23. KATIE
Chapter twenty-three
KATIE
M ax heads out to the gym and while he offers to take me with him, I’m not sure I’m quite ready for a hard workout yet. I get the feeling that if Max is involved, he’s going to push me to see just where my limits are. There will be a time and place for it, but today I want to memorize the townhouse.
Loren takes me on a tour and points out where all the bedrooms are–two on the second floor and two on the top floor, along with a sitting room on each floor, and a study.
“The main staircase is in the front, but we have a hidden staircase back here –it was for when packs kept a fleet of servants. Now we just have Tonya who keeps the house but she lives with her own pack, and Gerard, who brings dinners three nights a week. The rest of the time we are on our own.”
Loren speaks apologetically, as though only having a housekeeper is a hardship.
“We don’t have housekeepers back home,” I inform him. “Servants are only for the uber wealthy.”
It was true that I’d hired help to clean up some rather nasty on-base housing assignments, but that was one-off help. I’d never had someone clean up after me. And while we had a mess hall, no one would confuse it with having a personal chef.
“I see, well I’m not sure how much Aurelia told you, but we’re not one of the Old Family Packs– not that we can’t provide,” he hurriedly added. “But, well, we’re a professional working pack. Not a leisure pack.”
I shrug. I understood what he was saying in theory, but the idea of “old money” would have been even harder for me to accept than just three Alphas.
“It’s fine. I came from a working family. You know I served in the military.”
“I know. You command a room like you own it,” Loren says, a touch of awe in his voice. “Omegas never take up work that would endanger them. Even before the Omegas sickness –it’s just not in their nature to be aggressive, and Alphas are far too protective. You’re probably the only Omega in history to have served in the military.”
“I wasn’t an Omega then,” I remind him. I roll my shoulders, making sure my posture is straight and I am at my full height. He’s right, I can command a room. It was my job. I might not have been the highest ranking officer on any given assignment, but I ran my logistic team with precision. This might not be Earth, and it might not be a convoy between secure bases, but I do have a mission– find a way to get my sisters home.
Loren nods, then opens the door to the first bedroom on the top floor. “This is Max’s room. His study is on the ground floor so he can see clients. But his bedroom is up here… in case you need to find him.”
He grins and I can’t help myself. Something about him is so easy, so comfortable, like I’ve already known him for years. It’s a dangerous kind of charm, because it’s the kind of charm I could get attached to. I playfully push at his shoulder.
Max’s space is sleek and efficient– supple leather and polished metal. More modern than I would have guessed. Cream walls and sleek black curtains. His bed is large– like a California King– and a rumpled gray duvet hangs off one end. It’s lived in, with dirty laundry in one corner, and a smattering of personal items all over the dresser top. I spy the doorway to a bathroom at the back.
Along one wall are floating shelves proudly displaying several medals, trophies and framed pictures. I want to linger, looking at them and learning everything I can about Max and his career. But I feel like a creeper, rifling through his room without him.
“Are you sure that I should be in here?” I ask, pulling back.
“Of course. Our rooms are your rooms, our things are your things. We don’t have anything to hide from you– you’re Pack now.”
Loren looks at me with complete conviction.
“Even if I don’t stay?”
His open features close ever so slightly at the edges. “Are you planning on leaving?”
I open my mouth but don’t respond.
How can I articulate the importance of getting us home? Of Molly Beth’s need to see her doctors? And Norah’s desire to go to Stanford? And the lives that Layla and Maddie dropped when all of this happened? My plan to leave isn’t about him ; it’s about taking care of my sisters. About getting us back to our normal, to the freedoms we have as not-Omegas back on Earth.
“I know a lot has happened in a very short time frame,” He says quickly. “How about this: we live as true Pack until you either return to the Conservatory or we bond. That way, we know we’re giving it our best shot.”
“I don’t think I’m ready to…” I say, looking away from him. What does true Pack mean? Is any ounce of trust and closeness worth the inevitable hurt when we part ways?
“We don’t have to rush into anything physical. Usually Omegas are courted and taken on lots of elaborate dates before they come to stay with a potential pack. Like I said, a lot has happened in a short time. So, we start slow, find your pace. But we live like Pack–which means there’s nothing off limits for you.”
I fidget, shifting my weight from foot to foot. Most men I’ve dated were always clear about keeping up boundaries, and I liked that. I didn’t want them too close either, which is why we worked. Until we ended up not working.
“I want to make it clear that my space is not a free for all. I need a place that's away from all of you, where I can escape if I need privacy and alone time,” I say firmly.
“Of course; that’s why Omegas have nests. Alphas don’t enter without permission or if there’s a dire need,” Loren says.
“Oh. Well, good. My room is my nest.”
He nods, then opens another door.
“This is Callum’s bedroom, and his office is next door.”
A massive four-poster bed dominates the center of the space. A plush midnight blue blanket is neatly tucked and folded military style –if their military is as anal retentive about bedding as ours. The walls are a pale blue, with simple white linen curtains, and these accordion style linen blinds that diffuse the light into a soft glow.
Callum favors blues and greens, with several paintings of forests and remote seasides framed on the walls. An overstuffed armchair is tucked into a corner, flanked by a reading lamp and a half-shelf of books. On top of the half-shelf are three books with various bookmarks sticking out of them, a dirty glass of what smells like brandy, and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. I finger the curve of the reading glasses as I take in the room. Like Max’s bedroom, there’s a bathroom at the back, and since his door is wide open, I see that there’s an enormous tub inside, large enough to fit at least four or five grown adults. It might as well be a hot tub.
Well, I am definitely going to be taking advantage of that at some point. If they said I can have anything, I want a soak in that monster of a tub.
The room is surprisingly soft, like a retreat from the hard exterior of the world. I want to linger, to breathe in the lime and fir tree scent of Callum, and curl up in this well-loved chair, and just soak in him .
I force my legs to follow Loren into the hallway. I only let myself peek at Callum’s study –also a pale blue, with a modest desk that’s immaculately clean with ordered files, and a small locking cabinet, no doubt with more files.
“Does he work a lot?” I ask as Loren leads me back out to the hallway.
He sighs. “More than he should. But with you here, I’m hoping that changes.”
“Why would that change for me?”
Few of my other boyfriends ever gave up work for me. Sure, they’d take time off for vacations, or a date night here and there. But, I always chose guys who were driven, who understood my own drive. Part of the excitement was carving out those hot little moments in the course of a busy day. And part of what kept me safe in those relationships –safe from the inevitable heartache– was that I always had all my other responsibilities: the military, my mom as her health declined, and my sisters.
Loren looks at me incredulously. “You’re his Omega. Why would he choose work over you?”
Warmth floods my chest. His words are like a hug directly into my soul. Not that I should care. Not that it should matter –I’m not really their Omega and I’m finding a way to go home. But, the idea that I might be important enough for someone else to change their work habits? Damn, that sounds like pure romance to me.
Which is probably super fucked up.
We descend to the second floor –the one where my room is located– and Loren points out his rooms. Loren’s study shares a wall with my room, and is covered in books and antiques on every available inch. Paintings, thick tapestries, and a smattering of wooden masks dot the walls, which, where they peek through the adornments, are a warm red.
A desk is pushed along one wall, and shelves along two other walls, crammed to bursting with books and other curiosities –like the stuffed head of what looked like a miniature unicorn. I shiver and shuffle away from that shelf, instead picking up what looks like a genuine short sword, complete with a red jewel inlaid in the hand guard.
“I’m a bit of a collector,” he admits with a hint of embarrassment.
“This is amazing,” I say, spinning around the room to take everything in. He blushes, and I can smell his contentment. I’m not sure how, but I know that the warm hints to his scent are pleasure and approval.
Being an Omega is weird.
“I collect artifacts–this is my personal collection, but the university has an extensive one. Some are from important historical moments in Amaata’s history, but many are from Travelers.”
He crosses to one of the glassed-in cabinets and pulls out an elaborate gold cuff. It’s woven from several wide bands of shimmering metal, set with at least a dozen brilliant gems of red and blue. It’s stunning. It looks too big to be a bracelet, and the shape doesn't fit as a necklace of any kind.
“It’s a bicep cuff,” he says as I stare at it. “It was brought by a Traveler from Bargoony. She was a priestess in her homeland, and somehow slid through the worlds to end up here while on one of her shamanic journeys.”
“Oh, so she didn’t fall through like us?”
He shakes his head and hands me the cuff. It’s surprisingly heavy. It feels like there’s a current of living energy crackling within its depths.
“There are many ways through, according to our records. Some cross through what must be portals of some kind. In fact, we’ve identified a few that seem to be pretty stable, bringing Travelers through every hundred years or so. But others seem to slip through with no rhyme or reason. Like you.”
My thoughts jump into high gear. Stable portals? That could mean a way back –I just need to find it.
“Where are these stable portals? Any to our world–to Earth?”
Loren takes the cuff back, wrapping his free hand around mine. “No one has ever returned to their homeland. And those who travel through portals in their world don't end up in the same location here. Trust me, I’ve mapped it. You’re lucky you didn’t wake up in one of the remote mountain villages –they don’t take kindly to Travelers, and have even burned them alive.”
The brief flare of hope cools.
He could be lying. He wants to keep me here. This is still an avenue worth investigating.
But Loren runs a finger over my bottom lip, his gaze soft. Would he lie to keep me?
Something in my gut tells me no.
He clears his throat. “Want to see my rooms?”
I nod, and he tugs me to him, not letting my fingers go. I let him; enjoying the feel of his skin, even if it’s just his hand in mine.
On the other side of his study is Loren’s bedroom. The walls are a rich purple, with thick sage drapes of crushed velvet framing the window. The bed is big, but not as massive as mine or Callum’s. The comforter is plush and a deep wine color. Everything in the space is sensuous –like a romantic escape.
I run a finger along the sheets. “These are silk!”
He smiles, not a blush of embarrassment, but an invitation. “I like soft things,” he says and shrugs. “My father used to joke that I was part Omega.” He says it lightly, but the thinnest cloud passes over his features.
Loren’s room feels like walking into a Lord Byron poem, rich and sultry. All it needs is the flickering light of a dozen candles.
Heat kindles in my belly, spreading down to my thighs. I really want to curl up in those sheets. I want to curl up with Loren. To press my skin against him, to feel the weight of him on top of me.
He squeezes my fingers, coming close to me.
“You’re perfuming,” he says gently.
“Oh.”
I can’t help the way my body reacts. He’s attractive, and this room’s implicit sensuality is triggering all my dumb hormones that are currently screaming at me to get naked and rub myself all over his bedsheets. And all over him.
Loren leans down, nuzzling my neck, marking me with his own scent. “Katie, I promise to go as slow as you need. But if you’re going to keep perfuming in my bedroom, it will be a lot harder for me not to make love to you.”
His words are so careful, so tender. He rubs lazy circles across my back. I look up to gauge his expression, and before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve rolled onto the balls of my feet and my lips are pressing against his. Soft kisses, then a light lick of his tongue. No forcing, just teasing.
My lips part before I can think, and he groans, taking a deeper taste of me.
God, he tastes good. He’s warm, and gentle. And if he walked me back to that bed, I don’t know if I would be able to say no to him.
He cups my chin with both his hands. “You are perfect,” he growls.
It’s just enough to snap me back to my senses. These Omega urges are going to need to chill .
I press him back just enough that our bodies aren’t meshed together. “Not yet,” I breathe.
He licks his lips, not taking his gaze from me. “Okay, my Omega. You set the pace, and your Alphas will follow.”
I nod. My brain wants the pace to be as slow as refrigerated honey, but my body is telling me that it’s as hot as the Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird, racing toward these men at Angush 3.