3. Cas #2
Too close. I can’t breathe.
“Cas?” Nathan, this time. “Are you okay? Shit, Kato, run and get Niall. He’s having some sort of turn.”
“No!” I don’t mean to shout. It was meant to be a whisper. It might have been a whisper. I don’t know. All the noises I hear are filtered, as if they’re coming from behind thick glass.
“Hey, hey,” Nathan says soothingly. He’s crowding close.
It should make me want to run, to hide, to cower.
But instead I lean into him. I can’t help it.
His calming, solid, alpha presence makes the omega part of me sing in ways I didn’t know were possible.
Even if I don’t truly believe he’s real, I fall for it.
Because not falling seems like an impossible task.
But no. No, no, no. I can’t. He feels real, but he can’t be.
I shuffle backwards as far as I can, cowering away even as my body yells at me to do the exact opposite.
And the hurt expression on Nathan’s face just about does me in.
His hands stay over the blanket. Not making contact, though, just hovering impotently in the air.
He could get to me, of course. This is a big bed, but I’m not out of reach. He’s holding himself back, I realise. I can tell by the flex of his muscled forearms, his thick veins pulsating. I’m instantly mesmerised by them.
“Cas?” Kato asks tentatively. “Are you still with us?”
Nope. I’m too busy navigating the duelling feelings of utter fear and overwhelming lust. This activated omega side of me doesn’t seem to understand that nice forearms and warm eyes aren’t a good enough reason to trust someone.
Nathan cocks his head slightly. “Cas,” he says in a low, commanding tone, full of the alpha dominance that’s coming off him in waves.
I want to drown myself in it. In him. A sharp inhale is the only thing that steals my attention away.
Kato’s eyes are wide, black suffusing the hazel as his pupils dilate.
His own pheromones respond to Nathan’s, dancing in the air together.
They’re not battling for dominance—it’s clear that Nathan is the stronger alpha—but they’re feeding each other.
The mix of two different flavours of heady domination sends signals to my body that my synapses can’t quite figure out what to do with.
The smell hits us all at the same time, and it takes me a few seconds to understand what has the alphas stilling in sync. It’s me. More specifically, my slick. I only realise what it is because I can feel it—the wetness dripping from my hole and soaking into the bedsheets underneath me.
Embarrassed tears well in my eyes before I can will them away.
“Oh, no, please don’t do that,” Kato says, panic in his voice.
“What Kato means to say,” Nathan says softly, “is that there’s no need to get upset.”
Kato grimaces. “Yes, that’s what I meant. It’s fine! You’re fine. No need to cry! As my o-dad always says, no use crying over spilled slick.”
I gape at him, my mortification fading as I’m distracted by the sheer ludicrousness of this statement. Nathan’s lips press together so hard his face goes a little red with the effort.
And then I do something I don’t expect. I laugh. It bubbles out of me, a delighted sound that takes me—and Nathan and Kato, judging by their expressions—by surprise.
Laughter isn’t something I’ve heard in a long time. The worst part is I don’t recall the exact last time—countless nights spent combing my memories to pinpoint when it might have been, only to come up short each time.
Kato’s got a goofy smile on his face, which I think is the only reason I don’t start crying again. He looks nice when he smiles. Carefree. His eyes light up to match the brightness of his grin, and that’s when I feel my own lips tug into one too, like I’m helpless not to imitate him.
“You have dimples,” Kato says, almost in wonderment. Like he’s never seen one before in his life.
And because I have some odd desire to please him—to make him happy, to see that smile spread further across his face—I press a finger to my left cheek, right where I know a dimple sits. “Here?” I ask.
He reaches out slowly, giving me plenty of time to deny him. I don’t. I stay still as he presses a finger into the divot in my other cheek, my skin igniting at the contact. “And there,” he says.
Nathan’s hand twitches, as if he too wants to touch me but is holding himself back. I would let him, just like I let Kato. More than that, though, I want him to.
They’re strangers. I’m sitting in a stranger’s bed, in a strange place, and yet I trust them.
A voice inside me is whispering gentle words of encouragement.
My wolf, my omega wolf is urging me to grab hold of these alphas now and never let them go.
His whispers turn to whines as Kato withdraws his hand, and I tell my wolf to be quiet.
He knows better than anyone why we can’t do this.
I was running for a reason, and that reason hasn’t disappeared. He could be after me right this second. Even if he isn’t, whatever he’s done to me might spell my end anyway, if I let these alphas take what they want from me—what all alphas want from omegas.
“I have an idea,” Kato announces, rubbing his hand like the feel of me left something behind. “Why don’t we run you a bath? You’ll feel much more like yourself, right?” He glances at Nathan. The other alpha rumbles his assent, his honey-brown gaze yet to stray from mine.
“A bath,” I say fervently, latching right onto the idea. “Yeah. Thank you. That sounds great.”
The bedroom has three doors—one, left open, leads out to a hallway I can partially see.
Nathan points to the second and tells Kato to start running the water, so it must be the en suite.
Kato does as bid, leaving with a lingering glance back at us before disappearing through the door, the sound of running water following seconds later.
Inclining his head at the third door, Nathan says, “Adrian offered to bring you some of his clothing later today. That there’s the walk-in wardrobe. Use it to store whatever you need, and I’ll find something appropriate in the meantime.”
I frown a little at that. It’s not like I mind wearing his shirt. In fact, I think I prefer it to some complete stranger’s clothing.
These alphas are also strangers, I remind myself.
It feels oddly like a lie.
In the bath, once I finally sink into the steaming water, I begin to feel more like myself.
I’m still hyperaware of them, my body somehow attuned to them and the weight of their obvious desire even though they’re out of sight.
I can feel them somewhere in the house, looking for those elusive clothes that will fit me—a laughable concept, given they’re both enormous compared to me, especially Nathan.
And it’s so alien, this sensation, my own desire responding in kind. I’ve never felt anything like it before because I’m now this thing I am not supposed to be.
I am not an omega, I’m not.
“Please stop,” I hiss frantically to my traitorous body that is still oozing slick, even submerged. “Just stop.”
It doesn’t. This is what it’s supposed to do now, I think.
React to the alphas in the vicinity like a tuning fork, humming and vibrating the closer they get, making me far more eager than I ever would be in my right mind.
And I’m definitely not. This has robbed me not just of my body but my brain too.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Try not to think about it too hard.
But okay—I have to take inventory. It’s unavoidable as I wash the blood and grime from my abused skin, trying not to linger too long on any one part of my body.
Bruises here, scrapes there, things that will heal.
But the one that will not is the large, ugly, misshapen scar that spans me hip to hip.
I can count every stitch that once held it so imprecisely closed.
Despair yawns open in me like an abyss and I have to chase it away once more. Don’t think.
I nearly jump out of my skin when someone—Nathan, identifiable not just by scent but by the sheer heat of his dominance, radiating through the door like a hot oven—knocks. “Cas,” he says. “I’ve got some clean clothes for you.”
“Okay.” I hate how frightened I sound. How high-pitched my voice is.
“I’ll leave them outside the door.”
I note the strangeness of this gesture. Shifters aren’t usually shy of nudity, even amongst strangers. It’s not considered a violation. If he had come right in, I wouldn’t have necessarily minded.
Playing it safe, I guess.
I climb out of water that has turned the murky colour of an old bruise, pull the plug to let it drain, then dry myself off and crack the door enough to grab the pile of clothes.
It’s a pair of joggers and matching hoodie that smell like they belong to Kato.
Hopelessly too big, but when I tie the drawstring on the trousers as tight as it’ll go, they won’t fall.
I chance a glance at myself in the mirror, then grimace and look away.
In the kitchen I find both alphas waiting—Kato at the small table and Nathan by the sink—and the moment I enter they prick their metaphorical ears and seem to resist the urge to leap to their feet and crowd me.
I’m glad they do. Their presence is already overwhelming enough, the air vibrating with it.
Kato kicks out the chair across from him. “Sit,” he says. “Bet you’re exhausted.”
I do without argument. Nathan immediately serves me a cup of freshly made tea, milky and sugary and comforting. They both watch me expectantly as I sip it, and immediately I feel a degree or two more myself. Whoever that is anymore.
“Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?” Nathan asks.
My shoulders stiffen. “I guess,” I mumble, my hands closing around the mug. It’s hot, but not enough to make me let go.
And then Kato starts in. “We’ll start with the basics. How old are you?”
My gaze flicks to his—an arresting mix of brown, gold, and green—then back down to the tea. I examine the liquid surface as if it is very interesting indeed. “Twenty-four.”
“Oh. A baby,” Kato says.