She beams—actually beams—and the brightness of that smile makes my chest ache. "Thank you, Marcus!"
That's genuine gratitude. Pure joy. No artifice, no manipulation. Just happiness that someone is giving her permission to take a break. Like she doesn't believe she deserves it otherwise.
What kind of pack made her feel like she has to earn basic kindness?
She starts to slide off my lap, clearly intending to walk on her own two feet like a capable, independent Omega?—
But fuck that.
I scoop her up instead.
One arm slides under her knees, the other supporting her back, lifting her effortlessly into my arms in a classic bridal carry. The movement is smooth, practiced—I've carried injured soldiers twice her weight through hostile territory. She's nothing. Light as a feather. Easy to carry.
She fits perfectly in my arms, her body curving into mine like we've done this a thousand times before. The velvet of her dress is soft against my forearm, and I can feel the warmth of her thighs through the fabric, the way her body is still trembling slightly from the kiss.
She squeaks—actually squeaks, this adorable little sound of surprise that makes me want to kiss her again—and stares up at me with those blue contacts making her eyes look huge and shocked.
"You can't—I'm too heavy—put me down—" The words tumble out in a rush, panic coloring her voice.
Too heavy. She genuinely thinks she's too heavy. This gorgeous Omega who probably weighs maybe 140, 145 poundssoaking wet thinks she's too heavy for an Alpha who regularly deadlifts twice his body weight at the gym. Who carried full combat gear through the desert. Who can bench press 275 without breaking a sweat.
That asshole pack really did a number on her, didn't they? Made her believe she was too much. Too big. Too heavy. Too everything. When in reality, she's fucking perfect.
"Sugarplum," I say, looking directly into those worried blue eyes, making sure she sees the absolute sincerity in my expression. "You're perfect. And I'm not putting you down."
I mean it. Every word. She could weigh twice what she does and I'd still carry her without hesitation. Weight has nothing to do with worth. Size has nothing to do with value. And whoever made her think otherwise deserves to have their ass kicked.
I'm feeling some sense of purpose suddenly. Something I haven't felt in months, maybe years. Not since before I came back from overseas and realized the world kept turning while I was gone, that nothing I did over there mattered in the grand scheme of things, that I couldn't save everyone no matter how hard I tried.
But this—carrying her, protecting her, making sure she knows she's valued and wanted and not too heavy or too anything—it matters. It means something. Like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, doing exactly what I'm supposed to do.
This is new. This is different. This feeling of rightness, of purpose, of mattering to someone even if it's just for this moment. It fills something in me I didn't realize was empty.
I walk away from the bar, away from Jasper and his asshole friends, away from Nash and Grayson who I trust to handle the situation. The background noise of the tavern fades as I carry her down the hallway that leads to the back rooms—storage, office, employee areas.
"Where does Ms. Claus want to go for her break?" I ask, keeping my voice low and warm.
She blushes—again, always blushing, and I fucking love it—while she looks up at me. Then her eyes slide past me, looking down the hallway, and I see it.
That hint of rebellion in her eyes. That spark of mischief that says she's about to do something she probably shouldn't.
I lean down, bringing my mouth close to her ear. "Talk to me, Sugarplum. Tell me what you want."
She blushes deeper—if that's even possible—but she maintains eye contact. Doesn't look away. Doesn't back down from what she wants.
"The supply closet?" she whispers.
The supply closet.
She wants to go to the supply closet. With me. Alone. For her 'break.'
My smirk grows into a full grin.
This Omega isn't simply a rebel. She's a risk-taker. She's someone who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to ask for it, even when she's blushing the whole time. She's brave and bold and so fucking perfect it hurts.
Now I have to try hard not to instantly fall in love.
CHAPTER 9
