Chapter 9
Asher
If I didn't know any better, I'd say she's trying to get rid of me.
But I do know better. Nothing could have hidden the way she clung to me when I arrived at the club. The strong, sickly sweet perfume smell and the weird plastic coming from her cheap scent-blockers and from some of the strippers working the club—none of it touched her ethereal beauty, and I fucking lost any cool factor I may have pretended to hold onto the moment I saw her.
She smiled, genuinely, and it wasn't until she let herself think, talk herself out of wanting this, for whatever reason, that she stiffened and distanced herself. But her initial, most honest reaction was to lean into me, and I cling to that thought every time she shrugs out of my hold or walks a little faster.
I parked in front of her building and walked to Queenie's, wanting to get a feel for what her life was like. Sully barely contained his fury at the drugs, needles, and trash that littered her walk, let alone his clamorous rage when he found out she worked at a strip club, but Ophelia walked with grace through everything like a benevolent queen.
We didn't make any specific arrangement over who'd be at her place when, only agreeing that one of us would be in front of her building at all times until we figured out why she hid from us for so long and convinced her to move into our estate.
Sully and I argued over who'd pick her up from work, but he got to walk with her this morning, and I've spent the last year pining for her, so in the end, he gave in, but I had no doubt he'd be here tonight whether she was aware of it or not. It was probably for the best anyway, he was in a shit mood, and I worried he'd piss her off when he shared his feelings on her employment.
Ophelia was unlike anything I knew about omegas. They were hardwired to want their alpha to take care of them, or so I thought, but she seemed almost reluctant and uncomfortable. This made my alpha edgy, wanting to fix whatever the problem was, whatever pain plagued her heart.
I want to fix whatever drove her up to that bridge last year, a subject we haven't yet broached.
I'm a little surprised to find Enzo waiting for us at the entrance of her building and even more surprised at the smile she gives him.
Most people recoil from Enzo, omegas especially. There's something off-putting about his personality that the average person can't quite put their finger on but feels nonetheless. He's my brother, and I find his idiosyncrasies endearing, even if I know he's more taciturn than tender. But I love him, and to see our mate smile at him—if I had no other evidence that she was ours, this would prove it.
He's already obsessed with her, but she has no idea what that means for her. He'll creep into her life, fitting into the smallest nook, and when he's burrowed so far deep beneath her skin, only then will she realize it's too late to get rid of him, that he's become a part of her.
That's only good for me and my brothers because whatever made her stay away for a year—and there's no way she didn't know who I was because the Arrow Cove Daily Rag covered the story of me searching the river desperately for the fallen omega for months—and whatever put those sad tears in her eyes and drove her up to that bridge that's making her keep her distance—as long as we have Enzo on our side, she won't be able to dismiss us again.
I don't know why she's mad at me right now when she was so warm and happy to see me initially, but I let her feel whatever she needs. I'm too fucking happy to know she's here. That she's alive and well, and I didn't conjure her up. I didn't dream her.
Theo will take the longest to forgive her. Typically the most easygoing of us four, last night, he dismissed her as being another spoiled omega for bailing on her scent-match so effortlessly. Sully tried to point out how inherently wrong that was and that something else must have happened, but he ignored us and left the house. I'm pretty sure he went out partying late last night, even after we got home from meeting her and sparred in the gym. I can only hope he didn't do something stupid.
Theo will come around.
And so will Ophelia.
"You're so little," I smile down at her as she passes Enzo, leading the way up to her apartment. Sully's the tallest, followed by Theo and me, with Enzo the shortest, still coming in nearly a foot taller than our soft little omega.
She growls, and I'm pretty sure she wouldn't appreciate it if I commented on how adorable her snarl is, either.
I watch her round ass shake as she scurries up the stairs. Enzo does the same, and it's so fascinating considering how little attention he's ever paid to women, or anyone at all, before now.
I do my best to ignore our surroundings, having already prepared myself for the absolute shit box she lives in based on Sully's warnings. She pulls a key out of her backpack and swings the door open.
We follow her in, and she ignores us as she drops her things, working her way through her tiny apartment, grabbing a change of clothes out of her bedroom, and shutting herself away in the bathroom. Enzo pokes around her space, touching everything, cataloging all he can to learn about her likes and dislikes.
We don't talk while the shower runs; instead we wait patiently for her to finish, to deign us worthy of conversation. It's such a trip and so different from how everyone else treats us.
Sully's right. She's perfect. We'll never be bored with Ophelia.
I fiddle with a drawer knob beneath her coffee table, tugging it open, taking the hint from Enzo that the more we can learn about her, the quicker we can convince her to come home with us.
Newspaper and magazine clippings catch my eye. Curious, I pull them out of the drawer and spread them out on the table.
"Fuck," I groan when I read the headlines.
Enzo comes over and sits beside me, looking at all the pages. "Hmm. This explains some things."
All clippings from the Daily Rag and some other magazines, all in the last year. Almost every one is a picture of one of us with a woman on our arm. One piece, particularly worn by fingerprints, was dated only a week after I lost her last year. It was an old photo, but they reprinted it to stir up drama between us and the Rafferty pack, who went to the Rag and leaked that we had a conversation with their daughter at last year's OFA gala. As if one single conversation meant we were courting the girl.
It's untrue; we weren't interested, but this makes it look like we were out courting and dating even after she and I met. I hope she knows it's bullshit; I mean, they were simultaneously printing stories about me wading the river, searching for the lost omega.
I don't notice she's joined us until her scent hits me, her soft lavender blending with the remnants of the sweet scent-block still wearing off.
She purses her lips, red coloring her cheeks, as though she's embarrassed to have been caught showing interest in us, given the pictures we spread out on her coffee table.
"It's not true," Enzo says pointedly. He holds up the worn page from nearly a year ago. "None of this is true. They use old pictures, trying to drum up drama and intrigue. Asher took a month off from work, leaving the river only to sleep, eat and shit. He searched for you relentlessly, even at the expense of his and our pack's health."
I tense beneath her gaze; her lips part. Well, I wasn't planning on telling her all that, so I'll be sure to thank Enzo later, in the gym, with a proper fucking beating.
She takes a deep breath, cheeks still colored, and stomps toward us. Her legs are bare, sleep shorts so short they're hidden beneath the t-shirt, which is nearly translucent now from the long strands of her wet, wavy, dark hair. Ophelia's hips and thighs are thick and round, mesmerizing when she moves. They're all I can think about. How they'd feel wrapped around my low back while I fucked her. Wrapped around my head while I tasted her. Her generous ass shaking while I squeezed it and pounded into her from behind. Her shape is entrancing. I watch everything move and shake as she stomps around the apartment.
I was too dumbfounded last night to appreciate her form, but right now, her nipples are hard, her skin is flushed, and her scent is blooming around us.
But she shows no indication she's interested, quickly gathering the pages, heading into the kitchen, and shoving the news clippings into the trash.
"You don't believe me?" Enzo asks curiously.
She pulls a jug of orange juice out of the fridge and tilts her head back, drinking straight from the carton.
"Greta would strongly disapprove," I chuckle, admiring her long neck.
She snaps toward me, "Who's Greta?"
Enzo laughs, and it's a trip to hear. I've known the man for nearly eight years; I don't think I'd ever heard him truly laugh before Ophelia.
She has no idea what effect she's having on us.
"Greta is our housekeeper. Relax, Ophelia, there's no need to be jealous. She's like a second mother to Sully."
"I'm not jealous," she says petulantly, sitting on the floor opposite us, hiding her body behind the coffee table and resting her elbows on the table.
The collar of her t-shirt is too high to stare down past her neck, but I try, anyway. Oblivious to my perving, she answers Enzo's earlier question. "It's a lot of pictures of women literally hanging off of you. You expect me to believe they're all fake?"
"They weren't all fake," I hedge. Feels like falling on a sword for my asshole brothers for putting me in this position, but it's kind of her fault, too, for not trying harder, for not truly believing in me. I try to explain, "They weren't there. It was you and me up there on that bridge last year."
"So you told them you met your scent-match, but they still went out to meet other omegas?"
"Do you have a right to this indignation, little one? I spent all year looking for you. You, clearly," I point to the now empty coffee table drawer, "knew exactly where I was and never once reached out."
She presses her lips together, and I'm surprised to see her eyes watering in frustration. My alpha roars to take away her pain. "You don't understand what it's like," she whispers, a tear sliding down her cheek.
I attempt to gather her in my arms, but before I can, there's a knock on her door. Enzo stiffens beside me, but Ophelia doesn't seem alarmed. Whoever it is, she's expecting.
Wiping the tear away from her cheek, she glances at us beneath her lashes, trying to make a decision, but the knocking becomes more persistent and aggressive. Finally, she takes a deep breath to brace herself and walks over to the door, opening it without even checking to see who it is.
We'll have to have a long talk about safety, especially when Sully told me she left her house key under her doormat where any common thief could steal it and make a copy or sneak in and hide in wait.
Ideas of ways to punish her bounce around but are immediately forgotten when a large alpha storms into her apartment; Enzo and I stand on alert.
"Phe, why aren't you answering your phone? Jess told me some alpha was sniffing around out back, and another one followed you around the club all night," he bellows before noticing us. Tensing, he grits his teeth, "Babe, you okay?"
Babe?
An actual, feral alpha growl leaves us both, but Enzo's closer, and we barely hear Ophelia's "Oh shit" before he shoves the new alpha against the wall.
The man is taller than Enzo, but he's not taller than me. Regardless, he, like most people, lacks the pure, single-minded intensity Enzo possesses, making the two evenly matched.
The alpha shoves back. The coffee table cracks beneath Enzo's foot before he steps in and throws a whip-fast fist into the unknown alpha's face.
Ophelia throws herself between the two, and I want to spank her ass raw for getting between two fighting alphas, but both care enough about her to notice immediately and separate.
"You want to know why I didn't find you? Besides reading the newspaper every week and seeing your pack members and you—" she pokes her tiny fingers ineffectually into my chest, "Yes, you, Asher, with all sorts of omegas! I didn't know some of those pictures, or only the pictures of you, were old. I was hurt and jealous and scared. But this! This is why I don't date alphas! I'm nothing but a fucking possession to you. I'm not yours."
She shouts at all three of us, though the third alpha is confused, his palms coming up as if he's not deserving of her ire.
I don't bother addressing her anger, which may be valid, but it's nearly one o'clock in the morning, and she has an unbonded alpha visiting her. So, instead, as calmly as possible, I ask, "Mind telling us who this is, little one?" The endearment doesn't soften her, but it does make the new alpha look at us more closely.
"Little one?" He scoffs.
She waves him off, "This is Red."
Enzo's practically snarling, the most emotion I've ever seen him express. He's tense in a way I've never witnessed, and I'm actually a little concerned. We've never needed to test Enzo's control because he's always so steadfast, and, honestly, uncaring, but seeing our omega with this guy sets off all kinds of alarms.
"And who is Red?" I ask through gritted teeth, though the black-haired motherfucker just smirks.
"My friend. My brother," she elaborates.
The man doesn't react, but I point out, "You don't smell related." He's got a leather and oil scent, more industrial. Family members don't smell exactly alike, but there are similarities.
"In name. He's my family," she insists, and the crack in her voice, her distress, has me stepping back. I try to take her into my arms but she steps away, shrugging me off, not letting me comfort her.
Ophelia's omega whimper is physically painful to hear, but I don't want to push her, so I step further into the living room to give us all some breathing room. Her shoulders relax, telling me I did the right thing, though Enzo's still keyed up.
"I'm sorry about your coffee table. I'll replace it," I tell her, trying to break the tension.
"With money, you can replace anything, right?"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," she says tiredly, turning to Red. "I'm fine, Red. Thank you for checking on me."
Red glances at us. "And them?"
"They…" I expect her to dismiss us, to play our connection off like it's nothing. Instead, she's sad, and I want to wipe that expression off her face. I want to know why it's there in the first place. "They're my scent-match. Asher and Enzo. Constantine."
"Holy shit." The guy looks at me under a new light before collapsing on the couch. I like to think that if he were a lover—though I can't entertain the thought because the very idea makes me ragey—if he were a lover, he'd be more upset by this news. Instead, he just seems shocked. Why didn't she tell him we've met if they're so close?
Something passes his expression, though, some kind of understanding, and he looks up at Ophelia compassionately. "I'm sorry, Phe."
"What the fuck are you sorry for?" I snarl.
"If you're asking that, it means you don't know our girl at all." He climbs to a stand and attempts to wrap her in a hug, but my and Enzo's alphas growl so deep and loud that he pauses. She smiles sadly, getting that he can't hug her right now. Not while she's unbonded, not while we're standing right here.
"I'm good, Red. You should go."
"I don't know…"
Enzo and I wait, immobile. He realizes we're not leaving and confirms, "You sure? You're okay?" He looks back at me.
"She's safe with me. Always."
Red laughs. "A Constantine, huh? You really do nothing by halves, Ophelia." And with that, he slips out, but not before telling her to call him later. She agrees, clicking the door shut behind him.
It takes coaxing from me and Ophelia to get Enzo out of the apartment. There's a lot our omega isn't telling us, but we're getting a better picture of her, and it's clear she needs space right now. I thought when an omega was sad, they wanted their alphas to make the pain go away. Her reactions are confusing, but I'm not an idiot; she's still human, despite the pedestal I've shoved her up on, and her asking us to give her space for the night needs to be respected.
Enzo refuses to leave her building, though, so I stay with him until Sully shows up a few hours later.