I can feel his arousal through our bond, and I may put a little extra sway into my hips as I walk to him. “Like it?”
“Love it. Want it on the floor.” He takes my waist and leans in to kiss me.
“No!” Tilda has a hand between our faces at shocking speed. “After the ceremony. Do all that after. These lips need to stay perfect until no one’s looking at them anymore. Then you can kiss them or do whatever you want with them.”
Kyte lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Oh, the sacrifices I make for beauty. First I had to do this to my hair, and now I have to wait to ravage my Omega.”
“Ravage?” Tilda splays her fingers at him like cat claws. “Meow.”
“The ship is waiting.” Kyte steps back, his white dress uniform hitting him in all the right places.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Be good,” Tilda calls and closes her door.
“Is it wrong for me to want you so badly on a day like today?” I take his hand as we stride down the Omega hall.
“It’s never wrong for you to want me.” He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it, which makes every single bit of me melt.
We push out into the morning and Ceredes and Jeren seem to freeze as we walk toward them. Both of them eat me up with their eyes, and the arousal that ricochets around the circle is heady and verges on intoxicating.
“You three stop.” I fan myself with my hand, though it does absolutely nothing to cool me off where I need it.
“Us?” Jeren pulls my hair away from the nape of my neck and blows across my skin.
“You come out here wearing a dress like that and want us to stop?” Ceredes runs his fingertips along my collarbone, and I press my thighs together to try and keep the slick at bay.
“We should go.” Kyte steps back. “If we don’t, there’s no way you’re getting off this planet until you’re covered in our—”
“Come on.” Master Harlan strides by and opens a portal. “Ship’s waiting.”
My cheeks flame red as I follow him, my Alphas on my heels, to the hangar and onto a silver ship. It’s a model I’ve flown a few times before, but it’s not a fighter, more of a transporter.
Several others are already on board. Master Rav, Onin, other instructors, a handful of dignitaries from Centari, plus more that I don’t recognize.
Once we’re seated in the back of the wide, comfortable cabin, the engine hums to life and we lift off with ease.
A female sitting ahead of us turns around and offers Kyte her hand. “I’m sorry about your mother.”
He takes it between both of his. “Thank you. I’m certain she would appreciate your presence, Matron Gwaharna.”
More people turn to speak with him, some rising from their seats to come and express their sadness at his mother’s passing or tell a story about her bravery. Kyte takes it all in stride, and I realize he’s a natural at politics. Everyone who speaks to him leaves with a feeling of contentment. I can tell by the way they sit and lean to the person next to them to whisper about how gracious young Kyte Ellarian is.
“He’s a crowd pleaser.” Jeren runs his fingers along the hilt of his favorite knife. He’s dressed in black, but not the usual academy dress uniform with its orange insignia. It’s the mourning clothes of the flotilla. All black. The space between the stars.
“Wormhole.” Ceredes throws his arm around my shoulders as I look ahead to the shimmering bit of space.
I wince. The way the darkness ripples like water—it’s the same as when the Sentients came through. When Master Daviti—
“It’s okay.” Jeren takes my hand, and Kyte pauses in his conversation and turns to me. “You’re safe.”
“How do we know?” I squeeze Jeren’s fingers.
“The fleet sweeps all wormholes before travel,” Ceredes says in my ear. “The Granterries are still suspicious, and I don’t blame them, but this one is safe.”
“You’re sure?”
He rubs his fingers on my bare shoulder. “Yes.”
My breath still hitches, but I give Kyte a half smile. “Keep being popular. I’m okay.”
