Chapter 16
Graham
It’s almost five when we make it to the pack house. Lark had meetings she couldn’t miss. Then the conversation with Silas’s dad. That plus packing took nearly all day.
I try to control my nerves as we pull up to the house. Three stories of dark siding and glass. Would she like it? Would she be comfortable? If not, we’ll figure something out. Redecorate? Remodel? Sell it and buy something else? I mentally start pricing the cost of moving Silas’ custom workshop.
Silas guides the car into our drive, his hand still clasped with Lark’s. Yeah, he’ll find a new workspace. He’d grumble, but he’d do it. He’s as committed to our omega as I am.
When the car comes to a stop, I jump out and open Lark’s door. "My lady." I bow like a courtier from one of those historical romances she mentioned liking when we were talking last night. I filed that away immediately.
She giggles. “How gallant you are.” I bend a little so she can kiss my cheek.
She smells like salty caramel and underneath it, already, the faintest thread of chocolate and hazelnut.
My scent. On her. I have to physically restrain myself from pressing her against the car and kissing every inch of her.
She turns and takes her first full look at the house. “Wow,” she says. “This is much larger than I expected.”
“Your view only gave you a partial view. There’s over seventy-five-hundred square feet. Technically a mansion.”
She chuckles. “Do mansions have specific size requirements?”
“Well, the rules aren’t strict, but, generally, size is the most important factor. Extensive grounds are also considered important. We can’t claim that, though. Most of our gardens were bulldozed to make way for Silas’ workshop. There used to be a maze.”
She nods and turns back to the house. I can’t tell if she’s disappointed about the maze.
Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Why did I mention it?
She didn't ask about the grounds. I just volunteered that information completely unprompted.
Now she knows we had a maze and destroyed it.
For a workshop. What kind of person destroys a maze?
Silas, mostly. But still.
Seriously though, why would I draw attention to the house’s inadequacies? Maybe she wants to host tea parties or something. Our yard won’t be good for that.
“Oh, you have a stained-glass window! I couldn’t see that from my apartment.”
“It’s original to the house. Silas restored it.”
She tightens her fingers, now linked in mine. “I love it.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. If she loves the window, maybe she’ll also love the arched doorways and original winding staircase.
There’s also a stupid number of fireplaces that we’ve retrofit to run on gas.
Perhaps when she sees the way we’ve mixed the original features with modern touches, our house will rise on her favorites list.
“Does that move it up in rankings or is it still number two?”
She swats my arm playfully with her free hand. “I said it was in the top two. We could never agree on which one was best.”
“Were you a fan of the wedding cake house, or this one?” Silas is holding a suitcase in each hand. I should probably grab some boxes, but I don’t want to unlace my fingers with Lark’s.
“Cammie insisted on wedding cake, but I liked the colors and lines of this one. The green and charcoal are stunning.”
My heart swells. A purr starts in my throat, low and embarrassingly audible. Silas glances at me. I clear my throat. The purr does not stop.
Of all the things she could have mentioned.
The colors were my choice. I spent hours researching the town’s records to discover the original colors of our home’s exterior.
A short article in the East Rock Gazette indicated the color, but the exact shades were trickier.
I even cornered a historic architect at the university until he helped me narrow down the likely shades.
He seemed annoyed at first. By the end he was as invested as I was.
I still get emails from him about Victorian exterior paint.
Judging by the smile on his face, Silas also seems pleased with Lark’s answer. “Let’s show our girl in,” he says.
Our girl. I've been waiting my whole life to hear someone say that.
I lead us up the sweeping front steps to our double front door and punch in the code.
When it swings open, I try to see everything through Lark’s eyes.
A tall foyer opens before us, a large crystal chandelier throwing shards of light across the walls, and a winding staircase of dark wood curving toward the second floor.
Her nose twitches, just slightly, before she can stop it. The house smells like us. Chocolate and whiskey and the ghost of Saint's ginger underneath everything. And now it will smell like her. Rich caramel woven between all our scents.
I guide her to the right which opens into a large living room that’s always felt too big for our pack.
There’s enough space for at least twenty people to sit comfortably.
I briefly wonder if twenty people is too many or not enough.
Does she entertain? She runs a company so she must entertain.
Right? Would she want a bigger space? We could knock through to the dining room.
I make a mental note to look into load-bearing walls.
“Oh, the glass is so much prettier from this side,” she gasps.
Specks of bright green, pink, blue, and yellow light dot the furniture and hardwood floors.
She reaches out and catches a spot of pink light in her palm, turning her hand to watch it move.
I have never loved this room more than I do right now.
“When we redecorated, we tried to make a blend of old and new.” I guide her to the seating area.
“This table is an antique and likely similar to what the original owners would have included, but this—” I rub my hands on the smooth back of a wooden chair, tracing the curve. “This is one of Silas’ pieces.”
Lark’s eyes widen. “You made this?”
Silas’ face heats. “Do you like it?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it. May I?” He nods, and she sits, immediately rubbing the curved lines of the chair’s arms.
“Oh, wow. It’s so comfortable. I didn’t expect that from a wooden chair.”
Silas is too pleased to respond, so I do it for him. “Its mate is in the omega suite. He made it for a woman’s body.” I watch her face process that. Silas built furniture for an omega he hadn't found yet. For years it just sat there.
I let her sit with that for a moment before excitement gets the better of me. I pull her to standing. “This way.”
Lark laces her fingers with mine again, and I lead her through.
We pass a formal dining room, another sitting room no one uses enough, and our large, modern kitchen, I rush through the kitchen.
Double ovens, ridiculous marble island, the built-in speaker system that links every room.
The kitchen isn't what I want to show her.
I can show her the kitchen any time. I want to show her the omega suite.
“The bedrooms are all here,” I say as we hit the second-floor landing. “I’m just down the hall on the right, Saint’s next door, Silas is the last on the left. The other rooms are for guests or…any children we might have one day.”
Lark’s face burns red, but she doesn’t correct me. It gives me a stupid, reckless hope. I file that away carefully. Right next to the historical paint research and the fact that she prefers her coffee sweet.
“Your spaces are on the next floor.”
Lark turns her eyes to Silas who is still holding a suitcase in each hand. “Oh, yes, I’m sure you want to put those down.”
He shrugs. “It’s no problem.” He’s not lying either. The man is built like a wall. He could probably hold her luggage all day and never so much as have a muscle twinge.
I pull Lark up the stairs. “There’s an elevator, too, in case you don’t feel like climbing.”
“That’s a nice feature, but I like going this way for the tour.”
We make it to the landing. There’s a short hall with two doors. “The one on the left is the nest. The right is your main bedroom. There is a bathroom that connects the two, so you don’t have to walk into the hall to get from one to the other.”
Her eyes light. “Can I see?”
“Of course!” I open the bedroom door and let her walk in first. She walks immediately to the large windows along the front wall.
“The view is incredible.”
The late afternoon sun bathes her in warm sunlight, highlighting the streaks of golden blonde running through her hair. My brain, which has never once failed me, goes completely offline.
She belongs here. With us.
She turns from the window. Silas places her luggage next to a large dresser and walks toward her. “You’ll tell us if you want anything changed?”
She looks around the space. The room is huge, easily twice the size of each of ours. The soft yellow and green color scheme makes it feel sunny and welcoming without being too bright. I chose it after reading seventeen articles on color psychology and omega comfort. I'm not going to tell her that.
A tall king-sized canopy bed anchors the center, and along the front wall are glass doors that lead to a small balcony where she can sit and look over the river.
There’s also a generous sitting area with Silas’ matching chair, and a desk in case she wants privacy while she works.
If not, she has space in our pack office.
“We took a chance on the color. If you don’t like it—”
“I love it,” she interrupts me. “It’s perfect for the space and for me.”
She says it like she means it, and Silas and I both release a pent-up breath. I was ready to get paint and stay up all night if I had to.
“Want to see your nest?” he asks.
“Lead the way, sexy.” He chuckles, pleased with the compliment.
She takes both our hands and Silas pulls us through the bathroom, where she stops to ooh and ahh over the soaking tub and oversized walk-in shower.
“Four shower heads!” She rushes over to examine it.
"Saint's idea," I say. “Two overhead so we don’t have to fight for water, and two along the walls, so you can shower without worrying about getting your hair wet.”
Saint, who doesn't want an omega. Saint, who walked out of the clinic. Saint, who won’t answer his phone. Saint designed a shower so that our omega wouldn't get her hair wet if she didn't want to. I don't say any of that. But I think she hears it anyway.
I watch her face. A muscle ticks in her jaw. I look at my watch. He should be here soon. I’m dreading it, but also just want to get it over with.
Silas senses the shift in her attitude and tugs her waistband until she’s tucked up against him. “Things will be fine, little bird. We’ll work through this together.” She nods and he kisses her forehead, then turns her so that I can do the same.
“Let me show you your nest, beautiful.”
I turn her around and guide her to the next door. She opens it and steps through stopping just inside. Her scent spikes immediately, salty caramel going warm and thick in the air. Her omega recognizing the space before her brain does. My purr kicks in before I can stop it.
She wordlessly inspects everything within her line of vision.
I silently critique it with her. Cream walls and gleaming wooden floors greet us.
Two large windows let in muted light. And in the center is a bare round nest. To one side there is a nook where we added a small refrigerator and cabinet that hides dishes and a microwave.
This way we don’t have to leave the nest as often during her heat.
“We left it bare so you could arrange it to your tastes.” I step past her, so I’m further inside the room. “The blinds can be raised and lowered from a switch next to the bed.” I demonstrate, lowering the blinds and plunging the room into darkness.
Silas flips a switch by the door, turning on the lights and the fan above. Her roaming eyes land on them, spinning once, slowly, in the direction of the blades.
I’m nervous. “We thought it would be better during your heats. For airflow. And… temperature control. We can have something prettier installed.”
She goes still and locks her eyes with mine. “I love it.”
Relief crashes through me so fast it makes me dizzy. I had a whole speech prepared about the airflow calculations.
“We’ll need to purchase you some things so that it’s to your taste,” Silas says. “We can go to the nesting store when Saint gets back from the station.”
She doesn’t tense as much at this mention of his name, but I can still see the strain around her eyes. He’s hurt her. I file that along with everything else.
I pull her into my side and purr until she relaxes. “Saint’s going to figure this out, beautiful. He just needs a little time to—”
My words are interrupted by a shout from the second floor. "I'll be in my room!" Followed by a door slamming.
The nest goes very quiet. Lark freezes in my arms. Her scent sharpens, salty caramel going burnt and wounded.
Then the anger hits. Hot and unfamiliar, sitting somewhere behind my ribs.
I’ve known Saint for years. Love him like a brother.
But no one, not even my pack mate, gets to disrespect Lark like that.
Silas’ hands clench into tight fists. "Help our girl unpack," he tells me.
His voice is controlled. His fists aren't.
"I'll handle things downstairs. Then we'll take her to The Nesting Corner. Let her choose whatever she wants for the nest."
Whatever she wants.