Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Life as the mate and manager of a chart-topping Omega artist is chaotic at the best of times. There are always emails needing responses, employees calling with questions, and fans waiting to meet their idol.
Managing it all gives me migraines, but the pain is worth keeping my Omega safe. I would tackle any task if it meant she was happy, healthy, and unharmed.
Which is why I have to hide a scowl as she rushes to meet me at the door to our Los Angeles home. The smile she gives me is brittle, and she doesn’t quite meet my eyes.
Gripping the back of her neck, I rub a thumb across her throat, checking her body temperature and gauging the tension in her muscles. Her skin doesn’t feel warmer than normal, but her body is rigid, the weight of responsibility settling too heavily on her shoulders.
What my Omega needs is to destress, not to push her limits in the studio.
Opening the passenger door, I help her slide onto the seat and buckle her in. She rolls her eyes halfheartedly, soft pink lips twitching in amusement. I brush my cheek against hers, scent-marking her. Her relieved puff of air against my cheek solidifies my change in plans for the day.
No more stressing over albums or shows.
Today is for pampering.
Skye’s rich, musky floral scent fills the car as I shift us into gear, my palm falling to rest on her thigh just below her white shorts. Her fingers play with mine as we drive into the city. It’s adorable the way she draws aimless patterns onto my skin, her eyes closed and head tilted back.
After we hit the highway, I roll her window down, knowing how much she loves to feel the air across her face.
“You missed the exit,” she mumbles, not bothering to open her eyes as we continue further into the city.
“I know.”
That has her eyes popping open, those stunning green orbs narrowing at me. Her lips part, words of protest sitting on her tongue, but I silence her with my finger. “No arguments, Omega.”
Frowning, she licks my finger, making me glare at her from the corner of my eye. What a brat. Still, she doesn’t argue. Calling her by her designation lets her know I’m speaking as her Alpha, not as her manager or her friend.
Two hours later, I guide her down the sidewalk toward her favorite spa. One perk of her celebrity status that I put to regular use is a standing booking at Paradise Creek. It’s essential for days when her stress levels exceed a manageable range.
Like when she’s been working herself to the bone to put out an album after a successful world tour and without a break in between.
It’s my fault for not putting my foot down sooner, but saying no to her is difficult when I witness firsthand how passionate she is about her music.
“A spa day?” she asks as I push open the door and follow her inside, my hand resting on the small of her back.
“You need pampering.”
She chews on her lip, forcing me to free the abused flesh before she can hurt herself. “But the album—”
“Can wait,” I cut in, my tone gentle but insistent.
Her shoulders slump, the true level of her exhaustion finally surfacing as she lets her mask drop. “Okay, but we’re going to the studio tomorrow.”
“I do not make promises I cannot keep, Omega,” I remind her.
An attendant leads us to a private changing room where we slip into soft robes and store our phones in lockers. I text our packmates letting them know where we are if they need to reach us.
“What would you like to do first, darling? Massage, mud bath, mani-pedis?”
Skye twists her hair up into a messy bun, the tie pinched between her teeth. After she slips it onto her wrist and secures the platinum blonde strands, she grins.
Mud baths it is.
The concept isn’t something I’ve ever found appealing, but she enjoys it, so I don’t complain.
Sun-baked sandstone floors complement the textured cream walls, but the real focal point of the room is the massive terracotta tub.
Hanging her robe on a wall hook, Skye groans as she steps inside, slowly sinking into the thick gray mud.
I quickly join her, keeping her pressed close to my side in case she starts to doze.
Weight wraps around my body as I settle on the tub’s bottom, like a weighted blanket that smells earthy and sulfuric. It isn’t suffocating, but I don’t relish the pressure the way my mate does.
After a long stretch of comfortable silence, she whispers, “I lost three pounds this weekend.”
Releasing a long breath, I press my lips to her head, trying to find words to reassure her. Nothing I can articulate will cut through the worry clogging her thoughts.
Her weight is a battle we’ve faced for years now. Special diets, nutritionist visits, rigorous gym programs to build muscle, therapy—we’ve tried it all, but nothing helps. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t gain and keep any weight.
At first, she laughed it off. Blaming her stage routines and hectic lifestyle as she emerged in the music world. Then the anxiety started. The binge eating and wearing baggy clothes to hide her body. She spiraled hard, making herself sick enough to require tours to be rescheduled.
When she met the rest of our pack, I had hoped they could help her learn to love her body, but their efforts have been fruitless.
She doesn’t see a petite woman in the mirror.
She sees a number on a scale that refuses to move.
“We can find a new doctor?” I suggest.
Her head shakes, hair tickling my chin. “I’m exhausted, Q. Tired of trying to be comfortable in my own skin. I have to accept the truth: I’ll never love myself the way other Omegas do.”
The defeat in her voice breaks my heart, but I don’t argue with her decision. It isn’t my body, and I won’t force her to continue searching for hope when she believes there is none.
That doesn’t mean I won’t stop researching. An answer awaits her somewhere; we just haven’t found the right clue to lead us to it yet.
“I’m ready to rinse off now.” She slowly pushes her way up through the mud and glances down at me. “Separate showers, or would you like to join me?”
Keeping my eyes locked on hers, I grit my teeth and pull myself out of the mud. “I will gladly join you, but I cannot promise—”
She presses her lips to mine, silencing me with a quick kiss. “You know I never expect anything from you, Alpha.”
Following her into the attached room, I help her rinse the mud from her skin. This would be the perfect opportunity to slide my fingers between her thighs and bring her pleasure. Any of her other mates would do exactly that, but there is no spark of desire within me.
Arousal is different for me. Most times, all I feel at the thought of sex is indifference. There’s no biological need to breed to send me into a rut or urge me to drag my Omega off to lock her on my knot.
When Skye first expressed interest in me, I thought she would balk at my asexuality. What Omega would willingly accept an Alpha who might not be able to service them during their heat?
Yet my tiny star never blinked when I explained it. She was interested in me, not what my body could offer her.
After we are mud-free and redressed in our robes, we find our attendant and head into another room for massages. We don’t speak, enjoying the feel of our already relaxed muscles losing their remaining tension.
Seeing her sleepy-eyed on the table next to mine brings a smile to my lips. Despite the worry in her bond, she’s not nearly as stressed as she was this morning.
Gliding my fingers along her shoulder blade, I guide her to the front of the salon for our next treatment. Today has been good for her, but I believe a long break is necessary in my Omega’s future.
Our pack leader, Onyx, calls as we get our mani-pedis. “What happened?”
His gruff voice rattles through my phone, and I’m glad I decided not to put it on speaker. Skye would feel bad if she heard his concern. It’s natural for him to worry as her Alpha, but convincing her of that is difficult.
“Same as usual,” I comment lightly, trying not to draw her thoughts back to her weight struggles. Though I doubt she would notice since she is busy choosing polish colors for our nails.
Onyx grunts, speaking to the others in the background. “We’re finished at the studio and heading home. Should we grab food on the way, or is Sterling cooking?”
“Hold on.” Leaning over, I grab Skye’s attention.
“Darling?”
She beams at me, holding up a hot pink bottle. She’s lucky I live to indulge her, because it will clash with my warm honey skin tone.
“Onyx wishes to know what our dinner plans are?”
Her lip sucks in, teeth worrying it as she considers her answer. “It’s going to be a bit before we make it home.”
Raising a brow, I reply, “You know they’ll wait for you.”
Her smile softens. “If they don’t mind, something homemade would be amazing. Maybe those grilled fish packets Sly made a few weeks ago?”
Relaying her request to Onyx, he asks me to let them know when we leave so they can have it ready for our mate when we get home.
“We’re going to match.” she happily announces, showing me her dainty little toes that are already adorned with the same color the manicurist is applying to mine.
“I would say we’re twins, but that would be awkward since we’re mated,” I tell her blithely.
Watching her light up fills my heart with joy, and it reminds me to pull Onyx aside tonight and speak with him about a long break from the music world.
Whatever strings I have to pull, I’m getting my mate away from the stage for a while. She needs a few months to breathe without the weight of fame resting on her shoulders.
Walking into our house, we’re met with the heavenly aroma of butter, spices, and pack.
Laughter rings from the open-concept kitchen, where our family gathers. Skye lights up when she sees them, rushing to the counter to throw herself into Onyx’s arms. He catches her, hands slipping to her ass to help hold her against his chest as she buries her face against his throat.
“Missed you, bubbles.”