Thane and I both stare at him now. Guess we're putting all the cards on the table.
"Think about it," Plague continues. "Whiskey and I are dreaming about her. Wraith was at the omega clinic, which means she's either pregnant, approaching heat, or in heat already. The scent may even be what drew Valek to the showers, where he encountered Wraith. What if she's scent matched to our pack?"
“It would explain why we're all fucking nuts lately," I cut in.
Thane closes his eyes for a moment, like he's weighing the possibility. "If that's true, then Wraith is..."
"Keeping her for himself like a dragon with a princess in a tower?" I finish for him.
"No," Thane says immediately. "But like I said, he has trust issues. If she is our scent match, he's probably operating on instinct like any other alpha would be. Especially if she's in heat. She may have even asked him not to tell anyone."
The words land like a punch to the gut, because they ring true. As much as I want to be pissed at Wraith for hiding the omega—for hiding our potential fuckingmate—I know Thane's right. If he's keeping her a secret, it's for a damn good reason. Or at least, he thinks it is.
"Plague," Thane says finally, breaking the silence. "Call the insurance company about Whiskey's bike and the other shit we destroyed. We need to get that figured out."
"Hogzilla isn't 'shit,'" I say under my breath.
Plague nods, already pulling out his phone. "I'll take care of it."
"And Whiskey," Thane continues, fixing me with a stern look. "Don't do anything stupid. Stay the fuck away from Wraithandthe omega."
I want to argue, but Thane looks like he's barely holding himself together, and I'm not enough of an asshole to push him when he's obviously in pain. Both physically and emotionally.
"Whatever," I mutter. "But we deal with this tomorrow. Because Wraith can't just keep us from meeting her. And we can't lose Wraith either. I'm attached to that overgrown fucking psycho."
However fucking pissed I am about my baby.
“Agreed,” Plague adds, not looking up from his phone where he's presumably either googling the best insurance adjuster in the state or the number for the nearest psychiatric facility where he can commit me after it fully sets in that I just lost Hogzilla.
"Fine," Thane says with a tired sigh.
"Since we're all on the same page now," I say, pushing off the couch, "I'm gonna get a beer. Anyone else want one?"
Thane shakes his head. "Took headache meds."
"I'll pass," Plague says, still engrossed in his phone.
I head to the kitchen, yanking open the fridge with enough force to rattle all the shit inside. I grab a beer, pop the cap, and chug half of it in one go.
I'm about to return to the living room when something catches my attention. A whisper of scent, so faint I almost miss it. I freeze, beer halfway to my lips.
Honeysuckle.
My nostrils flare, searching for the source. I follow it like a bloodhound, moving across the kitchen until I'm standing beneath an air vent near the ceiling. The scent is stronger here—still faint, but unmistakable.
"Guys," I grit out, my voice tight. "Get in here. Now."
Plague appears first, almost instantly. Thane follows more slowly, grimacing with each step.
"What is it?" Plague asks, but I can tell from the way his eyes dilate that he's already caught it.
"The vent," I say, pointing up. "It's coming from upstairs. From Wraith's loft."
Thane steps closer, inhaling deeply. His entire body goes rigid, pupils expanding until his eyes are nearly black. "Holy shit."
The three of us stand there, transfixed, breathing in the delicate honeysuckle scent laced with something else. Something warm and sweet and spicy all at once that makes my blood rush south and my skin feel too tight.
"It's her," Plague murmurs, his eyes darkening. "The omega from our dreams."
