Chapter Seven
Jude
I’m making a nest in Pace’s bed.
It feels…good.
For days now, my body has been a battleground of pain and pleasure, a vessel for someone else’s desires. But now, for the first time, I’m doing something just for me. Something to settle my nerves.
My hands move over the blankets and pillows, my fingers tracing the soft textures.
I arrange everything just right, pulling the dark gray sheets and a thick, soft comforter into a circle around me.
I grab the pillows, fluffing them up and tucking them into the corners, creating a small, safe space that’s just for me.
The scent of Pace is everywhere. In the sheets, in the pillows, in the air.
It wraps around me like a warm blanket, calming the frantic, anxious energy that’s always humming just beneath my skin.
Heavy footsteps stomp their way down the hall, and I look up right as Pace comes into the room. He looks so good in fitted jeans and a tight, tucked-in black shirt that complements his dark hair and eyes. It makes me a little flushed, realizing this handsome, powerful alpha is my mate.
“You’re working hard.” He stops in the doorway, watching me work, and I can feel his admiration through our bond.
“I hope it’s okay that I make a nest on your bed,” I say, curling my fingers into the soft comforter beneath me. “I was getting a little restless.”
“Our bed,” Pace corrects me. “And you can do anything in this house. It belongs to you, just as much as me.” His dark eyes hold mine, making sure I understand.
I nod, and some of my nerves settle.
“We’ll have to get you some proper nesting materials,” he says as he moves to the big wooden dresser.
“Really?” I can’t help but smile, excited.
“Of course,” Pace says as he pulls a few things out of the top drawer. “I can’t have my omega going without.” He turns and looks at me with those intense brown eyes.
My skin tingles, and I’m suddenly very aware that I’m still naked, and that his cum is still leaking out of me from our lovemaking this morning. But this time, I don’t mind him seeing me like this.
Pace steps up to the bed, and I stiffen, scared that he’ll destroy the carefully constructed edge of my nest, but also not wanting to tell the alpha not to touch it. Alphas don’t like being told what to do.
But right before he touches the corner of the bed, he stops and gives a little bow of his head. “May I enter your nest, omega?” he asks, in a formal and respectful voice.
His question shocks me, but I still manage to nod, touched that my mate would respect my space so deeply.
Pace sits carefully on the edge of the nest, then he circles an arm around my waist, pulling me closer.
He cups my cheek and kisses me once, a soft, possessive press, before slipping a gray T-shirt over my head.
The words “St. Calder Alpha Academy” are printed across the front.
Then he helps me put on a pair of oversized shorts, cinching the waist with the drawstrings.
He takes his time dressing me, his hands lingering on my skin, even caressing my limp penis gently before tucking it away.
“Why am I getting dressed?” I ask, my voice soft. Most alphas like their omegas to stay naked and easily breedable. At least that’s what they taught us in my alpha-relations class back in high school.
“We’re going down to the MPA to report our mating,” he says simply. “There’s an office a few blocks from here. We can walk.”
A flicker of fear hits me fast, and I blurt out, “Why?”
Pace frowns, clearly confused by the rush of rising emotions in our bond. “Because I have to report that I mated an abandoned omega while both of us were lost in your heat,” he explains calmly. “It would be unethical and even immoral not to register our union. I like to do things by the book.”
But I can feel that maybe that isn’t always true. Pace doesn’t seem like a big rule follower.
“I refuse to hide you, Jude,” he says, his voice edging more firm now. “Alphas have to hide their omegas when they aren’t registered, and I have big plans for my perfect, sexy mate.”
That makes me thrill at the idea of being shown off by my big, impressive alpha.
“Come on, omega.” Pace hooks his hand under my arms and picks me up, placing me gently on the floor. The clothes are way too big, the shirt hanging off one shoulder, and the shorts falling past my knees, swallowing me up. “I want to get there before they close.”
“But I need to shower,” I say as a little cum drips out of me, making my bottom slippery.
“Absolutely not,” Pace says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are only allowed to leave this house covered in my scent and my cum.” He stands up, towering over me.
“But,” my cheeks flush red hot, “I’m…leaking.”
That makes Pace’s dark eyes flash with excitement, and he leans all the way down to mine. His eyes sparkle as he says, “Good.” A slow spreading smile fills his face. “I need everyone to know who you belong to.”
The possessiveness in his voice should scare me, but instead, it sends a jolt of pure desire straight through me.
“Let’s go before I bend you over and fuck you raw again.” Pace reaches for my hand and leads me out of the bedroom.
The living room is a beautiful open space, kind of industrial with exposed ductwork in the high ceilings, but it’s somehow still cozy. There’s lots of dark hardwood flooring, big windows that let in the city light, soft lamps in the corners, and comfortable-looking furniture.
Pace leads me toward the front door, but he pauses. He steps into a small room that I hadn’t noticed before. Peering inside, I see that it’s a laundry room. Pace opens the dryer and pulls something out, the warm, humid air spilling into the living room.
My alpha returns a moment later and kneels in front of me. He takes my feet, one by one, and puts on my soft slip-on tennis shoes.
The warmth from the dryer seeps through the thin fabric and into my feet, a cozy, comforting heat.
It’s so sweet, this small act of care. To have such a big, hulking alpha tend to me like this, his hands gentle as he secures the shoes on my feet, makes my chest feel tight with an emotion I don’t even know how to name.
Twenty minutes later, we walk up to the Mating & Protection Agency.
The building is nestled between other similarly sized stone-faced structures. It’s not a large space, but it still looks intimidating, with its heavy, bronze doors and stern-faced guards standing on either side.
I cling to Pace as we move toward the door, his arm a solid, protective band around my shoulders. A security guard opens the door for us, his eyes lingering on my face for a moment too long before he gives a curt nod to Pace.
The inside is sterile and quiet, the air smelling faintly of antiseptic and omega distress. There are other omegas waiting inside. Some look happy, like a female omega who is heavily pregnant and smiling as she rubs her belly. But a few look really upset, their faces pale and their eyes downcast.
In the corner, a small male omega sits alone, and my stomach clenches when I see the ugly, purpling bruise around his eye. It doesn’t shock me. Male omegas are known to be the most susceptible to abuse. I don’t understand why. Maybe it’s because we’re smaller and weaker.
Pace steps up to the main desk, speaking to the beta receptionist, “I need to register my mating.”
The receptionist gives a practiced sweet smile as she hands Pace a clipboard. “Of course, Alpha. Just fill out sections A and B with your information, and section C for your omega’s.” She points to the different parts of the form with a manicured nail.
We find a pair of empty chairs and sit.
I scan the waiting room while Pace writes.
The furniture is functional but uncomfortable.
Hard plastic chairs and a low, cold coffee table.
The magazines on the table are all glossy publications with names like Alpha Monthly and Modern Omega Living.
One cover features a smiling alpha holding a pair of fat twin babies, the headline promising “10 Tips for a Happy Nest.”
“How old are you, baby?” Pace asks, his pen poised.
“Twenty-two.”
“Blood type?”
“O-negative.”
He jots that down, then eyes me up and down. “Height…five-foot-eight?” He guesses, and I nod. He’s spot on.
Curious, I lean over and read what he’s written so far.
Under his name, I see his age is twenty-eight. He’s never been mated before. And under ‘Occupation,’ he’s written: Private Security Consultant. It sounds official and important. I wonder if that’s how he got all the scars on his chest.
Pace checks the box next to ‘Heat-Induced Mating,’ then hands the clipboard back to the receptionist. A few minutes later, a nurse in blue scrubs calls back, “Greene!”
I freeze for a second, realizing that’s me. It’s my new last name.
A little thrill of excitement goes through me, but I keep it under control as Pace leads me out of the waiting room.
The nurse is another beta with a kind but tired face. She leads us down a short hallway to a sterile examination room, but she stops Pace before he can follow me inside. “I’m sorry, sir,” she says, her voice firm. “Your omega will be examined by himself. You’ll be in the next room.”
Pace’s whole body tenses, his arm tightening around my waist. “No,” he says firmly. “He’s not leaving my side.”
The nurse leans into the room and points up at a small camera in the top corner. “You’ll be able to see the whole examination from the next room, but you can’t be in here with him. We’ve had too many incidents with violent alphas attacking the doctors during the physical.”
Pace’s jaw ticks, a muscle flexing in his cheek.
But the nurse doesn’t back down. “If you want to register your mate, this is what has to be done. And if you try to leave with an unregistered omega, I’ll be forced to call the authorities.”