Chapter Skye
Skye
Fury’s hand is warm in mine, his long fingers calloused and rough from his job.
I don’t trust them, I barely know them. Even with my Omega rattling in her cage and demanding that they’re our soulmates and that we are desperate for a pack, I can’t risk it.
How did my mother deal with this for so many years?
I wonder if her Omega cried out for the contact, the need to pull them towards us, and be touched.
Instincts are wild things, and it’s ridiculous how willing mine are to pull me towards these strangers.
I expect them to pull me from the couch, to do…
Something. But instead, Fury holds my hand and gestures with the other like he’s a king summoning part of his court.
Atlas is on his feet in a flash, a startled yelp escaping at his suddenly towering form.
Ducking his head, he looks away, showing a submissiveness that I never expected from such a massive Alpha.
“Crawl.” Fury’s command isn’t a bark this time, far from the demand that shot Lucas back down onto the sofa.
Like a puppet with the strings cut, Atlas drops to the floor.
Holy… Fuck… I want to say I’m unmoved, still concerned about how Alphas treat Omegas, but the way those colossal shoulders swing as he crawls to me.
The way the muscles in his thighs and ass flex is like absolute art.
Clearly, I’m not the only one who thinks that because Clay gives an appreciative whistle and Teddy nods in agreement as they stare at their pack mates’ rear. Though Lucas grumbles.
“I am trying to eat. I don’t need your asshole in my face, carzino.
” The jaguar snaps, thudding his foot against Atlas’ thigh, but the Alpha keeps coming, eyes locked on the carpet.
At my feet, he stops, lifting onto his knees, keeping his hands firmly pressed to his thighs.
I look to Fury, who nods approvingly and clutches my hand.
“Touch him,” He says calmly, “Omegas need to touch, and I think you need to realize how badly you need this. So touch him, wherever you want. He won’t do a thing in return unless you ask. Pet him, poke him, scratch him, bite him, he’s at your command.”
That is… A lot of power to give me.
The first touches are tentative, fingertips brushing the soft sandy hair on top.
Longer there, then fading as it goes down, it suits the giant in front of me and gives him a sort of edgy-punk look.
His chest compresses deeply as he breaths all the tension from his body, trembling to stay still and not lean into my petting hands.
Scratching down his neck, I can’t help but smile at the quiet, contented sigh escaping him and his eyes shutting.
Maybe I could take this chance, get to know them a little.
“Take your time, Omega. Why don’t you want to eat?” Fury purrs, scooping a little of everything onto my plate and letting go of my hand to replace his with a fork, “Keep petting Atlas, too, or don’t.”
Wetness gathers in my eyes, and I gulp down the lump in my throat.
Who is this emotional Omega who’s petting a whole, massive Alpha in front of her, and being handed all sorts of Italian food on a plate to pick at?
Fisting the locks in my hand, I tug on them.
Atlas looks up, pure worship in his stormy eyes, as though he’d lick the dirt from my feet if I only asked him, but he’s my rock as I talk to the other men around me, “I’m not your average Omega, obviously.
” There's a ripple of amusement around the room that makes me want to pout, “I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice that I’m…
Not skinny, or at least, I’m way fluffier than an Omega usually is.
” Understatement of the century. Omegas are supposed to be curvy, to have ‘good birthing hips’ and all that shit, but I took it a little further.
The blanket wasn’t just to hide my nudity, but the way my boobs sagged across my chest when I sat, how the rolls of my belly gathered.
I’d been told enough as a teen how unattractive it was, and my father kept the snide comments through the years about how hard it would be to find Alphas who wanted me.
It took a few times of sneaking out to parties before it sank in that he was at least partly right.
“More cushion for the pushin’,” Clay snorts, giving Theo an affectionate squeeze.
The Beta isn’t in peak fitness like the other Alphas, and Clay is particularly soft around his middle as well.
I wonder if they’re as conscious of it as I am.
His expression dulling tells me that he is.
He has such an expressive face, stubble lining his jaw, and it changes to appreciation as he leans up to kiss the Alpha on the cheek.
The comment makes me laugh at him; it’s not something I’ve heard before, “I was on some pretty strict meal plans at home and in the facility… So I’m not used to my meals really being anything but plain brown stuff.
This looks luxury and I’m not entirely sure what I’ll like and if I’ll waste it.
” Nevertheless, I try a bit of the lasagna, unable to hold back the long groans that escape as cheese and beef hit my taste buds.
Throats clear around the room, and I glance around to see them adjusting themselves, tugging at zippers or pulling pillows over their crotches.
“Pfft, subtle,” I giggle, and at once feel so much lighter.
Is this really what pack life would be like?
Nights on the sofa, eating dinner together, whilst we talk nonsense to each other, doesn’t seem so bad at all.
My hand clenches in Atlas’ hair again, and I card my fingers through the locks, looking down at him, “You’re really pretty, you know that? ”
Atlas’s face scrunches, looking thoughtfully confused for a moment before answering, “Can’t say I’ve been called pretty before, and I’ve been called a lot of things. Atty, handsome, there was that one Beta that called me God—“
“Atlas!” Echoing raucous laughter around the room takes me with it, curling over my aching belly and nearly snorting my next forkful of food, seeing the poor Alpha look around innocently at what he’s done to deserve the berating. Too precious for this world.
With a few more bites, I settle into the easy conversation that passes around the room.
Lucas is tense, glowering at his plate between mouthfuls, dropping loaded looks at Atlas, though I can’t work out what’s going on in his mind.
He seems angry, but not at anything or anyone in particular.
This is nowhere near what my father had described packs as—animals all lusting after their Omega, with any excuse to mount them—and definitely nowhere near some of the monstrous stories I’d heard from other Omegas at the auctions.
Some of them had returned with bandages around their throats and wrists, where Alphas had broken contract and torn into them.
This, this is closer to a family like my grandmother taught me.
“How did you all meet?” I don’t direct it to anyone in particular, and Atty picks up the conversation.
“Clay and I run the activities center down the road,” Atlas says, resting his head on my leg after asking permission so sweetly, and my fingers migrate to scratch through his beard.
His purr rumbles through my leg, pressed against his chest. We are still ignoring the persistent erection that is occasionally tapping against his stomach, demanding attention.
This is really nice. Just feeling the warmth against me settles my Omega and wolf, both resting easily and comfortably when I should be panicking about having my legs pinned, “I run the ground stuff with the younger kids, Clay does the rope work and zip lines, and we have staff too.”
Clay’s nodding along, “We bought the place after we joined the pack, would you believe I found this idiot wandering alone out in the wilderness by himself? He was in his wolf form, then shifted back to ask me for directions, which nearly scared me out of my mind. Went to a cafe for lunch after I put him in my spares, we met Luc on his work break, and knew we were pack, the rest is history.”
My brows furrow, “How did you avoid the council on your asses after revealing to humans?”
“The rules don’t count as long as you file pack paperwork. Basically means that if they say or do anything that risks revealing… We have to be the ones to enact justice.” Fury is grim, but he’s sitting back in that relaxed slouch he seems to favor, “Lot more mixed packs than you think.”
“They have already told you I’m a surgeon at the local hospital,” Lucas grumbles, picking at his food, “easier when my patients can’t talk back.”
I choke a laugh, covering my mouth so Atlas doesn’t wear my dinner, “Yeah, that sounds like you. It lets you help without anyone seeing that you like to help.”
Despite the low growl that fills the room, there’s a touch of what I think could be amusement in his molten eyes.
Teddy shuffles in his seat, having already finished his food and getting comfortable with Clay on the big love seat, “I was born here, this is the Amberwood plot, used to be a massive cattle ranch, but not anymore. Sold off the cattle a year or so ago, so I just keep some chickens and the horses now.” He taps the metal beneath his pants.
I felt the prosthetic when I sat on his lap, but I didn’t dare ask about it.
His coffee scent takes on this awful tinge when he touches it, and he’s clearly not happy about it: “Clay’s a darling and helps sometimes, Fury too.
” He leans up to peck him again, chuckling as the other man tempts him into a proper kiss.
Damn. Perfume floods the room in a wave of rum mixed with coffee and pepper, and I dip my head to hide the blush.
Clay groans against Teddy’s lips, dropping his forehead against him.
“Oh, she likes that.”