Chapter 8
eight
JULIA
I surfaced from the deepest sleep I’d had in six years, my limbs heavy and boneless.
The mattress beneath me was the perfect combination of cloud-like support, but it wasn’t the softness or the high-end linens that kept me pinned to the bed.
It was the grounding weight of the house itself.
The walls seemed to hold a baked-in layer of the guys’ scents.
My inner Omega didn’t just recognize the lingering, interwoven scents as safe, it recognized them as right.
I hadn’t felt this settled, this whole, since before I presented, back when my mom was still alive and my family wasn’t fractured.
Padding to the bathroom, I let the shower run until it was scalding—just the way I liked it—and stood beneath the spray until my skin was red and I was thoroughly relaxed.
By the time I shut off the spray, dried off, fixed my hair, went through my makeup routine, and pulled on some faded jeans and an oversized sweater, my brain was finally catching up to my body.
Coffee. I need coffee.
I checked my reflection one last time, still more than a little shocked that the woman staring back at me looked so damn relaxed. The sharp gaze and clenched jaw were nowhere in sight, replaced by a healthy glow and softness I’d missed seeing in the mirror.
The OMA might’ve started with a good mission when it was first created, but for me, it had felt like a posh holding cell I may never escape.
It had only been one day since I’d stepped off that plane, but being out from underneath the whole oppressive system was already doing amazing things for my health.
As were the six men in this lodge of a house.
The little spark of eagerness surprised me. I actually wanted to go downstairs. I wanted to see them.
I opened my bedroom door and stepped into the hallway.
The house was awake, humming with morning life.
A floorboard creaking. The distant clink of a mug.
Then, the smell hit me. Breakfast, eggs, melted cheese, bacon, and the mouth-watering aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
My stomach gave a demanding rumble. Following my nose, I trailed my hand along the polished banister, took the stairs to the main floor, and walked straight into the kitchen.
August stood at the six-burner stove, looking entirely too large for the delicate act of sliding eggs onto the plates he’d laid out.
Gideon sat at the center island, nursing a dark mug.
River and Ransom leaned against the opposite counter, looking identically delicious in their denim, boots, and matching messy blonde hair.
I paused in the threshold. A soft, unguarded hum vibrated in my chest at the whole scene.
Conversation died instantly. Four heads snapped my way.
I expected a casual good morning. Instead, I absorbed the full force of their undisguised hunger. It wasn’t predatory—it was reverent.
Ransom broke the silence with a raspy half-whisper. “Is that a—”
“Uh huh…” Gideon managed, his tone equally stunned.
The sound thrumming through my chest hadn’t stopped. It rumbled on, low and steady, and my brain stalled on the sensation as their words registered.
I was purring.
It had been six years since I had designated as an Omega.
I’d been through a dozen forced courting events, sniffed more scent cards than I cared to admit or remember, and even met with packs that smelled okay enough to have made a decent match.
And never, not once, had I made this noise.
It was an involuntary, happy, contented response meant exclusively for the pack an Omega recognized as unequivocally hers.
Gideon’s pupils blew wide, swallowing the blue of his irises.
River gripped the counter edge hard enough to turn his knuckles white.
Ransom’s amber eyes tracked where my pulse fluttered along the side of my neck like he wanted to bury his nose there again, or bite the currently unmarked swath of skin his gaze caressed.
August lowered his spatula like he’d forgotten what it was for.
My Omega flared in response, liquid heat pooling between my thighs. For a few glorious seconds, I let myself just stand there and bask in the proof that these men found me as deeply desirable as I found them.
But the quiet stretched a fraction too long.
River shifted his weight, his boot heel scraping the tile. He shot a heavy, loaded look toward Gideon, who tightened his grip on his mug, a muscle feathering along his jaw. Ransom rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly fascinated by the floorboards.
The warm haze evaporated and my purr ended as abruptly as it had started. My defenses slammed back into place. I crossed my arms, digging my fingers into the knit of my sweater.
“Okay,” I said, keeping my voice painfully neutral even though this was going to hurt like a bitch. “I can read a room. Did you guys talk last night and decide this is all a mistake? Should I start packing?”
Why had I even unpacked in the first place?
August actually dropped his spatula. It hit the cast-iron grate with a loud clatter.
“Fuck no,” Ransom blurted. He pushed off the counter so fast he nearly upended a stool.
Gideon was on his feet a half-second later. “Julia, no. God, no. We want you here. More than you know. We have zero regrets.”
“None,” River added in a grounding rumble that usually would have settled my nerves.
But the tight, nervous energy hadn’t left their shoulders. I narrowed my eyes, studying their tense postures.
“Except?” I hedged.
Gideon opened his mouth, but whatever diplomatic Beta response he had prepared died in his throat. Ransom ran a hand along his jaw, while River shifted his weight, suddenly looking anywhere but at me.
“It’s not that,” River said carefully. “You’re not too much. You’re not a mistake.”
“Then what?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “We thought we had more time to explain something.”
Before I could demand to know what the hell that meant, the mudroom door off the kitchen swung open and Colt stepped through it.
I hadn’t seen him since our heavy standoff in the yard yesterday, and the impact of seeing him up close and personal knocked the interrogation right out of my head.
He reached up, pulling off his weathered cowboy hat, and ran a hand through his strikingly black hair.
It was a little too long on top, falling back into an effortless, messy swoop that made my fingers itch to touch it.
He froze when he saw me, and his stormy grey eyes locked onto mine.
I swallowed hard as charged silence swallowed the room.
His scent rolled over me—the dark notes of tobacco and cold stone.
But as we stared at each other, the austere edges of it melted, yielding to a velvety undercurrent of raw suede and dark chocolate.
It hit me so hard my heart skipped a cliched beat.
“Ma’am,” he murmured, tipping his head like a cowboy, despite the fact his hat was in his hand.
I couldn’t bring myself to scold him like I’d done to Stetson yesterday. My tongue suddenly didn’t know how to work, and my lungs were struggling to breathe as I locked down the whine that wanted to slip up my throat.
Don’t you dare whine for a man who doesn’t want you here…
He’d made that perfectly clear, but my Omega didn’t seem to care. She was as enamored with Mr. Tall-Dark-And-Surly as she was with the rest of her pack.
The heavy crunch of tires on gravel broke the spell.
Colt blinked, the intensity shuttering behind his eyes as he turned his attention to the window that looked out over the front yard. Outside, an engine cut off.
He leaned his hip against the counter, crossing his arms over the faded pearl-snap shirt that clung to his toned chest. While the other four men in the kitchen shifted nervously on their feet, Colt just watched the driveway.
The unmistakable thud of car doors echoed through the glass.
Colt’s mouth tipped up into a wry, knowing half-smile. “Outta time, boys,” he drawled, darkly amused. “Hope you said your piece.”
Gideon winced. Ransom muttered a vicious curse under his breath. “Look, for the record,” the exuberant twin started, stepping toward me with his hands up, “I thought we’d have more time to talk. I really didn’t want you to find out this way—”
The front door slammed open against the wall, the heavy impact cutting him off. A squeal of pure joy echoed down the hall, followed by the rapid-fire slap of little boots running over the hardwood.
A three-foot-tall blonde tornado barreled into the kitchen.
She was a spectacular disaster. Unruly golden curls stuck up in a tangled mess, and a thick layer of bright red jam coated both of her hands and the front of her denim overalls. She vibrated with playful energy—right up until her gaze landed on me.
She hit the brakes hard. The tiny girl froze, her mouth forming a round ‘O’ of shock. She immediately darted behind River’s leg, grabbing his jeans with sticky fingers. Slowly, she peeked out at me. A single amber eye tracked my movements. In her other arm, she clutched a well-loved stuffed bunny.
The kitchen plunged into rigid silence. I could feel the apprehension rolling off everyone in waves.
I took a slow second for myself, letting my brain catch up to the chaos. Okay. I definitely wasn’t expecting this today… or ever, if I’m being honest.
I glanced from Gideon’s tight jaw to Ransom’s pale face. They were absolutely terrified, waiting for the inevitable shoe to drop. They expected me to balk at this sticky, chaotic little mess. Did they seriously think I’d run for the hills?