Chapter 19 #3
The impact knocked them both back against the couch cushions, and Riot’s arms came up, catching him, pulling him close, the movement so instinctive it bypassed every rational objection he’d been white-knuckling for the past hour.
For one suspended moment, everyone in the room held their breath—Dante poised to intervene, Orion frozen in the doorway, Stave and Prepper ready to move if control snapped.
But before Riot could do anything—before the violence or the claiming or whatever everyone was bracing for—Cass moved.
He settled into Riot’s lap.
Not seductively. Not desperately grinding or presenting or any of the heat-driven behaviors Riot braced himself for.
Just... climbed, with the single-minded determination of someone following an instinct they didn’t fully understand.
His knees bracketed Riot’s hips, his arms wound around Riot’s neck, and his face buried itself against the curve of Riot’s throat.
Then he started scenting him.
Soft lips dragged across Riot’s carotid artery, a nose pressed into the hollow below his ear. Cass’s clammy cheek rubbed against his jaw, transferring scent, seeking comfort, letting out small, shaky breaths like someone who’d been terrified and was finally, finally safe.
“You weren’t there,” Cass whispered against his throat, the words muffled and broken. “I woke up and you weren’t there and everything was wrong and I couldn’t—I needed—”
He needed me. Not just any Alpha. Not Dante with his experience. Not another Omega to hold his hand. Me.
Riot’s hands hovered at Cass’s sides. He was afraid to touch, afraid to hold on, afraid of what his body would do if he let himself have this. His cock was still achingly hard, his body still screaming for release, but Cass wasn’t asking for that. Cass was asking to be held.
“I’m here,” Riot managed, “I’m here, princess. I’ve got you.”
“Huh,” Stave deadpanned. “That’s not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” Prepper asked.
“Not this.”
He chose me. In a room full of people who could help him, protect him, or keep him safe, and he came straight to me. For safety.
The realization hit Riot somewhere deep and devastating.
He’d been seen as a threat for so long—by corporations, by civilians, by himself.
A monster. A weapon. Something to be contained or controlled or put down.
Even the people who loved him watched his hands, tracked his breathing, kept an exit route in their peripheral vision.
It was standard operating procedure for being around someone whose manufacturer issued a recall and then lost the paperwork.
But Cass had looked at a room full of dangers and decided Riot was shelter.
“Okay,” Lilac said, her voice cutting through with forced calm. “Everyone out. Now.”
“Is he—” Orion started.
“He’s fine. They’re both fine.” Lilac was already herding people toward the door. “Everyone who isn’t currently in that lap needs to leave my house immediately.”
“We should stay,” Dante said, his gray eyes still fixed on Riot. “In case—”
“In case what?” Lilac’s voice sharpened. “Look at him, Dante. Really look.”
Riot didn’t know what Dante saw when he looked. He was too focused on the warm weight in his lap, the soft mouth still tracing up against his throat, the way Cass’s trembling was slowly easing as he absorbed Riot’s scent.
Whatever Dante saw, it made something in his expression shift.
“Huh,” he said, unconsciously echoing Stave. “That’s... not what I expected.”
“Seems to be going around,” Prepper muttered.
Dante’s hand found Orion’s elbow, tugging him gently toward the door. “Come on. Lilac’s right. They don’t need an audience.”
Stave was already moving toward the exit, Prepper close behind. At the threshold, Stave paused.
“Test the suppressants,” he said to Prepper, flat and practical even now. “Both batches. I want to know if this is going to be a problem for everyone.”
“Yeah.” Prepper glanced back at Riot, something complicated in his expression. “We’ll check in tomorrow. Assuming you’re both still...”
“Alive?” Riot offered.
“Coherent.” Prepper almost smiled. “Alive is a lower bar.”
Lilac caught Riot’s eye as she ushered the last of them out.
Something passed between them—understanding, maybe.
Or warning. Her gaze flicked briefly toward the window, and Riot knew without being told that someone would be nearby.
Just in case. Just in case the monster in his chest won out over the man.
He should care about that or feel something about being supervised like an unstable asset—which was, he reflected distantly, exactly what he was.
But Cass chose that moment to shift in his lap, pressing closer, and Riot wrapped his arms around him properly, pulling him in.
He chose me.
The door closed behind everyone.
The room went quiet.
Cass was still in his lap, still scenting him, but the frantic edge had faded. His movements were slower, less desperate searching, more content settling. Like he found what he was looking for and wasn’t planning to let go.
“Hey,” Riot said softly. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”
“Don’t let go,” Cass mumbled against his throat.
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
The word was so small. So trusting. Riot thought about all the people who may have made Cass promises and broken them—Elysian with their manufactured transcendence, Brother Matthias with his “guidance,” everyone who’d ever told this gentle, stubborn soul that his instincts were wrong and his body was shameful and he was a deficiency that needed correcting.
“I promise,” Riot said, and meant it with every broken piece of himself.