Chapter 49
forty-nine
“Your mate is diabolical.”
It’s a stupid joke—and I can’t even deliver it properly. Instead of sharp sass, grim chagrin infuses my voice.
Atlas casts a heavy glance across the beautiful table, full of breakfast food. “So it would seem.”
That’s just the thing, though. If I didn’t know Violet, I would assume she had done this as some sort of ploy. But now that I do…
She really did this… for us.
For me, I think.
While we were in our art room yesterday, I mentioned how often Atlas used to take me into the city for dates. When she asked why we hadn’t gone anywhere recently, I had to remind her that the half-bond keeps Atlas from leaving the manor.
Leaving her.
This is another apology. Cooking me brunch to enjoy with her mate. Graciously excusing herself and slipping outside. Staying close enough for him to eat without being in pain. While also giving us time and space, like always.
That new, deep-seated sensation springs to life again, swelling to fill my center. I don’t know what it is, but it leaves my eyes tingling and quickens my pulse.
Ever the gentleman, Atlas drapes my napkin across my lap before serving me two slices of French toast. I wonder who told her it’s my favorite.
Probably Finn. Based on the look on my alpha’s face, he’s just as blindsided—and touched—by this as I am.
He takes my hand and squeezes, bringing my knuckles to his lips. His stubble raises the fine hairs on the back of my neck as he slants me a warm look. “This is a lovely surprise. I’ve been missing our dates, little prince.”
He runs his focus over my face, my chest, my arms. It snags on the beaded bracelet around my wrist.
Oh.
Shit.
Atlas gently grips my forearm, bringing my new bauble closer to his face for inspection. “Violet made it for me,” I mutter, trying to play the whole thing off with an eye roll.
As if I didn’t spend a damn hour making her one in return… and then went into a full-on spiral when I snuck into her bedroom to drop it off.
“Hmm,” Atlas hums dryly. “What about the one she was wearing?”
Motherfucker.
This is the problem with having such a smart man.
I shift in my seat, grumbling, “It wasn’t that hard.” I reach into my pocket and retrieve his. Compared to Violet’s, the thing is hideous—but I think a vindictive part of me did that on purpose, given he was the one who insisted I try crafting in the first place. “Here. This one is yours.”
He takes it from me with a visible bolt of surprise. “Thank you,” he replies automatically, pinching it between his larger fingers. “It’s, ah…” He coughs. “Very eclectic. Violet’s seemed more… traditional.”
God bless the man for his tact. I snort, flashing a sarcastic smile. “That’s because I made yours first, Daddy. I wasn’t, like, attempting some sort of statement with the mismatched beads and uneven knots or anything…”
Atlas huffs a laugh. “Of course not. You would never.” His brows lower. “Although I also thought you’d never sit still long enough to make something pretty like Violet’s.”
“Hers took an hour,” I burst. “I must have restrung it ten times.”
Atlas tilts his head, homing his bottomless attention directly onto me. Narrowing his focus, letting it linger. Seeing far too much.
Oh fuck.
I fidget again, doing my best not to recall how I felt when I dropped the token off in Violet’s room and found her—heard her—
Realization gleams in Atlas’s eyes. My stomach sinks. He sees everything, damn it. My embarrassed blush, the way I squirm. And my traitorous scent, darkening with chagrin while simultaneously soaring.
“You like her.”
He says it with a note of vindication, like he’s finally discovered an impossible answer for one of his crossword puzzles. As if he’s known for a while that something was happening, but he just couldn’t figure out what.
Hearing the words out loud is enough to make me balk. “What?! Me??” I demand. “Are you insane? I love you.”
He nods slowly. The corners of his mouth twitch. “Yes, I know you do. But you also like Violet.” A knowing glimmer touches his gaze. “Don’t you, little prince?”
Motherfucking HELL.
I think I might.
I think I do.
That must be what this fizzy, foaming madness in my middle is. I like Violet. As a person and a friend and a fellow omega.
And, if my reaction last night is any indication, most definitely as a woman, as well.
When the color drains from my face, Atlas shifts closer, purring low. “I’m only teasing. It’s okay to be attracted to her, love,” he assures. “I would never hold your body’s natural reactions against you.”
Which is mighty charitable of him, considering I’m not sure I could say the same.
Or, at least, I couldn’t say the same, before this fiasco…
Shame creeps into my essence and winds a loop around my neck, choking me. Atlas’s expression softens.
“I trust you completely,” he murmurs. “I know you would tell me if there was anything I needed to know. We don’t have to talk about what you like about her, specifically, or how much. Unless… you think we should.”
His scent shifts, betraying how intrigued he is by the notion of listening to me detail my attraction. That idea clearly turns him on, but instead of pursuing it, he takes my flabbergasted silence as a reply and pivots to give me reprieve. “Here, have some more fruit. You need to eat, and so do I.”
Atlas plates his own food, lifting the eggs Benedict platter as he goes. It all looks incredible. Almost enough to distract me from the sudden image of Violet in an apron and little else, floating around our kitchen like some sort of fallen angel who maybe lost her clothes, somehow, and—
Fuck.
No.
I slant my Omega an are-you-insane glare, which he ignores, shoving back a perfect audio recording of Violet’s breathy moan. My cock kicks in my slacks.
Goddamn it.
Atlas clearly finds my stupid, irrational crush on another omega endlessly endearing. He smiles to himself, pretending not to sense my perfume as he moves plates around and serves us both more food.
When he lifts a bowl of fruit salad, I spot a piece of paper underneath and pluck it up, hoping it might provide some sort of distraction.
But, no.
My fingers go numb, clutching the thick page in a quivering grasp. Atlas leans in closer. Intensity snaps in his dark eyes as they trace the image clasped in my hand.
To call it a “sketch” is quite insulting, actually. It may be done in simple pencil strokes, and there isn’t any color to it, but it’s a masterpiece.
Violet’s masterpiece.
Her drawing clearly depicts this very kitchen table.
It’s bare, in the image, aside from a folded newspaper and a cup of coffee on top.
Atlas’s, of course. Sitting beside my abandoned cell phone and iced latte.
The rest of the background details are blurred on purpose, meant to draw the viewer’s attention to the couple at the center of the scene.
To Atlas, with his hand clasped around my nape. To me, with my fingers splayed on his broad chest, shooting him a sardonic smirk. His brows are quirked behind his glasses, silently replying with a reproachful look that appears hopelessly fond, given the warm curve of his lips.
It’s…
Us.
Perfectly imperfect. With Atlas’s wavy hair in disarray and soft shadows under my eyes. Captured during an instant I don’t even remember—something so routine, it didn’t occur to me to mark it in my mind.
Which is sort of her point, right?
Because if a boring morning I’ve already forgotten can be this beautiful…
I hear Atlas swallow. He turns to scent-mark my temple. His chest rattles with a purr as he rasps, “That’s you and me, little prince.”
Fuck me for being on the verge of tears right now. Atlas deepens his rumble, sighing before he adds a solid beat of alpha power. “I’m glad to see she understands.”
I force my chaotic emotions down, croaking, “Understands?”
Atlas catches my eye, pure steel glinting in his. “That every second I spend with you is precious. Even the mundane ones.”
Shit. I’m not going to make it.
Sniffling, I hold the paper closer to my face, examining her work. A soul-deep sort of certainty clicks into place.
I’m pretty sure Atlas is mistaken. I don’t think she was trying to show him she understands why he has to reject her. I think she gave this to us so I could see how much this man clearly adores me. Sharp edges and all.
She wants me to believe—because she thinks I deserve to.
A hoarse lump swells in my throat. “We should frame this.”
Atlas’s gaze turns quizzical. His brow knits as he hesitantly agrees, “Yes. I think we should.”
The new squirm in my middle returns. I ignore it, stabbing a strawberry with my polished silver fork.
What is it Finn always says about choosing your moment when you want something? Well, there won’t be a better time than now…
“I’ve been thinking,” I mumble, chewing. “About Violet’s heat…”
I can’t tell whether it was the wrong thing to say, or the wrong moment to say it. Either way, every ounce of air between us suddenly evaporates. Atlas’s coffee-and-cream essence burns to a melted muck, but his body locks into rigid stillness.
“Her heat?” he repeats.
I purposefully avoid looking at him, hoping he won’t see the flush on my cheeks. “Yeah. We don’t know when it will hit, right? Because it’s her first?”
I swear, the grinding gears in his mind are practically audible as he replies, “Correct…”
I stuff some cinnamon-soaked bread in my mouth. Damn, that’s good. “Well,” I go on, mouth full. “I know we originally said you wouldn’t be in there with her for it, but I was wondering—won’t that hurt her? And you?”
It’s a bullshit question, and we both know it. It was understood, when we hashed out this entire sordid situation, that her heat would be agony for all of us.
Because I couldn’t let Atlas be with her without wanting to peel my skin off.
And he couldn’t betray me.
I hear that same steadfast determination now as he hedges, “It won’t be ideal, of course, but I think we’ve all made our peace with that.”
I turn to face him all at once, snapping my gaze to his. Attempting to keep my voice and expression as neutral as possible. “Have you? Because I’m not sure how I feel about it, at this point. It was one thing when we didn’t know her. But now… It will hurt her, At. Can we honestly live with that?”
I watch him have the same thoughts I have—all the times that sweet girl has bent herself into a pretzel to keep everyone else comfortable. How she holds onto that insane hair for Ryker, and does her best to laugh with Finn.
Encouraging me to try to make peace with my Omega… letting Atlas all but ignore her without so much as whining…
She’s an angel.
How can we tear her wings off and walk away?
Pain creases Atlas’s square face. “It will be… difficult,” he grits. “But there are things that can help.”
Suppressants, sedation. For weeks, I’ve told myself I was okay with all of that.
Now, the seething at my center roils, rising higher. “Yeah,” I manage. “I guess you’re right. I was just… I think it’s something for us to think about.”
Atlas’s large, warm palm cups my cheek. Our gazes connect. He searches mine, looking for the insecurity and anger he knows so well.
It isn’t here, though.
And in its place? There’s an indistinct shifting sensation, prickling the place under my lungs.
Is it an instinct? Or an emotion?
I’m not sure, but it keeps my eyes steady on my alpha as he replies, “I agree. It is something for us to think about. Together.”
Just weeks ago, wasn’t this exact situation everything I feared? The possibility that another omega would wedge their way between us? Take what was mine? Leave me all alone again?
I know those fears were real—smart, even. But, now? I can’t keep the small smile off my lips.
And as I lean up to kiss Atlas’s pensive frown, I realize:
Violet may be between us. But I’ve never felt closer to him.