"Which part? The omega? The fight? Or the part where you practically threw me out of your room?"
His shoulders tense slightly, the only indication that my words hit a nerve. "Any of it."
"We can't just pretend none of it happened."
"Watch me." He stirs the eggs like it's the easiest thing in the world to keep them from sticking to the pan. Unlike my scorched attempts, his are turning fluffy and golden and perfect.
I'm about to push further—because that's what I do, I push until something breaks—when the kitchen door swings open.
And of all people, it's Wraith.
Our seven-foot-plus teammate fills the doorway, his massive frame somehow looking less threatening than usual. His choppy dark hair is tousled like he fucked from morning to night. But that isn't all that's different.
He looks... relaxed.
As relaxed as Wraith ever looks, anyway.
And he's absolutelycoveredin honeysuckle scent.
The omega's smell clings to him like a second skin, so strong it's like she's in the room with us. My nostrils flare involuntarily, and I catch Plague's hands pausing for just a fraction of a second over the eggs he's been preparing like a goddamn robot.
It's all I can do to stay put and not smell him like a dog, just to get a better whiff of that sweet honeysuckle. Pretty sure he'd put me all the way through the wall this time, but it would be so fucking worth it.
"Morning, big guy," I say, keeping my voice casual despite the way my inner alpha is suddenly on high alert. "Sleep well?"
Wraith's blue eyes narrow slightly at my tone, but he gives a short nod before moving toward the cupboard. He pulls it open and starts rummaging through the shelves with purpose.
The kitchen falls into awkward silence. Plague focuses on the eggs like he's performing brain surgery, and I'm stuck between wanting to ask Wraith a million questions and not wanting to get my head literally ripped off. The memory of our brawl last night is still fresh. The living room looks like a tornado hit it despite our best efforts to clean it up, and Thane's outside talking to the junk removal guys right now.
"So," I say, suddenly wanting to fill the silence, "the omega?—"
Wraith's head snaps toward me, a low growl rumbling from his chest. His blue eyes flash with warning.
"—seems nice," I finish lamely.
The growl subsides, but Wraith's gaze remains fixed on me for a beat longer than comfortable before he turns back to his task. He grabs a pan from the cabinet and sets it on the stove next to Plague's perfect eggs before setting a box of butter on thecounter. Well, technically, heslammedit on the counter, but for Wraith, it wasn't a slam.
"Are you...cooking?" I can't keep the surprise from my voice. I've never seen this feral alpha cook in my life, and he's going straight for the hard shit right away.
Wraith ignores me, unwrapping an entire stick of butter and dropping it into the pan before cranking the heat to high. Within seconds, the butter starts smoking.
Plague and I exchange a glance. For once, we're in perfect agreement. Wraith has no fucking clue what he's doing.
"Maybe turn the heat down a bit, bro," I suggest cautiously.
Wraith shoots me another look but does adjust the dial slightly. He grabs a loaf of bread and drops two slices into the smoking butter. The sizzle is immediate and aggressive.
"Should we help him?" I mutter to Plague, keeping my voice low.
"You mean shouldIhelp him," Plague corrects. "We've already established you're useless in the kitchen."
"Harsh but fair."
With a put-upon sigh, Plague slides his perfectly cooked eggs to a cooler part of the stove and moves to Wraith's side. "May I?" he asks, gesturing to the smoking pan.
Wraith hesitates, then steps back with a stiff nod, allowing Plague to take over. There's something almost touching about the way our silent teammate watches Plague rescue his burnt toast attempt, like a giant, scarred puppy learning a new trick.
A wolf puppy, to be specific.
