2 AM
Owen
The front door clicks shut behind me, and the house swallows the sound whole.
It's almost two in the morning, and the living room sits dark and still, lit only by the streetlight bleeding in through the curtains.
The card table is still up, where a real kitchen table should go.
We've been meaning to buy one for nearly two years now, but there’s always something else more important.
Heading down the hallway off the living room, my dress shoes are loud against the hardwood.
Mack and Adrian's door is shut. Through the wood I can hear the low rhythm of the headboard against the wall, Mack's voice rough and quiet underneath it, followed by the sound of Adrian moaning loudly. I pause for half a second, listening for our pack alpha, but I thankfully don’t hear him.
I need to talk to Nico.
I reach through my bond, looking for my alpha. He's awake, the warmth of him steady at the edge of my mind. He’s calm. Sleepy.
The bedroom door swings open and there he is, stretched out in the center of our bed like he owns the whole room. Which he technically does.
The sheet is pushed down to his hips, a whisper of white against his tanned skin.
The lamp on the nightstand spills liquid gold over the carved muscles of his chest, catching on the cross tattooed over his heart.
His black hair is damp from a shower, pushed back off his face, and his near-black eyes find mine the second I step through the door.
"Hey, there, sexy." He smiles, but it quickly fades as his eyes move over my face. I can feel him inside our bond, checking on me. He goes still when he senses the tension swirling inside me. "What happened?"
I close the door behind me, but I can still hear Mack and Adrian fucking. "It's a long story."
"I've got time." He sits and pats the mattress beside him. "Come here."
I cross the room and sit on the edge of the bed, next to him. Nico's hand finds the back of my neck, his thumb pressing into the tension there like he already knows exactly where it lives.
"Owen." His voice drops further. "Talk to me."
"Something weird happened," I say.
Nico leans in, his hand sliding up into my hair, his fingers pressing into my scalp with a slow, firm drag that makes my eyes want to close. I let myself relax for a moment, into the solid warmth of my mate. Then I blow out a heavy sigh and set my glasses on the nightstand.
"I'm worried about my friend," I say. "Lyra."
Nico's hand keeps moving in my hair. "Is she okay?"
"I'm not sure." I stare at the wall across from me.
The walls in this room are a deep, muted olive that Nico picked out two years ago. The rest of us made fun of it until we saw it with the dark wood floors and then we shut up completely. My man’s got taste.
"There was an alpha there tonight." I keep my eyes on the baseboards. "Crispin Maleth. He’s a real asshole. Owns some massive media conglomerate." I press my lips together. "Tonight he got physical with Lyra. Cornered her in a side gallery and put his hands on her. Left marks on her arm."
Nico goes still beside me, letting me talk.
"I was right there." My jaw tightens. "I talked him down, eventually.
But I couldn't actually do anything, Nico.
He's twice my size and I'm a beta and if I'd thrown a punch I would have made everything so much worse for her.
" I drag a hand over my mouth. "I keep thinking about the sound she made when he grabbed her. It was this small, terrified whimper."
The room is quiet except for the distant hum of the pipes and the muffled sound of Mack's voice through the wall.
"I stood there and talked," I say. "Like a goddamn librarian."
"It sounds like you handled it pretty well." Nico's hand slides back into my hair. "I mean, you kept your head." His voice is low, unhurried. "That's not nothing, Owen."
"It didn’t feel like enough."
Nico is quiet for a second, looking at me. "Did she get home okay?"
I let out a slow breath as I nod. "Yeah. I didn’t leave until I saw her get in a car with her parents."
Nico makes a sound in his throat, not quite a word. "That sounds like a rough night for both of you," he says carefully.
"It was just weird," I say honestly.
I reach up and yank my bow tie loose, pulling it free from my collar in one long drag. Then I shrug out of my jacket and toss it toward the chair in the corner. It falls short, hitting the dark floor in a heap, and I leave it there.
"Owen." Nico's voice is even, his dark eyes steady on mine. "Do you have a thing for this girl?"
"No." The word comes out fast.
"Because with her being a Van Houten…" Nico trails off, his mouth pulling to one side. He almost looks apologetic. "It’s not smart."
"We're friends," I say firmly. "That's all. I'm only worried about her."
Nico holds my gaze for a long second, clearly deciding whether to push. "Okay," he finally says, his hand sliding back down to my neck.
Okay.
I look down at the sheet bunched at his hip and tell myself the same thing.
Friends. That's all it is.
I almost believe it.
"You look so tense, carino." Nico shifts closer, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. His arms wrap around my shoulders from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder blade.
The scent of dark amber and leather surrounds me, undercut with the clean, earthy smell of his skin. His fingers work at the buttons of my dress shirt, one by one, his knuckles brushing against my chest with each movement.
"You are a good man, Owen," he murmurs against the side of my neck. His lips are warm, his breath sending shivers down my spine. "Lyra's lucky to have you as a friend."
I lean back into him, my head falling against his shoulder as he continues to unbutton my shirt.
His hands slide inside, palms flat against my chest, his touch both possessive and comforting.
I can feel the rough calluses on his fingers, the contrast between his work-roughened hands and the gentle way he touches me.
"Always taking care of everyone," he continues, his voice dropping to a low rumble that vibrates through my entire body. "Always the responsible one. But you know what I think?"
I shake my head, unable to form words as his thumbs circle my nipples, making them pebble beneath his touch.
"I think you need someone to take care of you for once." His teeth graze the sensitive skin where my neck meets my shoulder, and I gasp. "I think you need to let go of all that control you're always clinging to."
His hands slide down my stomach, fingers tracing the waistband of my trousers. I arch into his touch, my body responding instinctively as his hand pushes past the fabric.
His palm is warm against my skin as he wraps his fingers around my cock. I'm soft at first, but that changes instantly as his thumb circles my cock head, his other hand pressed flat against my chest.
Blood rushes south, my shaft thickening and lengthening in his grip until I'm fully hard and aching for more. My legs fall open, and Nico's hand moves lower, his fingers cupping my balls, rolling them gently as I moan, my hips lifting off the bed.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dark with approval. "Already so desperate. Such a slutty beta, aren't you? Getting hard from a little touch."
I whimper, my hips bucking involuntarily. He's right—I am desperate, my cock straining against the fabric of my pants. But it’s been a long, stressful night, and I need to get off.
"Please," I breathe, the word barely audible.
"Please what?" His hands still, waiting. "Tell me what you want, Owen."
"You." I turn my head to capture his lips. "I want you." I pull back and speak against his mouth, my voice shaking with need. "I want you to fuck me, Nico. Hard. Make me forget everything but your cock splitting me open."
Something wild and predatory flashes in his dark eyes. The alpha is excited, horny, and our bond floods with his lust—a hot, possessive wave that crashes over me, making my own desire spike in response.
Nico's pupils dilate, the black swallowing the brown until his eyes look like endless pools of hunger. Then he kisses me again, his tongue claiming my mouth with a dominance that never fails to undo me.
His tongue explores every corner of my mouth, stroking against mine, tasting me thoroughly.
The sensation sends jolts of pleasure straight down my spine, making me hard enough to ache. I moan into his mouth, one hand coming up and curling around the back of his neck, trying to get closer.
Nico's mouth claims mine, his tongue twisting with mine in a slow, sensual dance. His hands slide down my chest, pulling at the last few buttons of my dress shirt. One by one, they come undone, his fingertips brushing bare skin, and when the shirt falls open he pushes it off my shoulders.
"Fuck, you taste good," he growls as he presses his bare chest to my back.
I’m lost in the feel of my mate’s hands and mouth when the memory flashes in my mind: Lyra in the gallery, standing there in her pretty pink dress, her hair up, exposing the delicate curve of her neck. Her mouth is slightly open, her honey-brown eyes wide with innocence.
I wish I had kissed her.
The thought hits me like a physical blow, shocking me with its intensity. But before I can dwell on it, Nico pulls back, his eyes dark with command.
"On your back," he orders, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Now."
I move, obeying without hesitation. He shifts back, giving me room to lie on the bed beside him.
Once I'm in place, Nico moves over me, making the sheet fall away. He's already naked, his cock thick and heavy against his thigh, a clear bead of fluid glistening at the tip.
The lamplight catches the ridges of his abdomen, the powerful lines of his chest, the dark ink of his cross tattoo that seems to pulse with life.