Never be mine.
Hell, I’ll probably never actually have an omega. Isadora has made it clear she doesn’t want me anywhere near her, regardless that I precede her in the pack. That the alphas actually love me, want me, and they barely tolerate her.
I fully expect Isadora and I to lead separate lives.
Which, if I’m honest, is more than alright with me. Or it would be if it didn’t also mean that I’ll be separate from the rest of my pack too.
“Piers?” I come back to myself, to Ren, to find her standing just in front of me, those bewitching eyes of hers watching me with concern. “Are you alright?”
I force my lips to smile and nod, running a knuckle down her cheek in reassurance. “Yes, I’m fine. Just contemplating.”
Her head tilts. “What are you contemplating?”
“You mostly.”
Her cheeks go pink again, and she snorts as she shakes her head. “You shouldn’t waste your time on that, on me. There’s not much to contemplate.”
Is that what she thinks? Is that what my pack has made her think? That she’s not worth our time? Their time?
Probably.
Definitely.
We have no one to blame but ourselves.
“I disagree, little bird.”
Ren harumphs, and scans the room again, checking that everything is ready. Outside the sky cracks and it starts pouring down rain. The first rainy day since we’ve been here, and it's for Ren’s date. If the weather channel is to be believed it's only going to get worse as the night progresses.
It's a good thing that what she planned didn’t require us to go outside. I know one of the omegas—Odette, I think—planned a sunset dinner on a yacht. If Ren had done something like that we’d be soaked in minutes.
Of course with her, it would probably be as romantic as hell. She’d just tip her head back and laugh as the rain fell, soaked her dress, made it cling to that gorgeous body of hers. Then she’d coax all of us out into it with her, make us dance and laugh and splash.
Yeah, I have a feeling doing anything with Florence would be a fucking delight.
Root canal.
Taxes.
CrossFit.
“You’re doing it again,” she huffs, bustling over to the fort to check the pillows for the fifteenth time. I fold my arms and watch her, something warm and soft taking over my chest as she drops to her knees and shifts a light blue velvet pillow a millimeter to the left.
It's the same blue as the Ashbourne tartan.
Every single thing in this room has been picked with care by the omega in front of me.
A knock on the door has her jerking, messing up the pillow placement as she does. She looks with wide eyes from the door to the pillows and back. Her omega no doubt demanding that she fix the ‘fort’ while she also knows she needs to let in whoever is on the other side of the door.
“I’ll answer it,” I reassure her. “You finish what you're doing.” What she’s doing is building a nest, but we’ve both been very careful not to call it that.
Another crack of thunder rolls through the room as I open the door, revealing a cameraman, a producer and Courtland, huddled under the small front porch.
Court frowns. “What are you doing here?”
Ren makes an outraged sound that I’m not sure my packmate can hear, but a second later she’s between the two of us, her little omega body pressed too damn close against my cock and her faint floral forward scent blooming around us. “I invited him,” she says glaring up at him.
Court’s eyes move from her to me and back. His lips quirk into a smirk, as he folds his arms over his chest. “We going somewhere we’ll need a personal assistant, pix?”
