Chapter 36 – LIAM
CHAPTER 36
LIAM
T he last bit of chocolate mousse vanishes from my spoon as I watch Bella's face. Her eyes half-close in contentment, that little sigh she gives when something pleases her sending a shot of satisfaction straight through me.
It's a powerful thing, alphas providing for an omega.
Our omega.
"You know what?" Troy says, stretching his arms overhead. "I think that's the best thing I've made all month."
"It's good," I agree. "Though everything you make is."
Troy points his spoon at me. "Damn right."
The dinner dishes are scattered across the table, evidence of Troy's culinary skills and our collective appetite. Roman leans back in his chair, his usual intensity softened for the moment. Cole watches Bella with a protectiveness that's written into every line of his scarred face. Savva examines the dregs of wine in his glass with his typical careful scrutiny, as if even relaxation requires his full analytical powers.
And me?
I'm just trying not to think about what comes next.
About five alphas and one omega in the same bed.
Just sleeping, sure, but it's the most intimate thing I've done in years, and it has nothing to do with sex. And I've never been that close to the rest of the Vanguard Pack. Will Cole stab me with that knife he keeps hidden if I accidentally touch him?
Seems like a valid concern to me.
"We should clean up before bed," Roman says, already standing to collect plates. I notice the slight emphasis he puts on the word "bed" and the way it causes a ripple of tension through everyone at the table.
"I can help," Bella offers immediately, but five voices overlap in refusing her help.
"You're our guest," Roman says.
"Not your job, little dove," adds Savva smoothly.
"Fuck that," is Troy's contribution, which earns him an elbow in the side from me.
"Language," I mutter, though it's more habit than genuine censure. God knows my own vocabulary turns colorful enough when I'm wound up. Which is constantly, lately.
"Right, because you're so bloody refined," Troy shoots back with a grin. "Didn't we establish in Spain that you've got the filthiest mouth of all when you're pissed?"
"In my defense, getting shot at brings out the worst in me," I mutter, stacking dinner plates with a bit more force than necessary.
We fall into a practiced rhythm cleaning up, like we've done after countless meals in countless safehouses across the globe. Only this time, there's an electric undercurrent coursing through the cabin. An awareness of what comes next that's making even my steady hands fumble with the silverware.
We're going to sleep with our omega tonight.
Just sleep, of course.
But even the thought of it sends my pulse racing.
Bella helps Troy with the dessert bowls despite our protests. She bumps his hip with hers when he tries to shoo her away, and the casual intimacy of the gesture makes my chest twist up. It's been a long time since I've seen easy affection like that.
"I've got this, lass," I say, taking the stack of bowls from her hands. "You've had a long day."
Her green eyes meet mine, sparkling with a challenge that makes my blood heat up. "I've been sitting on a plane or in a car most of the day, Liam. I think I can handle a few dishes."
I open my mouth to argue, but Savva's quiet chuckle makes me reconsider. "Our fierce little dove," he says, his cultured voice warm with amusement. "Brave enough to challenge Liam Rourke over dish duty."
"I'm not challenging anyone," she protests, but there's a laugh in her voice. "I just want to help."
"You are helping," Cole says gruffly from where he's wiping down the counter. "Being here. Safe."
The simple words seem to affect her more than our elaborate explanations. Her cheeks flush adorably, and she nods, surrendering the dishes to me with a small smile that hits like a punch to the solar plexus.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…
I'm in deep here.
Roman glances at the clock on the wall. "It's getting late," he says, his deep voice cutting through the clatter of cleanup. "We should finish up."
We all know what he means, though no one says it. Even Troy, who never shuts his gob, suddenly finds the drying of a serving bowl absolutely fascinating.
Bella breaks the tension, brave little thing that she is. "So," she says, looking around at all of us, "how exactly are we going to... arrange ourselves? In the bed, I mean."
"Roman's got a California king," Troy volunteers, finding his voice. "Biggest damn bed I've ever seen."
"You've been in Roman's bed?" I can't help but needle him, grateful for the tension breaker.
Troy's grin is unrepentant. "Of course. Had to know if he got himself the best mattress, too, or if it's just the best room in the house."
Roman's exasperated sigh is so familiar it nearly makes me smile. "The bed is large enough," he says, ignoring Troy's remark. "Bella can take the center."
"Naturally," Savva agrees, his elegant hands folding the last dishcloth so fast it's practically magic. "With the rest of us arranged around her."
"I'll take the floor," Cole says in his usual flat tone.
"No," Bella's voice is soft but firm. "I want all of you. In the bed. That's the whole point."
Cole's jaw works, but he doesn't argue further. Something passes between him and Bella, some understanding that makes me wonder what exactly happened between them besides the obvious physical connection and knotting. There's a gentleness in the way he looks at her that I've never seen from him before.
"Well then," Roman says, drying his hands on a towel, "shall we?"
The walk to Roman's bedroom feels like the longest march of my life, and I've done quite a few of those in terrain a hell of a lot more hostile than this cozy cabin. My pulse hammers in my throat like a fucking bird.
Get a grip, Rourke. It's just sleeping.
But it's not, is it?
It's intimacy. Vulnerability. Trust.
Things we've all forgotten how to do properly outside of combat situations.
Roman's bedroom is exactly what you'd expect from our stoic leader. Everything in its proper place. The massive four-poster bed dominates the room, dark wood gleaming in the lamplight. It's big, but it suddenly looks a lot smaller when I think about fitting five huge alphas into it along with Bella.
"Um," Bella says, standing in the middle of the room, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. "Should I... change first?"
"Good idea," Savva says smoothly. "We'll give you privacy. The bathroom is through there." He points to a door on the far wall. "We'll change out here."
"Here's your luggage," says Cole, materializing with the suitcase hanging from his hand like it weighs nothing. Although to him, it probably doesn't. Same with all of us, really.
She nods gratefully, disappearing into the bathroom with it.
The moment the door closes, we all exhale like we've been holding our breath.
"This is going to be a fucking disaster," Troy mutters, running a hand through his blond hair.
"It will be fine," Roman says firmly, already pulling fresh t-shirts and sleep pants from a drawer. He tosses clothing to each of us. "We'll make it work because it's what she needs."
I catch the bundle of clothing, glad he's being so practical. Of course he has sleep clothes for all of us. Does the man think of everything?
"Cole," Roman says, his voice slightly softer. "Are you alright with this?"
We all glance at Cole, who's standing by the window, his massive frame silhouetted against the night sky. His relationship with Bella has progressed further than any of ours, and I wonder if sharing her, even in this innocent way, is more difficult for him.
God knows he doesn't like to be touched.
"She wants it," he says stiffly, his broad shoulders rising in a slight shrug. "It's fine."
We change quickly with no concern about modesty. There's that, at least. After years sharing close quarters, privacy is a luxury none of us cares much about. Except Cole. He turns away to change his shirt and lets out a low growl when he catches me glancing at him.
We're all gonna get shanked tonight, aren't we?
Then a soft knock at the bathroom door makes us all freeze.
"Is it safe to come out?" Bella's voice is muffled through the wood.
"Yes, we're decent," Roman calls back, shooting Troy a warning look that says behave clearer than any words.
The door opens, and Bella steps out in an oversized t-shirt that hangs to mid-thigh. It's black, like the one Cole was wearing earlier, and I'd bet my last euro it's his. Her dark hair is loose around her shoulders, and her face is scrubbed clean of makeup, making her look somehow more vulnerable.
Five pairs of alpha eyes track her movement as she pads barefoot across the hardwood floor. The air in the room thickens with our combined scents—all of us responding to her on a primal level we can't fully suppress.
"So," she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "how do we do this?"
Roman takes charge, as he always does. "You'll be in the center," he says, pulling back the covers. "Cole and I on either side of you, with Troy, Liam, and Savva on the outside."
It's a tactical arrangement, I realize. The strongest fighters positioned closest to her, creating a protective formation even in sleep. Roman's mind never stops working, even here, where we're safe.
"Okay," she says, climbing onto the bed. The mattress dips slightly under her weight, and I catch a flash of smooth thigh as the t-shirt rides up. I quickly avert my eyes, heat crawling up my neck.
Cole follows first, moving to the left side of the bed closest to the window—his sniper's instinct placing him where he can see outside, even though it means positioning Bella on the side of his face he usually tries to hide. He settles in beside her, leaving a careful few inches between them that she immediately eliminates by scooting closer to him and snuggling into his side.
Roman takes his place on her other side. There's a moment of awkward stillness as they arrange themselves, and then Bella reaches for Roman's hand, pulling it onto her waist in silent permission.
The rest of us hover at the edges of the bed, exchanging glances.
"Don't be shy now, lads," I say warily. "Not like we haven't shared quarters before."
"Yes, but usually with more guns and fewer omegas," Troy quips, but he climbs in next to Roman, settling on his side.
I take the spot beside Troy, because I'd like to live, hyper-aware of my bulk as I try not to jostle the bed too much. Savva completes our formation, sliding in gracefully next to Cole as if this is the most natural thing in the world.
The bed is large, but not large enough for five men our size plus Bella. We're pressed together like sardines, arms and legs finding awkward places to rest. Cole and Roman have the easiest positions, curved protectively around Bella, but the rest of us are a tangle of limbs.
I shift against Troy, trying to find a position that doesn't involve being stabbed in the ribs. The California king that seemed so massive when we walked in has shrunk to the size of a life raft now that we're all piled in here like puppies in a basket. Five alphas and one omega—it's a miracle the bed frame hasn't collapsed yet.
I'm about to murder Troy if he doesn't stop elbowing me in the ribs. No court in the world would convict me. The guy's somehow got the sharpest fucking elbows I've ever encountered beneath all that beef, and he keeps jabbing them into my side with every little shift.
"If you elbow me one more time, Shepherd," I mutter, "I'll tie your arms behind your back."
Troy's laughter shakes the mattress. "Promises, promises."
"For fuck's sake," Roman growls from his prime position next to Bella. "Can we not make it through one night without you two bickering?"
"Impossible," Savva comments dryly from the far side of the bed. "It's the only way they know how to show another alpha affection."
Bella's soft giggle cuts through the tension, a musical sound that makes something in my chest loosen. "I don't mind," she says. "It's nice. Reminds me of family."
We all go quiet at that.
Family.
Is that what we're becoming? It's been so long since I thought of myself as part of anything that wasn't military or pack-related. The idea of being someone's family—her family—feels bigger than I'm ready to examine too closely.
"Well, if we're family," Troy says, breaking the silence, "Liam's definitely the grumpy uncle everyone avoids pissing off at Christmas."
"And you're the jock who never grew up," I shoot back.
"If we're assigning family roles," Savva chimes in, "Roman is clearly the stern father figure."
Roman makes a sound that might be a sigh or might be a laugh. It's hard to tell with him sometimes. "I didn't realize this was a slumber party with personality assessments."
Troy snorts. "Savva, you're the cool uncle with fifty degrees who brings home haunted souvenirs from across the world that fuck everyone's houses up."
"Sounds like you have personal experience with that," Savva muses.
"I do," Troy says immediately. "Cole?—"
Cole growls quietly.
Troy gives a nervous chuckle. "Never mind."
"And who am I?" Bella asks, curiosity and amusement sweetening her already beautifully sweet voice.
Five deep voices ring out in perfect unison. "Ours."
The word hangs in the air, raw and possessive and perfect. I can't see her face from my position, but I can smell the happy spike in her scent, like caramel warming over a flame.
"Right," she says softly. "Yours."
Silence falls over us again, but it's different now. Warmer. More at peace. The initial awkwardness hasn't fully dissipated—how could it, with six bodies crammed into one bed?—but there's something settling into place, like puzzle pieces finally finding their fit.
Even if a few have to be hammered in.
I shift again, trying to get comfortable without disturbing everyone else, a nearly impossible task. My left arm is going numb pinned beneath Troy, and my right is hanging off the edge of the bed. It's like being back in the barracks, only with much higher stakes.
"Nobody told me this was going to be a fucking Tetris game," I grumble, yanking my arm free.
"Are you uncomfortable?" Bella says, concern clear in her voice.
Five alphas immediately protest, mine among the loudest. "No, I'm fine. We're all fine," I insist. "Just… need to figure out where all my limbs go."
"We could cut a few off," Cole says dryly.
Savva gives him an alarmed glance.
"Easy for you to say," Troy says to Cole, shifting beside me. "You and Roman are living the dream right now."
Cole grunts from his position curled around Bella. I can't see him, but I'm willing to bet money that he's glaring at Troy. His arm is draped possessively over Bella's waist, fingertips brushing against Roman's where their arms meet across her middle.
Lucky bastards.
We're gonna need a bigger bed.