Wyatt pulls me in for a tight hug. His warm embrace and scent relax my nerves until I’m purring. I relax into it and even purr a little. But the moment passes and we’re reminded we’re at a very public event.
I pull back and glance around the room. “Are Bastion and Ranier here, too?”
Wyatt nods and then points up at the balcony. “Bastion’s up there pouting and looking for you. Ranier’s… tied up with something Council-related with his father.”
My mood sours at the mention of Ranier’s father. The one person here who might really have it out for me. “I’m sure he’s enjoying that.”
Wyatt barks a laugh. “Oh yeah. Immensely.”
The crowd shifts, and suddenly I’m surrounded—people wanting a word, a handshake, or a piece of the new omega in town. Wyatt is similarly whisked away. The crowd watches all of me, but their eyes regularly dart to my neck, checking for bite marks like it’s an awards tally. They ask about the shelter down the road, about the Council, and about “life with three such illustrious alphas.” I give the answers I practiced in the mirror: short and sweet, with just enough humor to make them underestimate me.
It’s exhausting. After twenty minutes, I duck out to the restroom, which is painted a shade of pink so violent I almost get a migraine. I stand at the sink, breathing slow, hands braced on the marble. I look at my reflection and try to see what they see. But I don’t. I see me. The me with Everhart alpha bite marks that prove I belong without any doubt.
The door swings open. I expect another influencer, or maybe one of the PR ladies with a powder puff. Instead, it’s Bastion in a perfectly tailored suit. He glances around and then, finding the bathroom empty except for me, locks the door behind him.
Bastion doesn’t say hi. He just stands there, staring at me he’s afraid I might bolt again. Which is fair.
Someone has to start talking or we’ll stay here silent for hours. “Hey.”
“Hey.” His voice is a wreck—husky, a little raw. I supposed it’s been a long night for all of us. “How are you holding up?”
I shrug, which is a feat given the dress’s construction. “Ask me after round two of interviews.”
Bastion tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite land. “You look good, by the way. Better than them.”
I chuckle a little. “I’m not sure I believe that. The other omegas are gorgeous.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve only been looking at you.”
My heart flutters. “Bastion?—”
“When are you coming back?” Bastion asks. His eyes watch my every move. Heisafraid I’ll bolt or break. If he was watching me with Wyatt, I think the answer is pretty obvious.
“Tonight, with you all. If you’ll have me.”
“Have you?” Bastion echoes with wide eyes. “Emery, you’re all we’ve ever wanted. I know we didn’t exactly show that at first, but it’s true.”
I shake my head. “You did. Not on Selection Day, but after. This was all a giant misunderstanding. I’m sorry for just leaving.”
Bastion wraps his arms around me. “Do not apologize. I wouldn’t want to be in the same house as us either in that moment.” He smooths down my hair and kisses the top of my head. His whole body relaxes as he takes me in. “I love you, Emery.”
“I love you all, too,” I murmur into his shoulder.
We both draw back at the same time and then he kisses me. It’s slow and passionate.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until Bastion pulls back, cradling my chin and wiping the tears from under my eyes with the pad of his thumb. His lips brush my cheek before finding mine again—so gentle, so careful. I taste salt and champagne and something woody. I taste longing left to ripen. His hands slide down my arms and rest at my waist, thumbs tracing circles through the thin fabric, grounding me.
He deepens the kiss, tongue flicking over my lip, asking permission. I grant it gladly, melting into him, my body humming with a nervous energy that’s more relief than fear. For a moment, we’re the only two people in the world. Not omega and alpha, not runaway and rejected, just us. His hair, always short but never quite tame, tickles my jaw as he holds me closer. A tremor runs through him, and I wonder if he’s as overwhelmed as I am. Maybe more. Maybe enough to finally say what we both need to hear.
“Emery,” he murmurs, voice shredded and thick, “I thought I’d lost you.”
“You didn’t,” I whisper into the space between our lips. “You never did.”
He grins then—mischievous, bashful, and so achingly vulnerable. “Don’t go again,” he says, as if it’s a favor, not acommand. I nod, unable to promise out loud except with the way I touch his face, the way I lean into his next kiss.
But reality crashes back to us when someone tries to the door handle. A woman’s voice yells, “Hey, open up!”
We part, laughing, and I shout, “One moment!” Then, quieter to Bastion, “We should get back to it. We’ll be missed after long, and I want to find Ranier.”
