Chapter 6 Connall #2
“It was already yours.”
“Nice of you to think about Gideon, though,” Luca says, his rosebud mouth curved up in a small smile. He slides his hand under Gideon’s, and the bigger man clasps it tightly. The love they have for each other oozes from every pore.
Comfort for life’s hurts, no matter how small, is etched into how they lean toward each other—and something like envy seeps from that earlier crack in Connall’s emotional walls.
Their obvious affection reminds him of the purple box tucked inside his jacket.
“I found this, too. I think she would have wanted you to have it.” He slides the box across the table.
A delicate waft of buttery sweetness follows, and Gideon’s mouth turns down, an accompanying furrow between his brows.
“This was my mother’s, but it had been her mother’s before that,” he whispers, placing the papers on the table so he can open the box.
Inside is a deep purple, oblong amethyst set in a narrow gold band. It glows in the low light of the restaurant, as if there is a spark of her love hidden inside.
“It’s so pretty.”
“She wore it all the time when I was a child. It was her favorite. A way to remember her old life. When she was—”
Luca wipes a hand down his cheek. “When she was happy.”
“Yeah. She wore it around me a lot, so maybe I made her happy, too.”
He removes it from the box and settles it onto Luca’s small ring finger. It shouldn’t fit, given Eleanor O’Daire was a petite woman, but it does.
It fits perfectly.
“Oh, Sugar,” Luca whispers, throwing himself into his mate’s open arms.
Connall looks away, trying to catch Beau’s eye. He’d expected a smirk or an eye roll—his friend no more a romantic than he is—but Beau is staring at the couple across the table, envy and longing etched into his handsome face.
When Gideon looks up, his ears are bright red, finally remembering that they have an audience.
“Okay, okay. Let’s sign these papers so we can eat. Elias said twenty minutes.”
“Yeah, okay. But I’m saying thank you later—loudly.” Luca winks, grinning widely.
“Luc.”
“Yeah, yeah. Tell me you don’t love it.”
Gideon winks back and, picking up Connall’s fancy pen, signs the rest of the papers as if he weren’t signing away his legacy and putting the final nail in Connall’s coffin at the same time.
Connall wants to say something profound. To mark the occasion with a funeral dirge hummed under his breath, or a eulogy of spoken words for the life he might have had if Gideon had balked even a little.
But the pen slides smoothly across the page, and when he’s finished, he sets the signed copies on a neighboring table. They land with a soft clink against a water goblet.
That’s when Connall notices: none of the silverware matches.
The situation is made worse because there are matching pieces amongst the settings—but it’s as if someone has set them at odds on purpose.
He’s wondering how he can get Gideon to trade him his knife for Connall’s when a loud crash sounds from the kitchen.
“What the—” Gideon frowns. “I’ll go check and make sure everyone’s okay. Be right back.”
Luca watches him go before looking at Eleanor’s ring.
“That was a really nice thing to do. He doesn’t have much from when his mother was alive.”
“No big deal. It wasn’t Carnell’s to keep, and it sure as hell wasn’t mine.”
“But you didn’t have to bother bringing it. Or even remember to do it today.” He tilts his head, and Connall feels the scrutiny to his very soul. “You’re a good man, Connall O’Daire. I don’t think you know it, though, do you?”
With a half-smirk, he asks Beau, “He doesn’t, am I right?”
“Not in the slightest. I don’t tell him, though, or he’ll punch me in the face and then give me a raise. Fucking annoying.”
“Yes, that sounds familiar.” He tilts his head toward the kitchen, where half of Gideon is in the kitchen and half out.
“Preach. Although, to be fair, I throw a mean left hook, so it’s not all one-sided. Just in case you thought he could take me every time.”
Luca laughs, eyes lighting up. “I’d pay to see that.”
The A/C kicks on, a breathy hum in answer to the afternoon sun baking this side of the building. At first, it’s just the stale scent of dust and metal—but then, food.
And something else.
Connall’s wolf perks up, that same tingle from before slipping through the chains he’s wrapped around it.
Beau laughs at something Luca says, their conversation dimming beneath the rising thrum of Connall’s senses.
Anticipation floods his belly, sharp and primal, making the hair rise on his neck. It’s not fear—far from it. It feels like he’s standing on the edge of something he can’t quite see.
Someone is growling, and the hair on Connall’s neck stands up.
“Boss?” Beau asks, getting to his feet. “Con?”
Connall can’t answer—not over the pounding in his chest or the rush of blood to his head…and then away again, the moment Gideon walks back in with two men.
Both are shorter than he is. Both are so fucking beautiful, the combined scent of lemon-lime and sweet tea hitting his nose, kicking his hindbrain and his wolf into full alert.
The top of the first man’s pink, fluffy hair comes up to Gideon’s chin.
There’s a softness to him that sends blood straight to Connall’s dick, making it kick hard against the front of his perfectly pressed suit pants.
Even as he stands frozen beside Gideon, Connall can feel it—this man is effervescent, lit up from the inside like a rainbow after the darkest storm.
He pictures them in a darkened club, Connall pressing his soft body against the wall as heavy bass thunders through his veins. He needs to feel those long legs wrapped around his waist. Needs to sink his fangs—and his cock—in deep.
The second man is slightly taller, with dark hair and glasses. He has a mouth made for sin—full and soft—and Connall knows it tastes sweet. He’s like a lazy Sunday afternoon, all warm skin and tangled sheets. Connall wants to kiss his soft skin. Wants to hear him moan. Wants to make him come.
Wants it right the fuck now.
Mates.
His.
The moment he thinks the word, his sweet, lime-scented omega breaks away from their mate, who is still frozen in front of the gently swinging door. It had been mere seconds for their wolves to recognize each other. Mere seconds for Connall’s wolf to roar: Finally! Our mates. Our pack.
He’s forced backward by the impact, arms locked around his neck and a mouthful of sweetness. Soft hands in his hair tug him closer so he can lick and suck on Connall’s tongue. Someone gasps. Someone groans. Connall can’t be sure whether both sounds weren’t him.
“Alpha,” his omega whines. “Kiss me.”
Yes. Kiss him everywhere. He wants nothing more than to clear the table of the offensive, mismatched silverware and lay his beautiful mate out while the others bear witness.
Clutching his omega to his chest, he turns them both, intent on doing just that, when he hears another voice over the pounding in his head.
Connall’s beta.
Yes. They are alpha, beta, and omega.
“Stop,” his beta says. He doesn’t yell—doesn’t have to. His firm request would be enough to force Connall to his knees, if only he’d ask. “Izzy, come away.”
Izzy. Yes. It’s perfect.
His omega is perfect.
Now that his omega is close enough, Connall can count freckles on his nose and see that his eyes are a deep grey with flecks of gold. He tastes just as Connall had imagined—like limes and pastry and sugar.
Just like Connall’s favorite key lime pie, fresh from Katya’s kitchen in Clearwater.
“Eli, this is our alpha,” Izzy whines, licking Connall’s neck, growling when he can’t get Connall’s flavor on his tongue. Taking the edge of the adhesive patch between his teeth, he tears it off, releasing Connall’s fierce, cold winter scent. It’s the bracing and cleansing swirl of a snowstorm.
“Fuck, yes. So good. He smells like Christmas, Eli. Come smell.” Izzy beckons with his hand, slender fingers tipped in every color of the rainbow.
Eli’s eyes are dark, and he takes an involuntary step toward them.
Connall wants so badly to hold him. To taste what has to be lemon tea from his lips. To make his frowning lips break into what Connall imagines is a mischievous smile. To bite him and suck his marks into his smooth neck. To make him pack. To love him.
But Eli takes a single step back. And then another.
“He’s dangerous, Izzy,” he says—and it sounds like begging.
He’s so strong.
While Connall can’t keep his hands from running over every inch of Izzy’s body he can reach, this brave man is strong enough to take a second step back and raise his apron to cover his nose.
“He can’t keep you safe. Please.”
“I don’t care. He’s our alpha. We’ve been waiting.”
Elias blushes, then pales, before holding out his hand. “I won’t risk you, Isaac. Come to me, please.”
It sounds like longing, sadness, and regret all rolled into one.
Connall has heard that same tone from other lips. Has seen regret and confusion in another’s green eyes. So much hurt and anger—before Connall had walked away.
But he has never seen fear.
His wolf howls in agony as his past and his present converge, finally tearing down the walls he’d carefully erected over seventeen years ago.
Elias is right—Connall is dangerous.
He can’t keep them safe.
Not when the danger is Connall himself.
Pulling Izzy free is like peeling his skin from his body, but he places him gently on the floor. Connall’s thumb brushes a tear from Izzy’s cheek—light as breath, tender as grief.
Their eyes lock, and for a moment, the dam fractures. Not enough to flood but just enough for the sadness to shine through.
A loneliness so raw it pierces his chest. He’s a man with a pack, yet utterly alone.
Izzy blinks, stunned, cheeks painted with shock and tears.
Just another sin, Connall thinks. Another debt to stack on the ledger, Beau had kindly recited that morning.
He can’t face them, and he certainly can’t face himself.
Turning, he bolts out the door—running away from a future he can’t choose.
Again.