A Year of Almost
Owen
Perfect timing.
I kill the engine and I'm out of my car before the others have even opened their doors. I cannot wait to ask Lyra how her day was. Talking to that omega when I get home has quickly become one of my favorite things.
Yesterday she'd made every bed in the house and reorganized the spice rack alphabetically. She also had very strong opinions about a daytime court show.
She recounted all of it in detail, the show, the spices, as well as the exact wording of some argument she overheard with the neighbor and the mailman, and I hung on every word.
Having her in our home feels so right.
Behind me the truck doors thunk shut and the guys spill out, none of them in a hurry.
"I'm just sayin'," Mack drawls, "if Tony had listened to me about the grade on that slab the first damn time—"
“Tony never listens," Nico says.
"He needs to be nowhere near that re-pour. I’m not pulling up concrete again."
I leave my mates behind, taking the porch steps two at a time. I push the door open, step inside, and the thick aroma hits me like a wall.
Lyra.
Her scent is everywhere, thick and cloying, pouring through the whole damn house. Vanilla and warm almond, so dense even my dull beta nose drowns in it. It coats the back of my throat, making my head go loose on my shoulders for a second before I catch myself on the doorframe.
Oh fuck. Is she in heat?
Is that what this is?
I’ve never smelled an omega in heat before. And if it is, what will Nico, Adrian, and Mack do once they smell it? Will they go feral? Will they hurt her?
No. They’d never.
But I’d rather be safe than sorry.
I turn around, ready to tell my mates to stay outside, when the door opens and I walk right into Nico’s big, firm chest.
"No—" I go completely still, looking up at my alpha, watching as his nostrils flare.
Nico’s whole body freezes right inside the threshold, one hand still on the door, his dark eyes fixed on the floor. Every muscle in his neck has gone rigid.
My stomach drops.
"Nico." I keep my voice calm and hushed as I search his face. "Can you—" I can barely make myself say it. "Is she…in heat?" The word comes out small. Almost scared.
While I know it’s not true, it’s hard to ignore decades of propaganda screaming about how a pack of alphas can easily rip an omega in heat to pieces.
It’s all lies, I tell myself. My mates aren’t those kind of alphas.
"Nicolas?" I say his full name, begging him to answer me.
Nico drags in a slow breath through his nose, testing the air, his jaw working.
"No," he says finally, his voice incredibly deep. "I don't think she’s in heat. I'm not getting pheromones." But his voice is strained, pulled tight as wire, and the tendons stand out along his forearm where he's gripping the door. Whatever he's smelling, it's clearly affecting him.
"Then what—"
Adrian and Mack come through the door together, their big bodies bumping into each other. They’re both smiling, but the second their feet touch carpet, their smiles drop.
Mack’s eyes go wide as he tilts his head back, scenting the air. "What the fuck?"
But I'm not looking at Mack.
I'm looking at Adrian.
The dark-haired alpha has gone completely still, his chin lifted. His chest rises slow and deep as he pulls the air all the way down into his lungs. His grin falls as his face goes smooth, every easy line of him goes slack, and then his eyes drift half shut like a man sinking into warm water.
"Adrian?" I whisper as my lungs fill with his crisp pine scent. But it doesn’t smell right.
He smells sharp and hot and heavy, thickening in the small space until it crowds against Lyra's sweetness and tangles with it. It’s all so much, it makes my eyes water.
And through the faint thread of the bond I share with him, the one that only ever carries the loudest things, a single pulse cuts clean through.
Mate.
The emotion is raw and enormous and nothing like the gentle alpha I've known for the last seven years. And then it's gone, our bond going quiet again. Dead silent.
And it scares the shit out of me.
"Alpha." Nico’s gaze moves over my face as he takes a careful step toward Adrian.
I know Nico can feel my fear and confusion right now, telling him there’s something very wrong happening inside Adrian’s head.
"Adrian," Nico slowly lifts his hands. "Come on, man. Talk to me."
But Adrian doesn't answer. He doesn't even look at the pack alpha.
"Hey." Mack takes a slow step in from the side, his palms open, easing into Adrian's line of sight the way you'd move around a spooked horse.
"Hey now." His drawl comes out low and careful, stripped of all its usual play.
"It's just us. You're alright. Whatever you're smellin', it ain't going anywhere. Look at me a sec."
For one breath, I think they might be able to calm him down.
Adrian's head even turns a fraction toward Mack's voice.
But then he growls.
It’s low and vicious, straight up out of his chest. His lips peel back off his teeth, and his whole body goes taut.
Then he breaks.
Adrian lunges for the hall, all that long-limbed power thrown forward at once. Nico moves at the exact same instant and drives his shoulder into Adrian's chest, slamming the alpha sideways. The two of them crash together so hard, I’m shocked the walls don’t shake.
I scramble back, my heel catching the couch. I go down hard, catching myself as my glasses fall down my nose.
"Oh my god," I whisper as I watch my two mates throw their full weight into each other, in almost near silence. There’s no yelling or growling, only the scuff and squeak of boots fighting for purchase on the hardwood, punctuated by a few soft grunts.
Adrian's got a few inches on Nico, a longer reach, all that ropey carpenter's strength, but Nico doesn't give up any ground. Not an inch.
Nico plants his boots and takes everything Adrian throws at him, absorbing each surge and shoving right back. It’s like Nico's a wall Adrian can't get around.
Still standing next to the front door, Mack stands with his mouth open, watching the two of them wrestle.
"Mine," Adrian snarls and shoves against Nico, and the two of them stagger, boots skidding. A lamp rocks on the side table.
"Mack," Nico hisses through clenched teeth, the command strained. "Help me."
Near the door, Mack finally shakes himself out of it. He blinks, then he rushes forward. He gets a thick arm banded around Adrian from the other side, hauling backward.
"C'mon, Adrian." Mack's voice comes out quiet and unsteady. Honestly, he sounds shaken, but he’s holding on. "C'mon now. Move."
Between the two of them, they wrestle Adrian away from the mouth of the hallway and start muscling him toward the kitchen, boots dragging, Adrian's soft snarls rolling continuously the whole way.
I hate that he’s not speaking.
"Owen." Nico grits my name out over his shoulder, straining against Adrian's weight. "The garage. Get the door open."
I'm already scrambling up off the floor. I shove my glasses back into place, shoes skidding on the carpet as I cut around their bulky bodies and into the kitchen. Behind me Adrian snarls and the boots scuff harder, the three of them a slow, grunting mass fighting toward me.
The garage door is at the back of the kitchen. I grab the knob, twist, and haul it wide, then flatten myself against the wall to clear the way.
"Got it," I say as they make their way through the kitchen.
Nico and Mack wrestle Adrian through the doorway, all that thrashing muscle folding sideways through the narrow frame. Adrian gets one hand braced on the jamb, and Mack peels it loose. Then they're through, down the two steps, and I hear the heavy scrape of them getting him to the far wall.
"Stay on him!" Nico barks.
I follow them as far as the top of the garage steps and stop.
Nico doesn't want me any closer, and God knows I don't want to see Adrian like this.
But I can't make myself leave either. From here I can see all of it, the low animal snarl coming out of him with nothing human left in it, and I stand there and watch because I can't do anything else.
Standing in the doorway, I watch my mates struggle.
Nico's got Adrian pinned face-first against the workbench, his forearm jammed between the alpha's shoulder blades, all his weight bearing down. Adrian bucks under him, boots scrabbling on the concrete. Nico rides it out, jaw set, not giving an inch.
"Rope," he grunts. "By the saw."
Mack's already moving. He grabs a coil of nylon rope off a hook on the pegboard, the kind Adrian uses to lash lumber to the truck, and gets to work.
He drags one of Adrian's wrists behind his back, then the other, wrapping them tight while Nico holds him down.
Mack's hands are fast and sure, throwing loops and cinching them, and I realize with a small sick lurch that neither of them is being gentle about it.
"Don’t hurt him," I whisper.
Adrian snarls, low and continuous, twisting against the hold. A word breaks out of him, mangled and thick.
"Mine."
"I know, brother." Mack yanks the last knot tight. "I know. Sit tight for me."
They haul Adrian back off the bench and get him down onto the floor, back against the far wall. Mack loops the rope from his bound wrists around the thick leg of the workbench and cinches it there.
The bench is a heavy old thing, its top buried under Adrian's own tools, solid enough that it doesn't so much as shift when the alpha throws his weight against the ropes.
Adrian wrenches at it and the rope pulls taut against the wood, holding. A sound tears out of him that makes my stomach turn over, part growl, part something almost grieving.
And then it's done.
He's contained.
Lashed to the leg of the bench, chest heaving, his eyes rolled toward the kitchen door and the scent still pouring through it. He drags at the rope again, and the workbench stays put. He can't get up. He can't get to her.
Thank god.
Nico stands over him for a second, breathing hard, both hands braced on his own knees. Then he straightens and turns for the steps.
"Kitchen," he says to Mack, low. "Now."