Chapter 13
Silas
My hands span the curve of my omega’s hips. Her body is a perfect mixture of soft curves and strong muscles.
I never let myself believe that I needed this. At thirty-six, I didn’t think I’d ever have it, either. But to stand so close to our pack’s scent-sensitive mate and to know that she is mine—ours—it’s drugging. I need her.
“What’s your name, or will I have to call you ‘little bird’ for the rest of our lives?”
She giggles into Graham’s chest. The sound is light. Musical.
“Is that funny?” I rumble, pressing my body tighter against hers.
“A little.” She attempts to turn toward me, but Graham and I have her so completely enclosed that she can’t. I growl when I step back. Can't help it.
“Lark,” she whispers. “Little bird was a good guess.”
I smile. My little songbird. Lark. It suits her.
Everything about her is perfection. Her hair is just long enough to wrap around my hands. Her eyes, pure gold and completely mesmerizing. And those lips, swollen from her kisses with Graham.
My alpha flares. He doesn’t like sharing.
“May I kiss you, Lark?”
She tips her chin up in answer.
I lean in and take press my lips to hers. She smells like caramel, salt, and underneath it, the whiskey and honey of my own scent and Graham’s chocolate. She already smells like ours.
I pull her closer and she opens her mouth to me, wrapping her arms around my waist and running her open palms across the expanse of my back.
“Come home with us,” Graham says against her neck. He’s behind her now, kissing and nipping. Her thick scent tells me she enjoys it.
“I can’t,” she gasps against my mouth.
“You can,” I say, pulling her hips tighter against my body. She hooks her leg around my waist, pulling me flush against her lush body. My cock is unyielding against the softness of her stomach. She rubs against it, sending hot need straight through my body.
“I can’t,” she pants. “CoffeeGuy is there.”
“Saint’s not himself right now, beautiful.” Graham’s voice is soft at her ear.
“Saint.” She tests the name. Weighs it. Something moves across her face. Not quite hurt. Not quite anger.
“That fits,” she says.
I kiss her again. “I’m Silas, and this is Graham.”
She turns, allowing Graham to kiss her too.
“We’re Pack Caron,” he says between kisses. “I’m a respected scientist,” he adds as if that is what will tip her decision.
“My place,” she gasps.
Huh.
“Just for tonight,” I say. “We’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”
She starts to argue but stops herself.
"Tonight," I repeat.
She settles against us and I let myself have it. Saint is out there somewhere, running from the best thing that's ever happened to any of us. I'll find him tomorrow.
Tonight she needs us. And god help me, we need her.
Graham escorts Lark home in her baby blue, vintage Corvette. My alpha bellowed his disapproval at separating from her, but I couldn’t deny her driving it home. It was her dad’s. And a collectible. No one in their right mind would leave it overnight in a heat clinic parking lot.
He finally stops screeching when I pull into the space beside them. She's waiting when I step out. Just standing there in the parking garage light, Graham beside her, and she looks— I don't have a word for it yet. Beautiful is too simple for everything I see in her.
I pull her into my arms. She melts into me.
“You smell so good,” she huffs against my neck. “I want to lick you all over.”
My whiskey and honey scent has always been divisive with omegas.
The few times we attended matching meetups, omegas flocked to Graham and Saint.
Their scents, chocolate and warm ginger, appeal to everyone.
Some tolerated my stronger scent. Others recoiled.
Our pack eventually stopped attending. Graham and Saint said it was because they were a waste of time.
Saint probably believed it, but I know Graham was just concerned for my feelings.
“Not as good as you, little bird.” I burrow my nose in her neck, too. “I don’t want to go another second without your scent all over me.”
Her golden eyes spear me. “Then don’t.”
She stands on tip-toe and pulls me into a punishing kiss. She’s fire and lightning and I can’t get enough.
Graham hovers. I’ve known him long enough to know that he’s honoring my need and right, as pack alpha, to be with our omega. But he’s also her alpha and he’s wanted this for so long. It grates, but I step back. Graham immediately steps into her side.
“Lead the way, pretty lady.”
She takes us both by the hand and guides us to the elevators. We ride from the garage to her twenty-third-floor apartment. My self-assured omega’s confidence wavers when she punches the code into her door’s lock.
She turns to look at us, her teeth biting into her juicy bottom lip. “I’m only now thinking about logistics. It’s a large apartment, but I use the second bedroom as an office. I don’t have a bed for you.”
Heat spikes are temporary. We'd helped her through the worst of it. Neither Graham nor I expected to spend the night in her nest.
Hoped? Yeah. Expected? No.
“Show us in, little bird. We can sleep on your couch.”
She bites her lip harder. That means the couch is small. Guess it’s the floor for me. I’ve slept in worse places.
The entry hall opens to a large living room. The couch is angled so that it faces a wall of windows. Graham walks over and looks out beyond the river. “That’s our house,” he points. “It’s hard to see in the dark, but if you can find the pink Victorian—”
Lark hurries to his side, eager to look out upon the scene. “I see it. Is that yours?” She turns to him, eager for his response.
He places a hand on her cheek. “No, my beauty. We live in the one to the right. It’s harder to see in the dim light, but ours is green with charcoal trim.”
She turns back toward the window. “I know the one. Cammie and I picked out our favorites. Yours is in the top two.”
I chuckle. “Which one beat ours?”
“At best, it’s tied,” she says diplomatically.
Graham goes completely quiet, which is how I know he’s delighted.
Then she points. “The white one. Cammie says it looks like a wedding cake.”
We live in a large Victorian home on a historic street that faces the river. It’s been redone on the inside to blend the historic architecture with modern features, but we chose to retain the original lines and maintain the historic accuracy of the exterior.
I take her hand in mine and point to our home. “See the round window on the third floor?” She scoots in close, allowing me to place my other arm around her. “That’s the omega suite. The nest faces the back. But your everyday space looks out on the water.”
She blinks up at me. “Mine?” Her voice is unexpectedly small when she says it.
I pull her close. “Only yours.”
We stay in that position for a while before Graham clears his throat. “Tomorrow, I’d like to show you your room.”
She stiffens in my arms, and he notices.
“You don’t want to see our pack house?” Hurt creeps into his voice.
My mate isn’t all fire and heat. She can be sweet when it matters. She slips from my arms and falls into Graham’s waiting grasp. “I want it. But Saint—”
I lean into her. “You let me worry about Saint. Deep down I know he wants this. He’s just—”
“He’s depressed,” she says softly.
Graham and I share a look. “He told you?”
She shakes her head. “Not in those words. He told me his mom passed. I remember how it feels. Your brain doesn’t work right for a while.”
“Oh, my sweet girl,” Graham breathes, pulling her tight.
I'm torn between pain for my omega's loss and something that feels uncomfortably close to hope. Saint hasn't talked about his mother to anyone. Not even us. But he talked to her.
Maybe that means something. As pack alpha, I have to believe it does.
I need to find a way to help Saint and our omega work this out.
“Are you hungry?” she asks. “I don’t keep much in the house since it’s just me, but I could order something.”
Like hell my omega’s paying for the food. I take my phone from my back pocket. “I’ll order.”
I catch Graham's eye. He's already pulling up the best late-night options in her neighborhood on his phone, glasses pushed up, thumbs moving fast.
"What do you like?" I ask her.
I file away every single thing she says.