Chapter 20
Lark
I blink awake. Confused. This is not my bed. Not my room. Warm hazelnut and chocolate wrap around me.
Graham, my omega purrs.
And then the memories come rushing back. I’m instantly mortified. I mean, we’d talked about it, but—
Yep, we did that.
I shush my omega and roll over to look at my alpha. My shame vanishes. He looks so at peace. A soft smile plays on his lips. I wonder if he’s dreaming of me.
His soft blonde curls are a tangled mess. He’s… adorable.
I ease the blanket down a little. Despite all we’ve shared, I’ve never seen him without his shirt. There’s ink splayed across his left shoulder and across his chest. The room is too dim to see the details.
I almost open the blinds for a better look but stop myself. I want to trace every line on his body, but I won’t. Not yet. He deserves a little more rest.
As gently as possible, I climb from the bed, gather my things and Graham’s abandoned shirt, and head to my room for a quick shower.
Before I head downstairs to the kitchen I tuck Graham’s shirt under my pillow. I don’t go in for the omega nonsense, but this seems important. Necessary.
All three men are standing around the coffee machine. Saint is dressed for work, Silas is in jeans and a light sweater, and Graham is wearing gray sweatpants and his glasses and apparently nothing else, which my omega finds extremely important.
“Hey, beautiful. I couldn’t sleep without you.” Graham pulls me into his arms and kisses me, holding my bottom tight with his large, right hand. I’m lightheaded when he finally lets me go.
After Graham releases me, Silas steps into my space, one hand sliding to my waist while the other cups my jaw. His kiss is slower. Not frantic the way Graham's was, but just as consuming.
He tastes like coffee and clean soap and the faint trace of that honeyed whiskey that never seems to leave him. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t grab. He simply takes his time, his mouth moving against mine with quiet confidence, until I’m weak-kneed all over again.
When he pulls back, his thumb brushes once across my lower lip before he lets me go. I stand there for a second, collecting myself.
Graham watches this with great interest.
Saint says nothing. He simply slides a mug across the counter toward me. It stops inches from my hand.
I glance at him before lifting it. Steam rises, carrying the scent of brown sugar and cream. I take a careful sip and close my eyes.
Brown sugar latte.
He remembered. From one text message weeks ago. He remembered.
Just like Nayda’s Café.
I take another sip, slower this time.
No. Not just like Nayda’s. Better.
“Thank you,” I say softly. Something shifts in his jaw. Not quite a response. Not quite nothing.
He reaches for his keys. “I’m heading to work.”
Silas clears his throat before he can make it to the door. “Before you go.”
Saint pauses but doesn’t fully turn around.
“We’ve decided someone will stay with Lark each day until her heat breaks. That means you, too.” Saint’s jaw tightens.
The warmth in my chest flips straight into embarrassment. I focus very hard on the surface of my latte.
“It isn’t necessary,” I begin, but Silas and Graham look at me in a way that makes it clear this is not up for debate. Saint doesn’t look at all.
Silas’s voice is calm, but the authority beneath it is unmistakable. “It is.”
He steps closer, resting his hand at the small of my back. “Usually it will be me. The shop’s in the backyard, so I’m here anyway. But I have plans with Lucy today and I’m meeting a new client this afternoon. So Graham will stay.”
I glance at Graham. He’s trying very hard to look composed and only moderately thrilled. He’s failing.
“I can call if something happens,” I offer.
“We don’t want that,” Silas replies gently.
They are worried about me. It’s been years since anyone other than Cammie has worried about me. So I nod.
Silas finishes his coffee, then leans down to kiss me once more. This kiss is different from the one before. Softer. Already familiar. Heat underneath it, but something steadier too.
“Call if you need anything,” he murmurs before heading out.
Saint lingers a second longer. He doesn’t look at me when he says, “There’s another in the refrigerator. It will be good over ice.” Then he follows Silas out the door.
The door clicks shut behind them. I look at the refrigerator.
I turn toward Graham, who is watching me like I’m the most fascinating thing in the room.
“What?” I ask.
“You tried to look at my tattoos this morning.”
My face heats. “I did not.”
“You tugged the blanket down,” he counters gently. “You could have just turned on the light.”
“I was trying to let you have your beauty sleep,” I laugh.
He feigns offense. “Beauty sleep? I’ll have you know I wake up looking this good naturally.” He gestures at himself with complete sincerity.
He's not wrong. It's deeply annoying.
Behind the lenses of his glasses, his green eyes sparkle with humor.
When I was in seventh grade I watched Gone with the Wind and became obsessed with Scarlett O’Hara’s bright green eyes.
I cursed my omega mother for giving me her boring hazel ones and begged for colored contacts.
But now I’d rather look at my mate’s eyes every day than have them myself.
I run my index finger over the lines on his chest. “I need to inspect these.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He turns slowly, giving me a full view of the ink stretched across his shoulder and chest. Up close, the details are breathtaking.
Equations and chemical structures weave through vines and curling leaves.
Mathematical symbols dissolve into blooming flowers. Harsh lines soften into organic curves.
“They’re incredible,” I breathe.
He shrugs, suddenly shy, and it undoes me a little. “I’ve always liked the balance. Logic and growth. Structure and life.”
I run my fingertips lightly along a line of script that dissolves into petals. “Beauty and intelligence. Like you.”
He cups my cheek. “You think I’m smart and sexy?”
“I absolutely do,” I say. “I also think you’re kind, gentle, caring, and funny.”
He tips my chin up until I'm looking at him fully, his expression soft. There is something about him that makes my omega settle. He’s sweet and warm. My gentle giant.
Falling for him would be dangerously easy.
It hasn't even been two days. My brain keeps pointing that out like it's going to change something. My omega stopped listening to that argument approximately thirty-six hours ago.
Scent-sensitive mates don't follow normal timelines. I grew up knowing that. I just never expected to feel it.
And honestly… who wouldn’t fall for Graham?
We have a simple breakfast of avocado toast and some left-over bacon and then head into the large office at the back of the house. Graham walks around the space, pointing out unique features.
“We added this on to the original structure when we bought the house. Between the addition and the workshop we had built for Silas’ business, it left us too little room for a pool.” He stops and looks at me seriously. “You don’t need a pool do you? Because we could—”
“I don’t need a pool,” I interrupt.
He looks so relieved his shoulders actually drop two inches. “Good. We have a membership to the local club. It has three pools, tennis courts, golf. All the stuff. But you can’t just walk out the back door and cool off on a hot day.”
“I’m not much on lounging in the sun, anyway. But tennis sounds fun. And golf. I haven’t played since my dad passed.”
“Then you’ll want to go with Saint. He’s the golfer in our pack.
Plays all the time when the weather is decent.
It’s been hard for him with his injured shoulder.
He can’t do firefighting, golf—none of the things he likes to do.
Except coffee. That one he can still do.
He's been roasting his own beans for years.
Won't shut up about it, honestly. It's the one thing that still lights him up. "
“How did the three of you end up in a pack?” I ask. Partly because I’m interested. Partly because I don’t like the uncomfortable feelings I have when I think about golfing with Saint.
Graham pulls out a maple office chair for me and I sit. I recognize the sleek lines as being one of Silas’ designs. It tilts and spins, just like mine at the apartment, but is so much better.
“Silas and I have known each other since childhood. I got moved ahead a few grades. Hit middle school when other kids my age were still in fourth grade. I was tall for a ten-year-old, but not tall for sixth grade. That made me a target. Silas took care of me.”
Silas is a caretaker. He worries about Saint, me, and his sister. It makes total sense that he would have taken Graham under his wing.
“So you became instant friends?”
Graham laughs. “For me, yeah. He was my hero. For him, I think I was a small injured animal he wanted to protect and ended up learning to like.”
“So you didn’t spend a lot of time together? At first, I mean?”
“We did. He invited me to his house the first afternoon. I fell in love with his family. His parents are in a bonded pack. My parents are both alphas and—” He stops, lost in his thoughts.
“And?” I prompt.
He blinks. “Oh yeah, sorry. My parents are… demanding. They mostly just cared that I was good at stuff. School was easy. Sports were never my thing. I think that embarrassed them. There was never the unconditional love that I found with Silas’ family.
When I told my dad about what happened at school, he just told me to toughen up and deal with it. ”
I suppress a growl. Just barely.
His expression softens, remembering his time with them. “The first time I came over to Silas’, his mom made me an ice cream sundae and asked and tutted when Silas told her about how the boys were treating me in school.”
“So you were always welcomed there?”
He nods. “Oh yeah. They are the ones who taught me what it meant to be a pack. I always wanted what his family had.” His eyes go all dreamy and something turns over low in my stomach.
“Now I have it. With you.”
But does he? This pack isn’t cemented yet. Scent sensitivity isn’t something that’s easy to walk away from, but it’s not a guarantee, either. I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.
“And Saint? He’s younger than you two, right? When did you meet?”
Graham nods. “We didn’t know Saint until later. Silas met him at the gym. Silas knew right away that Saint was ours. Came home and told me all about it.”
“And Saint? Did he know?”
Graham rolls his eyes. “I think you know enough by now to guess that Saint isn’t so great at accepting his feelings.”
I snort.
“He didn’t grow up in a pack and didn’t have plans to be in one. Said the guys on his shift were his pack. It took some convincing to get him here.”
I can see that. Saint seems independent and completely incapable of being vulnerable with others.
“Silas mentioned he’s been off lately. What’s he like under normal circumstances?”
Graham thinks before he speaks. “He’s sharp witted. Funny, but not a clown. Cocky as hell. Obsessive about things, mostly his coffee.”
I open my mouth to ask more questions, but my meeting app rings. Cammie.
“Hey,” I say when her picture pulls up on my computer screen.
“Hey yourself,” she says. She sees Graham’s face behind my shoulder. “Hey there, giant. Like the tats.”
His face heats. “Hi, Cammie.” Then to me he says, “I’m going to put on a shirt and clean up the kitchen. Holler if you need me.”
When he’s out of sight of the camera, Cammie breaks out into gales of laughter. “Gray sweatpants! Damn, girl. How did you even think long enough to answer my call?” Graham’s face turns impossibly red.
“Still in the room, Cammie,” I whisper yell.
She sobers, but only for a minute before bursting out in more peals of laughter. Graham rushes out the door. I wait until he’s further down the hall before I speak again.
“He is hot, right?”
“So hot,” she says.
“And did you get a good look at his tattoos?”
“I couldn’t really tell what they were. But the fact that he has them was a shock. He looked so buttoned up the other day. Total professor nerd.”
I giggle. “He wore a tweed sport coat last night when we went shopping. Unlocked a fantasy I didn’t even know I had.”
“Shopping? Do tell!”
I sigh, remembering Graham’s excitement last night. “They took me to The Nesting Corner. I bought a ridiculous amount of stuff for my new nest. Sheets, pillows, pajamas, the whole shebang.”
“By ‘they,’ you mean Silas and Graham?”
I shake my head. “No, it was all three. Even Saint.”
“CoffeeGuy was there, too? Did he act any better?”
I start to say no. He was surly and sullen, but then I remember him adding a blue negligée to my cart, and then leaning over me, two fingers on my clit while Graham pumped inside of me.
Make her come, or I’m going to do it for you.
I suppress a shiver.
And today he made me coffee.
“We’re not there yet, but I think things will work out. We just need some time.”