Chapter 45
Saint
In her sleep, Lark shifts from Silas’ chest to wedges herself between Graham and me.
“Should I make dinner?” Silas asks. “She’ll be hungry when she wakes.”
“You need to be here when she wakes up,” Graham answers. “Post-heat is a very sensitive time for omegas, and I don’t want her to freak out when one of her alphas isn’t here.”
Silas pushes his big body from the bed. “Then I’ll grab a quick shower. Holler if she wakes.”
Lark stirs in my arms. “I’m awake.” Her voice is muffled against my shoulder. “And food sounds good. But coffee first.”
I smile. “That’s my department,” I say, my lips grazing her forehead.
She snuggles closer. Her scent is softer now. Still sweet but calmer. Less insistent. “But you’re so warm and cuddly.”
I chuckle. “Graham and Silas can cuddle, too. I won’t be long.”
I untangle from her legs and the sheets and make my way from the nest. Lark turns into Graham’s open arms and sighs.
“Make mine a double,” Graham calls as I walk out.
Yeah, we’ll all be getting double shots today. None of us have slept much since Saturday, and we each need as much chemical energy as we can get.
I stop by my room on the way down and pull on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. Lark stuffed all our clothes into her nest since her heat started.
Not once has she asked for any of our scents or clothes, but as soon as her heat started, her omega amplified by five-hundred percent.
I look at the flannel. She’ll probably take these, too. And I’ll give them to her, happily.
I make my way to the kitchen. Feels like ages since that morning when she first stood by the counter and I pushed a latte toward her. I was such an ass, refusing to admit that I wanted her. Needed her.
She had taken it and smiled. It was tentative and full of shock, but still a smile.
Because that’s Lark. She’s sharp. Doesn’t take no for an answer.
But she also knows exactly when to push and when to wait.
And she played me like a fiddle. Gave me every opportunity to see what I was missing.
To want her even more than I did on that first day.
And then she pounced. Not literally, of course.
I wasn’t ready for that. But figuratively.
Cornering me in my shop. Asking all kinds of questions about coffee.
And then daring me to compare mine to the brown sugar lattes at Nayda’s Café. As if there’s a comparison.
And I fell for it hook, line, and sinker.
Would have probably even tumbled into her arms that night, begging for forgiveness.
But I didn’t wait that long because I was scared shitless when I arrived to her warehouse and saw that it had collapsed.
Every alpha instinct was on the edge. Every fear I’d ever had, confirmed.
And then, like the sun rising, she emerged from the crowd of people. And I clung to her. Couldn’t let go. I won’t be apart from her again. I love her. It’s not biology. Yeah, that’s part of it. But mostly it’s just her. Lark. My perfect omega.
The bond buzzes in my chest. Feeling her inside me, it’s settled something restless that I didn’t know was there.
She can feel me thinking about her and she’s pushing her love back at me, along with an unhealthy dose of impatience.
“House,” I say, “Announce ‘coffee’s almost ready’.”
A smooth voice rings from room to room. Gratitude buzzes in the bond making me chuckle.
I line a tray with a French press, three mugs, and sugar and cream. Then I set Lark’s brown sugar latte in the middle. I take the elevator so I don’t spill.
When I step into the hall on the top floor Lark’s voice calls out. “That better be a latte! Not boring brewed coffee.”
“Hey, my coffee is never boring. The alphas get French press today.” I hand her the latte. “And you get your latte, princess.”
She takes a sip, then exhales slowly. “Perfect.”
I didn’t even realize I was carrying a tightness in my chest until I feel it loosen. She deserves everything perfect.
Silas comes out from the shower, towel wrapped carefully around his waist. “My hero,” he says, taking the cup I just poured for him.
Graham sits up and waits for me to pass him his. “How did you get this so fast? I know the water heats quickly for the press, but Lark’s always takes more time.”
"Oh, yeah. I made her stuff in advance."
Graham blinks.
"Before her heat started," I add. "Instead of my usual syrup, I pre-made packets. Ingredients you pour into the bottom of the mug, then brew espresso over the mix."
I pause. "I didn’t know if she'd ask, but I wanted it ready if she did."
Lark takes another sip. “So this isn’t my normal one?”
I shrug. “Same ingredients, just in a different format. I wasn’t sure if you’d ask for something during your heat, and I wanted it to be fast if you did.
This way you can make your own if you want one and I’m not here.
Everything’s labeled in the pantry. I added a few other flavors in case you want to try something different. ”
She blinks. “So, I just make my own espresso and add the packet?”
“You’ll need to heat the milk.”
“I can do that,” she says.
Silas chuckles. “Babe, I’ve tasted your coffee. I’ll make them for you if Saint’s not here.”
Graham takes a sip of Lark’s latte. “That’s really good. You could sell those kits.”
I look at him. I hadn’t thought about it. “Maybe,” I say.
Lark takes another drink, then her eyes go wide. “Can you show me?”
“The coffee flavors? Yeah, I’ll show you next time we’re in the kitchen.”
Lark pushes from the bed. “Careful, princess.” I steady her. “You haven’t eaten much in the past three days and your body’s tired.”
She looks down at her shaking legs like she’s never seen them before. “You’re right. Carry me.”
“Little bird, does this have to happen right now? Why don’t you let me bring you something to eat?”
“It has to be now.”
Graham, Silas, and I share a look. Then I scoop Lark into my arms and head for the stairs.
“Elevator.” She points at the doors near the stairwell entrance. “You probably haven’t eaten much either.”
“I can carry my omega,” I say, but turn toward the doors, pressing the down button.
We all pile in. When Silas steps in, we squeeze in tighter.
“I should have taken the stairs,” he grumbles.
In the kitchen, I set Lark on the barstool and open the pantry. I pull out individually labeled baggies of coffee flavors. Brown sugar. Sugar cookie. Gingerbread.
“Oh my god. Silas, make this one. Just on your own. No guidance from our coffee guru.” She hands Silas a gingerbread packet.
He opens it carefully, pouring the mix into the bottom of the cup. Then he sets the coffee machine to brew espresso as he pulls the milk from the refrigerator.
“Just heat that in the microwave,” Lark suggests.
“It won’t be café quality,” Graham warns.
She rolls her eyes. “I want to know what it will taste like with bare minimum prep.”
Silas doesn’t question. Just pours some milk into a different mug and sets it in the microwave. He punches some buttons. The espresso finishes brewing. He pours it into the mug, gently stirring until all the sugar is dissolved.
“I probably should have let the espresso drip into it. Would have saved me a mug.”
Lark shrugs. “It’s authentic. People won’t be as pristine with the process if they do it for themselves.”
Silas acknowledges the truth of her statement before adding the heated milk. “Try this,” he says with a smile.
She takes a sip, eyes going wide. “That’s good. Really good.” She looks at each of us. “It would be better with frothed milk, but I can see omegas really liking this. It’s easy and tasty.”
She hands Graham the mug. He takes a sip, nodding appreciatively before handing it to Silas.
Silas sips slowly. “It’s good. What are you thinking, little bird?”
Her lips curve. “I’m thinking this should be Saint’s new omega focused business. Tasty lattes for the busy omega.”
Lark takes another sip, then looks between all of us, her eyes sharpening in that way they do when she’s latched onto an idea.
“You could build a whole line around this,” she says.
I tilt my head. “A line?”
Her brain’s already moving faster than the rest of ours. “Yeah. Not just for me. For omegas.”
Graham leans forward slightly, interested.
“Omegas love sweet drinks,” she continues. “Comfort drinks. And more and more of them are working now. Early mornings, long commutes, classes. They don’t have time to stand around making something complicated.”
She taps the packet still sitting on the counter. “This?” she says. “This is easy. It’s fast. It tastes good. That’s a win.”
Silas crosses his arms, smiling like he already knows where she’s going.
“Busy omega moms. College students. Anyone who just wants something good without the effort.” She takes a breath. “Graham’s right. You could sell these.”
Graham nods. “Betas would buy them, too,” he says. “Sweet drinks aren’t exactly limited to omegas.”
Lark beams at him. “Exactly.”
Then her attention snaps back to me. “Your coffee is already perfect,” she says. “But this? This sets you apart. This makes you different.”
My heartbeat quickens. Because she’s not just talking. She believes it.
Silas leans back against the counter. “It would be a good inclusion in an OmegaBox someday,” he says casually.
Lark’s lips curve, slow and knowing. “Exactly.”
I shake my head, a little overwhelmed now.
“That’s… a lot,” I say. “Production, packaging, distribution—” I scrub a hand over the back of my neck. “And money. Upfront, I mean.”
Money has never been something I’ve had the luxury of playing around with.
Silas doesn’t hesitate. “The pack has money,” he says simply.
I look at him. At all of them.
“That means pack money is your money,” Graham adds, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Lark reaches for me, her hand warm as it wraps around mine. “We want this for you,” she says. “Not just because it’s a good idea, but because it makes you happy.”
That hits harder than anything else. Because I know exactly what kind of guy I was three weeks ago. And I know what I almost missed.
Silas steps closer, solid and steady.
“Being pack isn’t just about being responsible for us. It’s about us being responsible for you, too.”
I swallow. Because that’s the part I’m still learning. Not the work. Not the responsibility. The rest of it. The part where I don’t have to do everything alone. The part where I accept that this is what packs do.
Lark squeezes my hand. “So,” she says, a little smile tugging at her mouth, “are we doing this?”
I look at her. At all of them. At the happiness and life I almost walked away from. “Yeah,” I say, my voice rough but certain. “Yeah, we’re doing this.”
And for the first time, it doesn’t feel like a risk. Or like I’m taking something I haven’t earned. It feels like something I get to build.
With them.