As Riley takes down the necessary information and begins paging the proper response team, I jump to my feet and race to the crash cart, the list of waiting room patients forgotten for the moment.
CHARLOTTE
“It feels strange to not be picking him up,” I admit, hopping onto the peninsula that separates the kitchen from the dining space. Marcus casually palms my thigh from his perch on the barstool just beside me, his focus entirely on his phone. “I mean, I get why we aren’t. That airport is an hour away in the best circumstances, and we don’t have a car. But still…”
I trail off, not really sure how to put it into words. There’s an itch just under my skin that’s gotten worse over the last week—since we flew back from Seattle, really. It needs me to be where Cole is, make sure he’s safe and protected. Which isn’t really something I can do sitting in my townhome in the heart of SoHo while he’s being driven by some fancy service fromFarmingdaleof all places.
“His fathers have been flying in and out of this city his entire life.” Marcus’s voice is low and soothing, and I know he’s pushing some of that innate ability all Alphas have to calm thosearound them. My stomach clenches anyway, though. “I’m sure they have the routine memorized at this point.”
My irritation bleeds into my scent, souring it. Marcus sets his phone down and looks up at me. His eyebrows are furrowed low over his eyes, making a line appear between them.
“Lottie, he’s fine,” he murmurs. “I would know, remember?”
The innocent question triggers a rush of jealousy I’m definitely not proud of. I swallow down my response, the unspoken words more acerbic than most I’ve ever thought.
“Is it odd being able to feel him again?” Megan asks from her quiet sentinel position on the other side of the kitchen.
Thank God for her. The last thing I want is to get in a fight with Marcus minutes before Cole shows up on our doorstep. Marcus moves his hand to grip my ankle and then rests his head on my thigh. The touch soothes me more than his fancy voice trick did, and I manage to relax just a bit.
“It is,” Marcus says after a long silence. “I… I’m not sure if I can accurately describe it. It’s an overwhelming sensation that’s mostly gone away in the last two years. It’s disorienting to have it back.” He snorts. “Which is ridiculous I’m even saying that since I’m the one who tactlessly begged him to go off the damn suppressor before we left Seattle.”
His nutmeg scent billows out from him as he says it, and Megan rolls her eyes.
“I donotneed to know the specifics, I assure you,” she says, though her lips curl into a smile. “I’ve managed to live with you for over a year and have never seen more than I care to see, thank you very much. I don’t need it to change now.”
Marcus chuckles. “What if Cole wants something that would require it to change?”
Megan narrows her eyes and purses her lips, seriously considering the question.
Want something that would require them both undressed? It takes me a minute to realize what they’re implying.
“You mean… like both of you at the same time?” My voice squeaks. I can’t help it.
That sounds… well, not terrible. Just really freaking vulnerable. How do you keep track of everyone? Make sure that everyone is satisfied?
Megan sighs and shrugs her shoulders. “Then I guess I’ll have to get over it. You know Omegas get what they want. And having to see you naked is a whole lot cheaper than some things I’ve heard Omegas demand in their matched packs.”
She’s not wrong.
“Omegas get what they want” might as well be the tagline for the Council’s informational classes all Alphas are required to take when they first designate. It’s the cornerstone of every lesson, every fact the Council gives. Your Omega wants to sleep with you rather than in their own bed or nest? Better make room. Your Omega prefers white sauce on their pizza? Better get used to the change ASAP.
I’ve heard the Council wasn’t always so Omega-forward, but that it’s changed a lot in the last twenty years. Mostly, it was in response to the rise of Omega-Specific Bond Sickness that spiked at the turn of the century. So many Omegas were being accidentally—and sometimes forcibly—bonded and then developing the nasty neurological disease when the Alphas would get bored and move on to someone else. After a lot of public pressure, the Council began revamping their informational campaigns.
The knock at the door makes me jump, just a bit. Marcus squeezes my ankle before sitting up. I adjust the crop tee and shorts I’m wearing, then move my hair so it falls over one shoulder. Megan pushes off the counter as I’m landing on my feet. The three of us start toward the door.
Time to welcome Cole to New York.
Twenty-Four
COLE
“Here we are, Mr. Fallon,” the driver says.
I adjust the ball cap so it hangs just a bit lower over my eyes and then grab my backpack, casually slinging it over one shoulder as I ease the door open.
“Thank you,” I offer as I step onto the curb.
The street is quiet—or at least as quiet as any portion of Manhattan can ever quite manage, and certainly leagues better than Dad’s condo in the Financial District farther south. Trees line the curb every thirty feet or so, large and full of leaves, giving shade to the concrete and steel doorsteps that meet the sidewalk down both sides of the road.
