Chapter 45
forty-five
I linger outside Violet’s bedroom for way too long, trying to work up the nerve to slip inside.
What am I doing?
I’m not sure anyone knows, least of all me. But I sat in that stupid craft room for over an hour, unable to get the image of Violet’s sad, sweet smile out of my head.
Maybe it’s her scent, worming its way into my brain. Eating at my dignity. And common sense. And self-control.
Making me into the kind of omega who likes to craft, dear God.
Yet here I am, holding the token I spent nearly ninety minutes on, trying to figure out a way to give it to her without giving her the wrong impression.
Although… who the hell knows what the right impression is, at this point?
Either way, this is the opportune moment. I’m not entirely sure what Finn and Ryker have planned, but I know it’s happening outside. Which makes this a perfect time to sneak into Violet’s room and leave her my stupid present without turning it into A Thing.
It’s now or never. Atlas will emerge from setting up his study soon. He’ll probably come looking for me right away, to ask what I’d like to do about dinner…
And I’d really rather he not witness whatever I’m doing in here.
Blowing out a deep breath, I straighten the ivory fabric of my knit polo and shove past the half-open door. Maximus and Pascal must be wandering the manor or having their own supper downstairs, because the room is blessedly empty.
I stand just inside the threshold, looking around for the first time since we moved in. Hell and damnation.
The room is comically—or, perhaps, cruelly—small, given the size of the rest of the house. I never really considered the square footage, but this space could fit in my Omega Suite five times over. With spare room left for cartwheels.
I wince at the thought, rubbing the back of my neck when it heats with chagrin. My eyes leap from corner to corner, noting the small changes she’s made.
A cracked pitcher of wildflowers on her slightly crooked antique dresser.
The eyelet curtains billowing around her only window.
Pretty sundresses neatly hanging on the back of the bathroom door, since she doesn’t have a proper closet.
One of Ryker’s thermal undershirts folded on her spare pillow, along with Finn’s favorite Columbia hoodie.
She’s even strung some fairy lights along her headboard.
Somehow, the fact that Violet made this little room cozy instead of cramped only doubles my shame. Because of course she did. Has the woman ever stumbled into an unmitigated disaster that she didn’t try to turn into something beautiful?
A crushing, crackling sensation swells under my lungs. I don’t know what it means, but it steals my breath. I try to inhale, but my throat feels too tight.
Instead, I drift forward, running my fingers along the threadbare quilt arranged across the foot of her bed. It’s soaked in her honeysuckle sweetness, Finn’s fancy citrus essence, and Ryker’s almost-burnt vanilla. Goosebumps sweep up my arms.
This is the only spot she has, I realize, consternation joining the guilty seethe in my gut. And it isn’t even close to a proper nest.
This will be her first heat. She’ll be in here with two alphas she’s barely had time to get comfortable with. And it will be agony without the alpha she’s half-bonded to.
God. It’s… mean. Callous and petty and wrong and…
My fault.
I swallow past my stinging throat, setting my gift on her comforter. It seemed like way too much, five minutes ago. But now?
It isn’t nearly enough.
A high-pitched sound sails into the bedroom. My focus snaps to the open window immediately. A new shiver streaks down my spine.
Was that Violet? Is she okay?
Foreign impulses beat in my blood. Some mix between urgency and anxiety. Laced with aggression.
Protective instincts, I think.
They shove me toward the window, just as another whine shatters the golden evening air. I curl my fingers around the sill and lean out, scanning for the source of the commotion.
Searching for Violet.
Because I know it’s her.
I spot a flash of braided blonde hair almost instantly. It catches the last of the sunset, shining like a polished chain, drawing my attention toward one of the estate’s prettiest trees.
Finn must have gotten ahold of it. The ancient oak glows softly, full of twinkling strands and paper lanterns. Underneath, Ryker pins Violet to an artfully arranged bed, moving his body to cover hers.
Oh. Shit.
I should not be watching. I most definitely shouldn’t be listening…
My ears strain until I pick up a breathy moan. Followed by a longer, louder keen. The noise skitters straight to my core. My lower abdomen twists. The muscles cramp. I gasp—but that only draws in a deep breath full of Violet.
Honeysuckle sparkles into my lungs. They buzz as my back bows. Slick and perfume erupt from my core, dousing my neutralizing boxers to the point of no return. A familiar muddle of sensations ricochets through my body.
Weak knees. Blurred vision. Fuzzy thoughts. Pulsing erection. The need to be filled, tweaking tighter with every breath.
Holy fuck.
Am I having a heat-spike?
Right now?
Because of…?
As if to answer the question I can’t finish, Violet keens again. The plea has my cock weeping. Thick slick seeps from the head while more wetness pours out of me below, dousing my thighs.
My Omega screeches, but I don’t know what the fuck he wants. Is it the woman we’re watching in the meadow? Or the man who always takes care of us?
Atlas, I snap at myself. We’re not going to forget this time.
I totally will. But I like to lie to myself about these things, apparently, because instead of staying in the other omega’s room, I turn and rush into the hallway.
I barely make it around the corner before my favorite scent crashes into me. Deep, rich coffee, sweetened with luscious whipped cream.
The alpha steps out of a room, his face set in fierce lines. The second he sees me, he lurches forward, gathering me in his arms. “Gideon. My God, you’re burning up. Can you still hear me, love?”
Atlas, I think again. My mind is already weaker, though; when I try to say his name out loud, it’s just a whimper.
“That’s okay,” he hums, nuzzling his musk into my forehead. Another tremble rolls through me as his purr revs to life. “You’re alright. Daddy’s got you.”
I collapse against his wide chest, trying to rub my face over his pecs. There’s some sort of scratchy fabric in the way, though. Skin chafing and blazing, I whine again. My mind spins as my vision tunnels.
No, wait! There’s something I need to tell him. About a bed? Or a room? Or a different omega? Maybe?
My alpha tsks, concern and adoration clashing over his features. Sweetening his scent even as it darkens deliciously. “Shh,” he soothes, “I know it’s frightening, but I’m going to fix it, little prince. Come here.”
Solid strength fits itself around me, flexing until my limp limbs leave the ground. Gravity disappears, along with whatever I thought I needed to say. A wrenching ache clamps my base, so vicious I can barely turn my head and find the alpha’s unmarked throat.