When did we get an Omega? Did Nash and Grayson find someone and forget to mention it? Is this some kind of joke? Or?—
I glance down at the Omega on my lap. Her face has gone carefully blank, but I can smell the spike of anxiety in her scent.
Oh. OH. They're claiming her. Right now. In front of this asshole. Just like I did a moment ago. Whether she's actually ours or not.
Smart. Protects her from whatever shit these city Alphas are trying to pull. And if she is actually someone connected to us—someone we've all met separately without realizing it—then this is one hell of a coincidence.
Either way, I'm not backing down. If Nash and Grayson are claiming her, then I'm in. Because one thing we've always agreed on: we're a pack. We move together.
My hand moves possessively to her thigh, resting there with casual ownership. The velvet is soft under my palm, and I can feel the warmth of her skin, the slight tremor that runs through her at the touch.
I'm trying so hard to ignore how her arousal is tickling my nostrils, making every breath a test of self-control. The scent is intoxicating, making me want to lift her up, carry her to the nearest closet, and fuck her just right. Show her what it feels like to be worshipped by an Alpha who actually appreciates her.
Just the idea is giving me a rut. My body temperature is rising, my senses sharpening, everything in me screaming to claim and protect and possess.
The asshole Alpha straightens up, pulling his wrist free from Nash's grip with more force than necessary. He's swaying slightly—definitely drunk, probably has been for hours. His expensive cologne is mixed with the sour smell of too much alcohol and the acrid scent of an Alpha who's pissed off and trying to maintain dominance he doesn't actually have.
"Jason," he says, his voice dripping with false charm and actual venom. The name comes out slightly slurred. "I'm from the city. Big city. I'm sure most of you townspeople have heard of it but couldn't afford to actually go up there. We've got real clubs, real restaurants, real opportunities. Not like this..." He gestures vaguely at the bar with obvious disdain. "...quaint little establishment."
Jasper. His name tag at the table said Jasper. Why the fuck is he introducing himself as Jason? Either he's so drunk he forgot his own name, or he's trying to sound more important than he is, or both. Probably both.
I roll my eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't get stuck. Cross my arms—carefully, so I don't dislodge the Omega from my lap where she's sitting so perfectly. "Oh wow, the city. How incredibly impressive. We're all so intimidated by your superior zip code and your ability to pay inflated rent. However will we simple country folk survive without your sophisticated urban wisdom?"
Nash snorts. Grayson's mouth twitches like he's fighting a smile.
Jasper's face flushes red—whether from alcohol or anger, it's hard to tell. "This chick is your Omega? Working at a bar? Serving drinks to strangers?"
Chick. He called her a chick. Like she's not even worth the respect of being called a woman or an Omega. Like she's just some random thing.
The Omega blushes, her cheeks flooding with color that makes her even more beautiful. The silver wig catches the bar lights, and those blue contacts make her eyes look almost otherworldly.
Fuck, she's hot when she blushes. But I don't like that she's flustered over this Alpha. I don't like that his presence is making her nervous, making her scent spike with anxiety instead of the arousal that was there moments ago.
I want those cheeks red when my cock is eight inches deep inside her. Want her flushed and breathless from pleasure, not nervous about this asshole potentially figuring out who she is.
Clearly, if he hasn't recognized her by scent alone, he and his pack of assholes never admired her enough to actually memorize what makes her unique. Never paid enough attention to commit her essence to memory. Their loss. Our gain.
"If this is your Omega," Jasper says, his voice taking on a challenging tone, "then prove it."
Nash and Grayson share a look. One of those silent pack communications that we've perfected over years of living together.How far do we take this? How much are we willing to commit to this claim?
The Omega opens her mouth, probably to explain or deflect or do something diplomatic?—
But I can't help myself.
My hand moves to her chin, gripping it gently but firmly, stilling her face. I turn her toward me, making sure she has no choice but to look directly into my eyes.
Those blue eyes go wide, her lips parting slightly in surprise.
"It's been a hot minute since we got to kiss, hasn't it, Sugarplum?"
The nickname rolls off my tongue naturally. Perfect for her. Sweet and festive and mine.
She stutters, "Y-yes... but I'm working?—"
I smirk, letting my thumb brush along her jawline. "True. But we can't leave him hanging, can we? He wants proof. So Santa can get a little taste, right?"
I can see the embarrassment coloring her cheeks, making that blush even deeper. But underneath it, in the depths of those blue eyes, I see something else. A hint of rebellion. A spark of mischief. The look of someone who's about to say 'fuck it' and go all in.
