Twenty-Seven
TWENTY-SEVEN
Zalen
THIS CONVERSATION WAS overdue, and it was my fault I’d let it slide for so long. It was also just about the worst possible time to have it, after I’d already lost control and taken Mia to bed.
I’d been deluding myself that the relationships she’d been forming with the others weren’t my business, simply because I’d been holding myself apart. But this was my house. Luca, Emiel, and Byron were my pack, even though no one in the house liked to use the word.
In the end, that made it my business.
Still, I’d underestimated how much this topic would upset Mia, based on the sudden souring of her lovely scent. We were both in the most vulnerable position two people could be in—naked and pressed together, the condom still clinging to my softening cock, filled with my come and covered in her fragrant slick.
Mia seemed to be making a spirited attempt to sink straight through my ribcage and into my chest. Her warm breath puffed against my collarbone, slightly too fast to be anything but frightened. Guilt pricked at me for upsetting her while she was curled up in my bed. It would have been all too easy to back off... to apologize for bringing it up and let things return to the status quo.
Unfortunately, the status quo was a bit of a shit show these days. It wasn’t serving any of us; least of all, her.
“Mia?” I prompted gently, modulating my scent into the best approximation of reassurance I could muster.
She swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” Her lips brushed against me as she murmured the words directly into my skin.
As much as it pained me to ease her away from my body, I needed to see her face. She blinked in the early afternoon light streaming through the window, looking very young and very lost. Fresh love bites decorated her throat. Staring at them, I felt want throb through me in a way it hadn’t for years.
I took a steadying breath. “I’m not fishing, I promise,” I told her. “But from what I’ve seen, you’ve got a marriage that isn’t serving your needs, along with at least two sexual relationships that are trying to be casual, but aren’t.”
Three , my conscience added helpfully. Make that three sexual relationships .
“So?” she said, a bit aggressively. “This can be whatever we decide to make it! I may be an omega, but I’m allowed to sleep with whoever I want!”
I covered a wince, aware that I’d just put my foot down right in the middle of the infamous open marriage discussion.
“And is this what you want?” I pressed. “Casual sex, I mean? Because from where I’ve been standing, it doesn’t feel very casual.”
Staring down at me, Mia puffed up as though to deliver a vicious comeback— why don’t you mind your own business , or you don’t know about my relationships . Except, rather than say anything like that, she made an ugly, choked noise and promptly burst into tears.
The guilt niggled deeper... but this, at least, I knew how to deal with. Wrapping my arms around her, I pulled her against my chest again and pressed my face into her hair.
“Still got you,” I promised. “Shh, it’s okay. Shh...”
I got the feeling these tears had been a long time coming. Grief for her marriage, I’d have bet, and general overwhelm on top of it. Mia cried for long minutes, her body hitching fitfully in my arms. Gradually, she quieted. I let her gather herself, trying not to think too hard about how well she fit in my embrace.
“I can’t... do ... all of this at once,” she began haltingly. “I can’t reopen a restaurant, and fight a street gang, and decide the fate of my marriage, and navigate new relationships inside of a pack.” Her voice was rough and congested. “It’s too much.”
I thought of Tony, of the teens at the Hope Project. Of Luca, and Emiel... and I thought I understood. Chauvinists would have everyone believe that omegas couldn’t handle pressure without cracking. They clearly hadn’t met Mia Dimitriadis.
“You feel responsible for all of it,” I offered.
“I am responsible for all of it,” she shot back, and oh , this was starting to feel an awful lot like looking in a mirror.
“Even though there are other people involved?” I asked.
She made an unhappy sound against my throat. “The restaurant wouldn’t exist without me. Nat expects me to make the decisions regarding the future of our marriage. If there is a future, I mean. And I’m the one who landed on your doorstep and started sleeping with people.”
“Pretty sure the ‘ sleeping with people’ thing was a group effort,” I pointed out gently.
She considered that for a few moments.
“Is it bad that my relationship with Emiel is just about the least complicated thing in my life right now?” she asked, a bit sheepishly.
“Your relationship with Emiel is the most amazing thing I’ve seen in a long time,” I said. “And I can’t express how grateful I am that it happened.”
She gave another little silent, hitching sob, but didn’t protest the words.
“I asked if we could start looking toward the future,” I told her. “But I’m not asking you to be responsible for singlehandedly bringing that future into existence. Just like the sex, that’s going to have to be a group effort.”
Mia was quiet for several seconds.
“Did you know Luca thinks you and the others won’t ever mate him because he’s too broken?” she asked.
My heart clenched.
She hesitated. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”
“No,” I said. “It’s all right. I suspected that was part of the mix. And the fact that he talked to you about it is... good . He should be able to talk about his feelings. His past.”
“He and Emiel both think that they can never mate because of the psychic bond.” She sounded miserable. “Because of their trauma, and how it would affect their partners. Is that true?”
Throat tight, I took a moment to give the question the attention it deserved. “There’s a ridiculous lack of scientific research on alphomic mate bonds. I suspect it depends entirely on the individuals involved, though. Being bonded... you learn over time how to control it. It’s not like living in the other person’s head twenty-four, seven.”
She gave a little nod.
“Do you want a mated pack?” she asked. “After losing Julie, I mean.”
“Only if it’s the right pack,” I said without thought, and then caught myself. “Sorry, that was glib. Not fair to ask you about the future and then skirt the issue.”
She poked me in the side. “Damn straight.”
“Yes,” I said, surprised at how hard it was to get the word out. “The answer is yes. But... only if it’s a pack made up of other people who also want the same thing.”
And there it was. Byron. Luca. Emiel. One who’d never shown the slightest interest in a mate bond. One who thought he was unworthy, and one who thought he was incapable.
Mia nodded. “It’s not like you could mate one person if the other people you care about aren’t on board. That’s the opposite of a pack.”
She had me there. Neatly turning the issue on its head, and leaving me with even fewer answers than I’d had when I started the conversation.
“No,” I said. “You’re right. It’s only a pack if the decision is made as a pack.”
And the likelihood of that happening anytime soon felt like it was approximately zero.
The uncomfortable topic of discussion meant that neither of us felt inclined to lounge around in my bed afterward. I resisted the urge to try and dress Mia in one of my robes, or maybe a shirt—my instincts clamoring unhelpfully that she needed to be wearing something with my scent on it.
Instead, we both showered, and I cleaned up the appealing mess Mia had left on the kitchen counter, because I suspected it would bother her if the others came in and caught the scent of what we’d done. Plus, it was unhygienic—and would have been even more unhygienic if I’d given into temptation and cleaned it up with my tongue.
By the time the others arrived home, everything was normal. Mia had whipped up a five-star dinner from odds and ends languishing in the refrigerator and pantry— stress cooking , she’d muttered as she measured and stirred.
The others were clearly a bit freaked out that I’d left the Hope Project without warning in the middle of a workday, but concern turned to sympathy and righteous indignation when I related the details of Tony’s parents showing up outside my office.
“Kid’s never gonna get justice,” Emiel rumbled, his attention firmly fixed on his half-eaten plate of food.
“No,” Luca agreed grimly. “Probably not.”
“At least he got away,” Byron said. “Staying under the radar is the best thing for him, if you ask me.”
I wish I shared his optimism.
After dinner, I retreated back to my room, intent on getting at least some of the work done that I should have finished that afternoon. I was seated at my desk, composing an email to a disgruntled donor, when my door swung sharply inward. It was an unexpected thing to happen, and I was still on edge from my conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Scalise. I shot up from my chair, hands flat on the desk.
An angry blond alpha stormed in, his scent sharp with emotion.
I barely recognized the bristling figure. Every trace of the languid, unruffled playboy who’d enjoyed Mia’s dinner an hour ago had vanished. Byron stalked forward and mirrored me, the desk the only thing separating us.
“What the fuck , Zalen?” he snarled.
I stared at him blankly for a tense moment, replaying the last few hours in my head. I’d cleaned up the kitchen. Mia and I hadn’t...
Oh .
A helpful mental picture formed—me, helping myself to Byron’s condom stash in the throes of my sad fuckboi horniness. Settling Mia on his couch while I searched, naked from the waist down, as slick dripped from her hot pussy.
“Sorry,” I said. “I needed a condom.”
“You—” He cut himself off, shaking his head as though he thought his hearing had become defective.
“Safe sex is important,” I tried gamely.
Evidently, it was the wrong thing to say. A growl rumbled up from Byron’s chest.
I sighed. “Right. I seem to be saying this a lot today, but I guess you and I need to have a talk.”