Chapter Two
Hamish McNally’s house was a worker’s cottage at the end of a narrow brick row.
It used to shelter factory workers a hundred years ago, but now cost more than a Knightsbridge studio because it was three streets off Lygon and had exposed beams. The front garden was a mad profusion of green; there was jasmine climbing the fence posts, a banksia that had outgrown its pot and some kind of trailing succulent spilling over the low brick wall onto the pavement like it was making a break for freedom.
Lysander stood on the front path with his suitcase and his heart hammering in his ears.
He hadn’t told Hamish he was coming. That had seemed romantic and spontaneous when he’d booked the flight in Pai, slightly less romantic during the four-hour layover in Bangkok, and by the time his Uber from Tullamarine had pulled up outside the cottage he’d only ever seen through the tiny rectangle of a video call, his excitement had curdled into mild panic as he ran through the possibilities in his head.
Hamish might not be home.
Hamish might be home but busy.
Hamish might not even be happy to see him.
Lysander forced himself to ring the doorbell.
It opened after a while, and then Hamish was there in a soft grey t-shirt and bare feet, his glasses slightly crooked, his hair sticking up at the back.
His face stayed completely blank for longer than was good for Lysander’s cardiac health, then he flashed the most unguarded grin Lysander had ever seen on him.
“Surprise,” Lysander said.
Hamish stared, his mouth open. “You’re here!” he cried out.
“Where’s your banana?” Lysander’s hand was already on Hamish’s belt buckle, his fingers hooking into the waistband of Hamish’s jeans as he stepped forward and pushed them both through the doorway and into the narrow hall. “Come on, show it to me, I flew nine hours for it.”
Hamish laughed, his hands landing on Lysander’s waist. His mouth found the side of Lysander’s neck, and Lysander tipped his head back into the scratch of that beard against his jaw — finally — when a movement at the far end of the corridor stopped him dead.
Someone was standing in the kitchen doorway.
He was tall, willowy, blond, and completely naked, holding a mug of tea as if this were a perfectly standard way for him to spend an early morning.
He was, without question, one of the most beautiful people Lysander had ever seen.
Fine-boned, delicate, and with a wide soft mouth.
His pale lashes and eyes made him look like something that had wandered out of a Nordic folklore illustration.
But it wasn’t just the man’s face or his nudity that made Lysander’s stomach drop through the floor. It was the smell of him. The unmistakably sweet biological scent was one that Lysander knew intimately, as a male omega.
Hamish had a naked male omega standing in his kitchen drinking tea.
Lysander’s hand came off Hamish’s belt. The hallway suddenly felt extremely narrow, the cottage too small, and the spontaneous romantic gesture of flying nine hours to surprise the man he’d been obsessing over for weeks felt like the stupidest thing he had ever done in a life that included letting his ex/former co-star upload a video of him losing his virginity to the internet.
“Right,” he said. His voice came out bright and perfectly controlled. “Sorry, I should have called first to check if your place had already hit its male omega quota.”
He was already turning, reaching for the suitcase he’d left on the front path, when Hamish caught his arm.
“Sander. Stop.”
“It’s fine, honestly, I should’ve texted, this is completely my fault for just turning up like a lunatic —”
“Lysander.” Hamish’s grip was firm, his thumb pressed into the crook of Lysander’s elbow. “That’s Cassian. He’s the subject of my last documentary.”
Lysander stopped trying to pull away.
“He was raised in the Family of Light,” Hamish said, keeping his voice low enough that the conversation stayed between them.
“The group I’ve been filming for the past eighteen months.
Three weeks ago he turned up on my doorstep because I’d mentioned Brunswick in one of our interviews, and the name of the café across the road.
Apparently that was enough information for him to track me down.
He left the ministry, Sander. He actually left. ”
The pride in Hamish’s voice when he said it made Lysander finally turn back to face him.
“He’s been crashing in my spare room,” Hamish continued.
“I haven’t told you because of source confidentiality.
Cass… He doesn’t really know how anything works yet.
Last week I had to explain what a direct debit was, and on Thursday he used an entire bottle of washing-up liquid in the dishwasher because he’d never seen one before.
He’s —” Hamish rubbed the back of his neck.
“He’s adjusting. I’m helping him adjust.”
“And the nudity?”
Hamish exhaled through his nose. “It’s part of his morning practice. They used to exercise in the nude every morning at the compound. Said that it kept them receptive to the offerings of the Universe.”
Lysander looked past Hamish’s shoulder, back down the corridor to where the beautiful naked omega was still standing in the kitchen doorway, watching them with his enormous eyes over the rim of his mug. He hadn’t tried to cover himself or retreat. He just stood there, perfectly still.
Creepy little weirdo, Lysander thought, with a lack of charity that he felt was entirely justified given the circumstances.
“He could murder you in your sleep, Hamish,” he said in a low voice.
Hamish tugged Lysander further into the house. “The Family of Light are pacifists, Sander. We’ll be fine.” He turned towards the kitchen doorway. “Cassian, come and meet my friend, Lysander.”
Cassian didn’t move, so Hamish crossed the hallway, shrugged off the flannel shirt he was wearing over his t-shirt, and draped it around Cassian’s shoulders.
Lysander’s jaw tightened. The flannel was Hamish’s, soft and worn, the sleeves too long for Cassian’s slender arms. Watching another omega being wrapped in his alpha’s clothing sent a hot, irrational spike of jealousy through his chest that he knew was beneath him, but still couldn’t get past.
Cassian pulled the flannel closed with one hand, still holding his mug of tea with the other.
“I’ve never met another male omega,” Cassian said. His voice was soft and precise, each word delivered with earnest gravity. “I was the only one in the history of the Family of Light. There was a feast when I was eight, and I was immediately given the name Calyx. Cassian Calyx.”
“What’s that, then?” Lysander asked, intrigued despite himself.
“A holy receptive.” Cassian’s chin lifted.
“An open cup, fashioned to receive the blessings of the Universe within me. The elders said my womb was a chalice for the Light, and that all who poured into me would be sanctified by the vessel, and that my body was a gateway through which many could enter and find peace.”
“You must have been a lot of fun at your cult’s sex parties,” Lysander said.
Cassian blinked, his mouth dropping open.
Hamish bent low, placing his mouth close to Lysander’s ear. “Don’t.”
Then he straightened up and turned back to Cassian. “He’ll be staying with us, Cass.”
Cassian turned those pale eyes on Hamish. “I can share a bed with Lysander,” he offered, as if this were a perfectly sensible and wildly generous suggestion. “I don’t take up much room.”
“Not necessary, Cass.” Hamish’s hand rested on the small of Lysander’s back. “He’ll be staying in my room with me.”
A frown creased between Cassian’s brows, and his lower lip pushed forward in a pout. “But you’ve never let me stay in your room with you, alpha.”
Hamish shot Lysander a look of nervous appeal. “Lysander is my special friend, Cass.”
Cassian’s eyes went very wide. They swept over Lysander, conducting a visual audit. “But alpha,” he said, and his voice had gone small and wobbly, “what can I do to be your special friend too?”
“Fuck him,” Lysander said.
Hamish’s hand pressed harder against his back, a clear be gentle, Lysander transmitted through his palm. “Well,” Hamish said. “There’s much more to our relationship than that, I’d hope.”
Cassian stared at them both. The vulnerability vanished, replaced by outrage. “But he’s not your Evermate, alpha!”
Lysander felt a rush of triumph over Hamish laying a claim on him. He followed Hamish down the narrow hallway. The alpha pushed open the door to the master bedroom and stood aside to let Lysander through, then he turned back to where Cassian was trailing behind them.
“Sander needs a rest after his flight,” Hamish said gently. “We’ll talk later, Cass.”
Then he shut the door in Cassian’s face.