13. Icarus
Chapter thirteen
"This one is awful," Jordan says, spitting the tea back into her cup. It's been two months since I gave her this kit, and we still haven't found the right blend that we can both agree on to be our pack tea. It's inconsequential, but we're both taking it very seriously.
"Okay, got it. I'll cross this one off the list." I scribble out the loose recipe I wrote down before tossing the spent tea bags in the trash.
Since meeting Jordan, my life has become much more chaotic. Sometimes, it's difficult to adjust my routine, but mostly, it's been fun. Even Blush and Dae are getting along now, coexisting in a sense of relative, militaristic peace.
I officially moved in for good last month. Jordan's place is much nicer than mine, and since I was on a lease and she owns hers, it made the most sense for me to be the one to move. We've set my bookshelves up along the walls in the living room, and they look like that spot was waiting for them.
Getting to know her has been nothing short of wonderful. Jordan is funny—really, really funny. She's sarcastic and sassy, and I laugh more with her than I ever have with anyone else.
It's not that I haven't had romantic relationships before her. I'm forty, and I'm not a monk. But none of them were ever very serious. I think my momma met maybe a handful of women over the years—all Betas. I never even considered looking for my scent match because I didn't have a pack, so I figured, what's the point?
And then I meet Jordan. A chamomile-scented fireball that blew through my shields.
At family dinner last night, I learned that my mother and sister like her more than they like me. I was practically shut out of the conversation the entire time.
I wouldn't have it any other way.
We still don't know everything there is to know about one another. Hell, we're still sleeping in separate beds and haven't done anything more than some deep kissing. I'm not trying to rush her. I don't want her to feel obligated to be with me just because she smells like comfort and calm evenings.
That's not to say there haven't been moments where the tension was so high I thought I was going to pass out, because fuck have there ever been. I've probably worn a groove on my cock from how often I'm jacking off. I am doing my best to be respectful of her even when she comes out in those tiny fucking shorts that show her thick thighs and apple-shaped ass.
Respectful.
She leans against the counters, crossing her arms over her chest. The move pushes her tits up and out of the pink tank top she's wearing. "Why don't you just pick the blend? You're better at this than me."
I feel like a starving dog, nearly ready to drool over her, but I reign it in. "It's supposed to be a blend of us. If I blend it on my own, it's just me."
"I happen to like just you," she coos, wrapping her arms around my bare waist. It's Saturday, and we've been having a lazy morning, blending tea, listening to indie rock music loudly, and doing some light chores. I dip my face down and brush my lips across hers gently. She immediately pushes up on her toes, applying more pressure, tracing her tongue along the seam of my lips.
See, it's things like this, having her in that tiny shirt, pressed against my bare torso, mouth devouring mine, that makes it hard for me to be respectful. If it were up to me, I would throw her up on this counter, drop to my knees, and bury my face between her thighs, overdose on her scent.
All too soon, I pull away, willing myself to calm down, be respectful, and take this at her pace.
Plus, at this point, I worry about my control with her. Every time I see that smooth skin on her neck, my mouth waters with the need to clamp my teeth down on her, mark her as mine. Who cares that a bond could fade if it's not cemented during a heat? I just want to make her mine.
And I know she's not ready for that yet.
Lifting my gaze to hers, I notice tears shining in her eyes.
"Are you not attracted to me?" she whispers. The vulnerability in her words, the way her shoulders slump and her hands wring together, almost break my heart.
"Of course, I'm attracted to you. Where would you get an idea like that?"
"I just… those first few days, it felt like you were seconds away from ripping my clothes off at all times, and now it's like you're purposefully avoiding it. I know you didn't choose to be scent matched to me, and maybe I'm not the type of woman you typically go for, but…"
She wrings her hands again, looking everywhere but me as she speaks. I feel so out of sorts. I don't know where this is coming from at all, and damn if I don't feel like a shit Alpha for making her feel so low about herself.
"Omega," I say, not quite a bark but close, "I am trying to be respectful of you. To take this at your pace. I find you so attractive I worry I'm going to give my cock a friction burn."
"You do?"
"Of course I do. But I'm concerned about where your brain immediately went. Come here." She steps closer, and I pull her into my embrace, wedging her head under my chin.
"Why in the world would I not find you attractive? You're stunning."
She sighs and rubs her face roughly with her hands. "I've got some food issues, remember? So sometimes my brain goes a little haywire and makes assumptions." She cringes and tries to wiggle out of my grip. "It's fine, I'm fine. I don't want to talk about it."
She's made a brief comment or two about being told she needed to weigh less if she wanted to present as an Omega, but I feel like that can't possibly be all of it to produce a response like this. There was talk of therapy for 'food issues,' but she never elaborated. I want her to tell me everything, to lay it all out there on a tarnished silver platter and allow me to shine and restore it.
But if she's not ready, I can't force that.
"Okay, sunshine. I'm ready to listen when you're ready to talk about it." I stroke my hand down her dark red hair until I feel the shivers in her body stop. When I pull away and gaze upon my Omega, fear and vulnerability still shining in her eyes, I know I'll do whatever it takes to get that look out of them.
Later that day, in that strange time between lunch and dinner that is perfect for a cup of tea and a cookie or two, I find Jordan standing in the entryway, hands on her hips, glaring at a package at her feet. The top of the box is open, and the paper to cushion whatever is in there is strewn about.
"Did you do this?" she asks without looking back at me. "Did you order this?"
"I don't think so?" At her side, I can see the box's contents, and I wrinkle my nose. "I definitely did not."
Inside are a set of four milkshake glasses. Old-fashioned diner glasses with flared tops. Sort of like the ones in the painting right here in this hallway.
"Milkshake glasses? Maybe it got delivered to the wrong address." I pick up the box and carry it to the kitchen, unpacking it onto the counter. In addition to the box are glass straws swirled with red and white stripes and a cookbook with only milkshake recipes. "This is so oddly themed."
She looks like she's seen a ghost as she stares at these innocuous items, further increasing my confusion.
"Hey, sunshine, why is this upsetting you so much?"
"Do you see that painting?" she says, pointing towards the hyperrealistic painting of an old school diner with abandoned milkshakes on a table with ripped red leather seats. "It's a diner back home. I went there after school often on days I didn't have dance class." She snorts a little sarcastic laugh. "A lot is an understatement. It's where Pack Stargazer and I would meet up."
It takes a few minutes for what she's saying to sink into my thick skull. When it does, anger boils within me. "They sent you these?"
"I… I think so. That's the only explanation, right? I mean, it was our thing. And there are four glasses." She backs up against the cream wall, shaking her head, hands trembling. "They've found me, Icarus."
She used my real name, so I know she's being serious in her fear.
"I know they found their scent match and broke your heart, sunshine, but why are you so afraid of them finding you?" I take slow, gentle steps toward her and grab her quivering hands.
"They found me in the hospital. Told the hospital I was their Omega. How did they know, Alpha? And how did they find me? Have they been watching me? Why would they be watching me? And why would they call me their Omega if they have one?" She slides her back down the wall and sits on the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees. "Haven't they hurt me enough? What could they want from me?"
I join her on the floor, our hips pressed side by side into one another. "I don't know. Do you want to talk to them, to maybe find out?"
She shakes her head vehemently. "No. If they had loved and cared about me the way I did them, it wouldn't have mattered if I stayed a Beta, you know? Your dad married a Beta. They didn't even try to make it work. All they cared about back then was my designation, which is still the case, it seems."
"But how do they know? It's like they knew before you did."
And then it hits me.
They did know before she did.
The realization strikes her at the same time. "One of them was at the grocery store," we both say.
"Which means when they said you're their Omega…"
"One of them scented me." She's on her feet in an instant. "Fuck! Fuck!" Her little feet slap the tile as she paces quickly back and forth. "You can't have two Omega scent matches, can you?"
"I've never heard of it, but I suppose it's possible. In theory. Maybe?"
I feel as unmoored as she does. Has my Omega been matched to another pack? Will she still want me? Will there still be a place for me in her life?
And with this pack that broke her heart?
Fuck.
"So, most likely, they lied to me, huh?" Her voice is tiny and hurt. "They lied to me, and now that they've realized what I've known all along, they want me?"
Her nose wrinkles in distaste as she walks to the countertop, picks up one of the milkshake glasses, and turns it over in her hands.
"Well, fuck them."
And she drops in on the floor, shatters of glass flying everywhere.