Finally Home
Alex
The second my car door slams shut, I stretch big like I’m shaking off the road. Then I smile up at the front door, happy to be home.
Admittedly, it isn’t much to look at—hell, it’s barely more than four walls and a roof—but it’s ours. And for once, it doesn’t look like total shit. Inside, the counters are wiped down, the laundry’s stuffed away, and there’s no week-old takeout boxes in sight.
It's damn near a miracle.
Dakota stumbles out of the car looking half-dead, hair sticking up like a hay bale. He yawns so wide I swear I see his tonsils before he staggers to the back of the SUV and starts dragging in the bags like a zombie.
Skyla slips out after him, small and careful, wrapped up in that oversized hoodie like she’s afraid the air might bite her.
She tilts her chin up at the house, looking it over.
Her face is quiet and wary, but there’s a flicker of something sharp underneath.
Like she’s walking into enemy territory and isn’t sure if we’re friend or foe yet.
So I cut in before her silence can get too heavy.
“Welcome home, omega,” I say, then I take her hand because it feels like the right thing to do.
She doesn’t grip mine at first, but after a beat her fingers curl around mine.
“Hey! Knox. Is it okay if I give Skyla a quick tour?” I ask the pack alpha, not wanting to overstep.
Right now, it’s important for Skyla to bond with him, to establish our pack’s order, but surely a guided tour won’t hurt.
“Go ahead,” Knox says as he walks around to the back of the SUV.
I smile brightly at Skyla, pleased when she returns a very small smile. “Let’s go,” I say like we’re about to enter an amusement park and not a slightly run-down house in the suburbs.
The hinges scream like hell when I push the front door open, making me wince. We probably should’ve fixed that before we left.
Once inside, Skyla moves slowly, her big brown eyes roaming over the living room. Her gaze sweeps over the fireplace, the couch, the recliner, then to the sliding glass door that leads to the backyard.
There’s no smile. No frown. She’s…taking inventory.
She feels a little distant, but hell, I don’t blame her. This has to be one hell of a culture shock.
Her last pack probably had some high-dollar estate, chandeliers with marble floors, and shit like that. Omegas from academies don’t end up with guys like us. They get snatched up by rich assholes who wipe their asses with hundred-dollar bills.
I’d love to ask her what happened with them—why they rejected her. But in the end, it doesn’t matter. All I care about is that she’s here. With us. Ours.
And while we might not have a butler or dumbwaiter, Skyla will never want for safety, love, and orgasms. The shit that matters.
“This right here is the laundry room.” I point to the door right next to the hallway. It’s really more of a closet than a room, but she can see that for herself later. “And the kitchen’s this way,” I tell her, jerking my thumb over my shoulder.
Skyla follows me around the corner, her feather-light steps on the old boards.
The kitchen is spotless—Tadeo’s touch is all over it.
The counters are wiped, there are no dishes in the sink, and there isn’t even a crumb on the floor.
While Tadeo isn’t as meticulous with cleaning the space around him as much as he is with keeping himself prim and proper, the young alpha is still a pretty good househusband. It’s a shame he insists on working.
“What do you think?” I ask Skyla as she takes everything in.
But she doesn’t say a word. She drifts around the kitchen, eyes flicking over the fridge, the table, the worn floorboards.
Then she heads straight for the stove like it’s pulling her in.
Her fingers brush the grates, lingering there like they’re the most important thing in the room.
Her gaze shifts to the sink, and finally she asks, “Do you have any dish soap?”
I blink. “Soap? Why? You don’t have to clean.” The words slip out before I can stop them. Omegas don’t clean—they live in houses with staff for that kind of thing. Right? “You should relax,” I say, moving to the fridge. “Are you hungry?” I know I am.
“I’m good.” Skyla finally gives me a big, brilliant smile. “I’m happy to clean.”
Happy.
The word rings strangely in my ears. Does she really mean that? Do omegas actually enjoy chores—or is she saying what she thinks I want to hear?
Or maybe this is some kind of omega instinct?
Like, this is her way of claiming it. Settling in.
Fuck, I don’t know.
“The dish soap?” Skyla asks again, her big brown eyes holding mine.
Before I can answer, Dakota bounces in from the living room, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket. “No dish soap. We just ran out. But we’ve got laundry soap,” he offers cheerfully. “Would that work?”
Skyla blinks, caught off guard, the corners of her mouth twitching like she’s not sure if she should laugh. But she smooths it over with a bright smile. “I can make that work.”
Then she’s already tugging the grates off the stove, setting them in the sink like she’s done it a hundred times before. And damn if I don’t kind of like it.
I lean against the doorway, fold my arms, and let out a sharp snort. “Holy shit. I didn’t even know those came off.”
Not that anyone’s paying attention. Skyla’s in her own little world, scrubbing at the caked-on grease like she’s on a mission.
“What’s going on?” Knox steps up next to me. His dark gaze lands on Skyla cleaning, then Dakota, standing awkwardly next to her.
“She wants to clean,” I say, widening my eyes so he knows exactly how nuts I think it is.
Knox nods once at me, but his gaze stays locked on Skyla. The alpha looks like he wants to step in, take the sponge out of her hand, and carry her off to bed. Instead, he grits his teeth, crosses the room to the kitchen table, then sits, watching the pair with a hawk-like intensity.
I stay leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, watching for a beat.
Skyla’s bent over the sink now, shoulders hunched, sleeves shoved up as she scrubs. Dakota’s hovering with a towel like he’s not sure if he’s supposed to help or watch.
Suddenly, everything is incredibly quiet, the tenuous sounds of the running water and the coarse sponge scouring metal.
Yeah. Not my scene.
“I’m gonna help Tadeo unpack,” I announce, even though no one asked.
Dakota looks up like he might say something, but he ends up giving me a lopsided smile. I know the beta too well—he finds this a little weird too, but omegas are known to be odd anyway.
“Have fun.” I wave, then turn.
The hallway creaks under my boots as I make my way toward my bedroom. When I nudge open the first door, Tadeo’s inside. Standing at the foot of the king-sized bed, head in his hands, shoulders tight enough to snap.
The bedroom is small, consumed by Knox and I’s massive bed. There are no side tables—cuz there’s no room—but there is a dresser across from the foot of the bed, a tiny window on the far wall, and a full-length mirror tacked up next to the doorway.
This place definitely needs an omega’s touch.
“Hey.”
Tadeo jerks at the sound of my voice. “You startled me.” His voice is weirdly stiff as he snatches a shirt off the bed and starts folding it. His whole frame is so rigid it looks painful.
“You seem tense.” I nudge his hip with mine, like maybe I can knock him loose. “What’s going on in that big, broody head?”
He cuts me a standoffish look. “I’m fine.”
Yeah, sure. And I’m the goddamn Pope.
“You don’t seem fine,” I say, letting my voice soften.
But Tadeo doesn’t look up. His throat works like he’s swallowing something sharp.
I step in close and set my hand on his shoulder, squeezing steadily until some of that tension leaks out. “You know you can tell me anything.” My eyes flick toward the hallway to make sure we’re alone, then I lean in. “Is it Skyla? Did something happen?”
His head snaps up. Those dark eyes meet mine, and—Yup. It’s about Skyla.
“Talk to me, Tadeo,” I say with a hint of a command. I don’t normally issue orders to my packmates—I leave that to Knox—but sometimes Tadeo and Dakota need a bit of guidance. They’re both so young. “You know I won’t judge you.”
For a long second, Tadeo breathes erratically. Then finally he exhales like he’s been holding it for hours. “I’ve got…a lot of guilt about this.”
“About what?” I press gently, even though I’m pretty damn sure I already know. Omega pheromones can fuck up even the steadiest alphas.
Tadeo’s throat bobs, eyes finally lifting to meet mine.
They’re dark and worried, almost unsettled.
“I figured the omegas at the Morder would be medicated,” he speaks slowly, like he’s trying to pick the right words.
“It makes sense that they’d be given some kind of heat suppressant, but I didn’t think…
” He goes stiff. “I didn’t think they’d be that out of it. ”
He falters, eyes skittering away. I stay quiet, not sure what to say. I honestly thought he’d simply need to get off. I know I do.
Skyla’s sweet peony scent has had me spun all fucking day.
But Tadeo’s clearly going through some shit.
“And then,” Tadeo takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to brace himself, “when I saw her face. That bruise on her cheek and the state of her knees.” He grits his teeth. “Someone fucking hurt her.”
The air gets thick, and my chest feels tight. For once, I don’t have a joke to throw in. Instead, I press my palm flat against his chest, right over his racing heart, until he finally looks at me again. His eyes are dark, wrecked, full of guilt that cuts me wide open.
“It’s not your fault,” I say quietly. “You’re not the one who hurt her.”
“It’s more than that.” He huffs, frustrated that I’m not getting it. “I—” He cuts himself off. “Never mind.” He turns, like he’s about to shut me out. But I don’t let him.
I catch his arm, firm but not harsh. “Don’t do that.”