spin, like I’ve given him the best gift in the world.
Then he raises his hands and, thank God, signs back two slow, clear words. “For me?”
I nod and add aloud, “For both of us. I want to be able to talk to you. Really talk. Not through translations or other people or paper.”
His answer is a kiss.
It’s gentle at first, lips soft against mine, but it sparks hot fire in my blood. When he pulls away, my omega surges forward. I rise on my toes and kiss him again, deeper. Hungrier.
Dagan doesn’t hesitate. He presses into me, full-body contact, every hard line and heated inch of him saying he feels it too. His cock flexes against my belly, and my breath catches. My fingers tighten on his shirt.
Whe n we finally break apart, I’m breathless. Across the room, Jack is stirring something at the stove, pretending not to notice. Bram’s got a book open but he’s not turning the pages.
I press a hand to my chest.
“You okay, Ghost?” Bram asks, his voice unusually soft.
I nod. “I think I’m just tired. It was an early day.”
“Go rest,” he says gently. “We’ll come get you for dinner.”
I nod again and head for the stairs in a daze. I still feel oddly warm but happy. And very, very hopeful