Chapter Seven
Voss
“Jace, have you acquired the asset for tonight?”
Kingston’s voice cuts through the quiet, shaking me from my thoughts.
I blink, realizing my coffee has gone completely cold in my hand, the ceramic mug warming my palm but offering nothing else.
How long had I been standing here, lost in my own head?
I take a slow sip anyway, ignoring the bitter taste, letting it ground me and pull me back into the moment.
Across the kitchen, Jace stands at the stove, his broad back shifting with each precise movement as he cooks.
He’s shirtless, his usual discipline relaxed in the early morning air, moving with a quiet confidence.
I can see the difference Fallon is having on him.
It’s only been four days with her here, and much of the tension has leaked from his shoulders.
His black joggers sit low on his hips, his body wound tight beneath the surface, always controlled but never at ease.
The bacon sizzles in the pan, hot grease spitting at his skin, but he doesn’t flinch or react. He keeps moving.
Brave man. Or maybe just a stubborn one. Pain is something you learn to ignore after a while. Knowing who his parents were, I can believe he really didn’t notice it.
He barely acknowledges Kingston’s question with more than a grunt, flipping a strip of bacon before responding. “Acquired and placed in the usual asset vault.”
I smirk slightly, shaking my head. The way we talk in code still amuses me, even after all these years. Acquired. Secured. Vault. Neat little terms to make our world seem less brutal than it is. But we all know the truth. We don’t just solve problems. We erase them.
Kingston leans against the island, rolling up his sleeves, his watch catching the light as he fastens it.
He looks like he’s about to end someone’s life with a handshake.
His gray three-piece suit is immaculate, tailored to perfection, and the fabric is practically molded for him.
A red dress shirt peeks out beneath the vest, unbuttoned at the collar just enough to make it look effortless rather than arrogant.
I don’t think a single one of us owns a tie.
He catches me watching him as he finishes adjusting his cufflinks, his lips quirking slightly like he knows exactly where my mind went. I don’t look away. Kingston always knows.
“After we pick up supplies for Fallon’s nest, I have to head into the office.” His voice is smooth. I roll my shoulders, pushing down the feeling creeping up my spine, the one that reminds me I was never supposed to have this. That men like us—men like me—don’t get soft things.
We take. We control. We own.
Fallon is so fucking soft, and all I want is to keep her that way. Keep her happy, keep her from realizing that I don’t deserve her. That none of us do.
My mind drifts back to yesterday, to the way she looked when she shattered that bitch’s wrist like it was nothing. That sharp, dark smile, the way she didn’t hesitate, the absolute certainty in her movements.
I sigh to myself, shifting slightly, almost cursing, when my cock hardens at the memory. I never claimed to be a good man. Something about my omega causing violence? Yeah, that shit does it for me.
“She was disappointed we didn’t get to go out last night,” I murmur, dragging my thumb along the rim of my coffee cup. “Upset that work got in the way.” I exhale, shaking my head. “But damn, if that wasn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen a woman do.”
The others hum in agreement, but a soft giggle breaks through the kitchen before anyone can respond.
We all turn instantly, like fucking animals catching a scent on the wind.
And there she is.
Standing in the doorway, bare-legged, glowing, drowning in one of Jace’s shirts.
I immediately glare at him, and the bastard just smirks, leaning back against the counter like he knew exactly what he was doing. Lucky fucking bastard. I want her in my clothes. I want her wrapped in my scent.
Her blue hair is wild, tangled from sleep. Or Romano, who has a self-satisfied smile, hovers behind her. The look on her face is everything.
Dreamy. Satisfied. Sweet as sin.
Her bright blue eyes shine, still a little dazed, and the scent of honeyed peaches is thick in the air, wrapping around me, making my mouth water.
A sharp pang runs through my chest, and I swallow hard, pushing it down. She can’t scent us. She doesn’t know we’re hers. She still seems uncertain, still hesitant to believe what’s in front of her.
I can’t fucking stand it.
I set my coffee down and stalk toward her, my movements slow, deliberate. She watches me with amusement, but I can see the flash of something else—something curious that makes me want to unravel her.
When I reach her, I don’t hesitate. I lift her up, grinning, when she lets out a surprised squeak before instinctively wrapping those gorgeous legs around my waist.
Mine.
“Good morning, Princess.”
I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in, pressing soft, teasing kisses against her delicate skin.
She’s warm, her scent sinking into my lungs like an addiction I’ll never get over.
My mouth fills with saliva—my canine’s ache.
I want to mark her. Right here. Right now.
She laughs, wiggling in my grip. “Morning, V. That tickles.”
V.
My brain short-circuits for a second, my grip on her tightening just slightly at the sound of it. She gave me a nickname. She tries to tuck her head to her shoulder, but I rub my scruff against her throat, making her shriek with laughter.
Behind me, Kingston chuckles, stepping forward to pry her out of my grip gently. I let him—for now.
She turns into him easily, her small hands curling into his shirt as he presses a lingering kiss to the top of her head. He murmurs something to her, voice too low for me to catch, but whatever he says has her blushing pink.
She beams up at him, and he gives her a soft smile before gently nudging her toward Jace.
Jace doesn’t wait. He scoops her up effortlessly, hands firm, sure, and kisses her so deeply her fingers curl into his hair for balance.
By the time he sets her down on a stool at the counter, she looks dazed, breathless, and completely wrecked. I smirk, running my tongue along my teeth. We’re going to ruin her.
Romano hums cheerfully, already plating food, and within seconds, we’re sitting down, ready to eat.
Fallon takes a bite of eggs and lets out a soft, happy hum, her whole body wiggling slightly in her seat.
“Gods,” she moans, eyes fluttering shut. “This is so yummy.”
Jace just smirked, leaning back in his chair, pleased to see her so happy.
I watch Fallon’s every movement, the slight flick of her wrist as she steals bacon from Kingston’s plate, the way her blue eyes sparkle when she smiles.
I crave her laughter and smiles and the delicate scent of honeyed peaches that now clings permanently to my clothes.
But how can I possibly deserve her sweetness?
A twisted fuck like me, stained with violence, steeped in shadows.
The hands that touch her so gently are the same ones I've used to break bones, to hurt, to destroy.
Yet, despite it all, she looks at me sometimes as if she sees beneath the darkness—as if she could somehow redeem the man I became.
I'm selfish enough to want it desperately, greedy enough to take it. I’d destroy worlds to keep her gaze on me, to ensure she never realizes the truth: I don't deserve her. I never did.
But that won't stop me from holding on to her tight enough to bruise. Because without her, I’m nothing but darkness and ashes, a monster lost in the shadows. With her, even a twisted bastard like me can pretend, just for a moment, that I might be worthy of the love she offers.
Kingston
February 18th
11:36 A.M
The moment we step into Fluffed Up, Fallon’s entire face lights up, and it’s everything I could have hoped for.
The store is massive, a warehouse-sized oasis of comfort, with plush displays and soft, inviting colors.
The scent of lavender and vanilla lingers in the air, mixing with the faintest hint of fresh linen.
Towering shelves are stacked with bedding, blankets, and pillows, while aisles dedicated to candles, bath products, and luxury robes sprawl out in every direction.
Everything here is made for omegas, comfort, safety, and nesting.
I squeeze her small, delicate hand in mine, grounding myself in the warmth of her skin as she takes it all in, her wide blue eyes flicking from aisle to aisle like she doesn’t know where to start.
“Alright, little one.” I keep my voice low, indulgent, full of promise. “There’s no limit. Whatever you want.”
She glances up at me, fingers tightening around mine. “I don’t even know where to start.” Before any of us can respond, movement in our periphery makes us pause.
A woman and a man walk toward us, their presence stopping us in our tracks.
The beta woman is tiny, almost as small as Fallon, her blonde hair twisted into some intricate updo that looks unnecessarily complicated.
Her green dress is fitted and businesslike but softened by the bright expression on her face.
Her matching heels click against the polished floors as she picks up speed.
Beside her, the alpha man is built lean, closer to Voss’ frame—compact but coiled with strength.
His black hair is buzzed short, his sharp features giving him a no-nonsense look that reminds me of someone accustomed to watching and waiting.
His dark eyes flick to us, assessing, before settling on Fallon with obvious familiarity.
“Fallon!” The beta’s voice rings through the store as she rushes forward, throwing her arms around our omega without hesitation.
The man at her side watches her indulgently before nodding at us, his greeting calm and measured. “Hello, Fallon.”