Chapter Eight
Nara
Elizabeth’s eyes take in the omega’s suite. Instead of saying something, she downs the rest of the Obis juice.
“I told you to sip,” my voice emerges as a bit of a growl and I cringe internally as I take the glass from her gently. She’s doing a good job with all the changes even though she’s obviously scared; she doesn’t need a huge horned male barking at her.
The window bank overlooks the creek; given the curve of the streambed, it cuts behind the compound. The Glohas trees stand tall beyond the creek, their long needles soft and a purple-blue at this time of year.
The tiny omega turns her head, taking in the large, mostly empty bookshelf to the right, built around a small, happily crackling fireplace and several small couches and chairs, and to the left, the door to the well-appointed bathroom.
But the centerpiece of the room is the giant, circular bed.
Dark, thick curtains surround it, dyed a rich red shade to echo the logs of our home.
The bed itself is bare, just the frame and mattress with the tall edges, awaiting whatever adornments our soon-to-be-beloved omega chooses.
Wells and I had ordered plenty of options for our unseen omega to choose from.
I would have asked Ryson and Zallan to help too, but I knew they had been busy with their own preparations for our omega.
Mine had mainly included learning what I could feed her from our planet, which luckily for me, was most things.
I also took a crash course on human anatomy and healing in the last week.
While a few of the other packs in the Setias Community had omegas from other planets, none were human. So we’re just going to muddy through this on our own.
Wells steps forward, smiling kindly. “These are the sheets to cover the mattress,” he indicates a row of folded cloth, of various colors and textures, “these are the blankets,” another row, this time of fluffy blankets, “the pillows,” he offers.
Wells and I had chosen many different materials for her nest, varying from smooth pinks to fluffy reds to almost wiry greens. Pillows in every shade, in various shapes and sizes line the wall.
Elizabeth turns to me, eyes as wide as a valturi leaf. She seems lost, the poor little thing.
“You touch them, and choose. Whichever feels right to you. I’m sure Wells and Ryson will be happy to get the nest ready while Zallan and I take you downstairs for some refreshments.”
Zallan’s deep voice cuts in and he steps towards her, “Touch them, wedari; choose how your nest will look and feel.”
She looks between us, her big brown eyes still a bit shocked. Then she kneels and her hands drag over the first few fabrics.
AFTER ELIZABETH HAS chosen, Zallan takes her hand and we head downstairs. Wells and Ryson are happily outfitting the nest in her choices, as they know what will come next.
She seems uncomfortable with the nakedness, but I’m sure she’ll adjust. Besides, once we start to mate her regularly, we’ll be mostly nude in our home as well.
As Elizabeth sits nervously on a stool at the kitchen island, requiring her to climb up, I turn and pour her tiny bit more Obis juice.
“Hmm, omega,” Zallan says, his rich voice soothing, “I’ll arrange for some suitable seating arrangements for a being of your size.”
“Are you hungry, Elizabeth?” I ask and she looks at me, where I stand next to our cooling unit.
“Got nachos?” She asks with a giggle.
I frown and cross to her, taking her soft face between my palms. “Are you inebriated?” I study her pupils. They seem alright.
“Just a tiny bit,” our omega responds, tossing back her dark brown hair, effectively pulling herself away from me in a non-offensive manner. Smart creature.
“What are nah-chos?” asks Zallan seriously.
She waves a hand, “A food from my planet.”
I frown. “If you greatly desire them, please, explain them to me, so that I might recreate something similar.”
She looks between us, eyes solemn. “You really mean that?”
“Why would I not, omega? It is our job to care for you. To dote upon you and spoil you, to keep you happy.”
She looks down at her hand holding the glass and she tosses it back. I had been careful to only give her a tiny bit more and to cut it with water, so I’m not too concerned for her facilities.
“I’m good. Not hungry,” she says, staring at my still bare chest.
“The next part of your... orientation... to our home, our life, will take a bit of time. Are you quite sure?” Zallan asks. I can hear the need in his voice, however.
Zallan, as all alerons, is very disciplined. Focused. It took him nearly an entire revolution to show Wells his true needs, and he is the one who had approached Ryson and me with Wells’ profile.
Thus, the blatant desire dripping from every word he speaks to our omega takes me as a bit of surprise. Her pheromones perhaps?