“You need me, you text me. No matter the reason,” Big Tom says, and I look up in my rear vision mirror and see him wave.
I didn’t think I’d be nervous driving to my happy ever after, but I am seriously shitting bricks. To get a grip of the flurry of nerves making me stupid, I make myself focus on how pretty it is outside. I list an abridged version of what I see, hear, and smell and it’s a good focus. My brain locks on to everything as I drive slowly towards him: the isolation, how far we are away from everyone, endless wildflowers, the sudden drop of the outside blowing in, the smell of snow.
All my focusing tasks go out the window as I pull up to the address he sent.
My hand flies to my chest as I try to take it all in. The lakeside cottage is right out of a romance movie; the home is quaint, definitely not five stars but it’s absolutely adorable.
Nestled under the tallest trees I’ve ever seen, the log cabin with its green pitched roof and matching window trim is nearly as old as the trees. I’d put money on it having a deck out the back because if I owned it, I know I’d built one. The lake behind the house sits like a postcard and I have to take a photo with my phone because I don’t ever want to forget it.
I sit there in stunned silence, taking everything in; the front veranda facing me has two white Adirondack chairs and I make a point for us to sit on them to watch the sun rise. On the side of the house, is a chimney currently chugging smoke.
But it’s King that draws me out of my stupor when he opens the front door of the cabin, walks out, and leans his arms against the top rail of the short veranda, staring at me with so much heat I think I’ll combust.
Damn him for going all out.
He’s had his hair cut and he’s freshly shaven, and for once there’s not a Fallen logo or a pair of dark jeans in sight. Instead, he’s dressed to match my fantasy in nothing but a pair of tight grey sweatpants. Sweet baby Jesus, he’s not wearing shoes either—honestly, he is so fucking sexy. And I do okay, I mean I’m fucking panting for him, but then I see he’s also got a new tattoo on his chest, and he stands tall so I can see it. The whole fucking world can’t miss it, actually. My name sits smack bang in the middle of the Fallen wings, surrounded by something, but its meaning is obvious—I come before all else.
I have to open my mouth to breathe. I feel like a zombie as I climb out of my car, but I know I’m alive. My chest is rising and falling fast; my inner thighs are drenched. Nothing around me registers and my complete concentration on him only gets worse as my vision tunnels.
“You good, killer? You’re looking a bit feral there.” The smirk on his face, and the rolling purr in his words does even more to my lack of control; it shatters it. I go to lift my top off, ready to flash him my tits when his face contorts, and he flips his switch so fast it scares me.
“Get fucking here now,” he snaps as he does a Jacob Black to leap over the balustrade blurring to push me behind his back.
King’s bourbon scent spikes and the surge literally makes my head spin to feel like I’m drunk. His scent is one thing, his presence is equally commanding and the combination of both strips past my defences and hits me right in the Omega. I can’t see straight as I swim through my body’s reactions and whilethere’s no way to miss the warning he’s giving our uninvited guests all I can do is sway.
“Stay in your car and leave,” King growls, moving to keep me hidden from sight. He is responding on a very primal level to me.
The driver doesn’t do as he is told though. He opens his door at the same time a wind comes racing through the trees from the direction they came. And it makes me stumble. I fall my head knocking against King’s hip as I drop to my knees whining.
It wasn’t just my body still sorting through King’s intensity that made me fall and it wasn’t the unexpected wind gale that blew me off my feet. It’s the impact of the Alpha’s unique perfume. Or should I say Alphas.
Lemon meringue so sweet I can’t swallow because my jaw aches so much it hurts. Blackberry so poignant and sweet my nipples ache in need. And a new scent, so instantly compatible and triggering, it sends my slick into overdrive.
Tyson and Maverick are somehow here.
And whoever is with them is also my scent-matched Alpha.
The four of them just blasted the next phase of my heat.
Chapter
Thirty
TRISTAN
Three different Alphas shout my name, and in doing they tunnel all their focus towards me. Their entire focus. And it’s a lot for a girl to take in. Under the unexpected weight of their Alpha presence and sweet attention, my arms decide to give out, making me flop face first into the dirt.
I’m not hurt and if they all stop rushing closer and calling my name, I’ll have the chance to bounce back up and explain. Of course they don’t, it’s like getting sucker punched by a bourbon, lemon, and blackberry silk glove… amazing and overwhelming at the same time.
“For God’s sake don’t move another goddamn inch! Give me a fucking minute!” I yell out, although it’s probably more like a long moan. I have to close my eyes to ride through the tsunami of Alpha deliciousness and compatibility. And an ocean of embarrassment.
After a handful of steadying exhales, I climb to my feet. Turning away from them I brush the dirt off my face and right my clothes in an effort to steady myself. Honestly, my Omega genetics are out of control—the things I want to do to them have nothing to do with talking but obviously I need to focus on afew other things considering we’ve got a major issue or two to resolve.
It takes a few attempts until I manage to shove my lusty Omega side in a box and temporarily out of the way so I can function without whining, or leaking any more than I am. Using my hand to wave away my bubble-gum perfume, I plaster on my working face and spin to face the crowd.
I was under-prepared. I realise that now. The four of them are like a fucking smorgasbord waiting to be devoured, and I’m absolutely ravenous. King’s looking downright dangerous in his grey sweats and bare feet; Maverick’s hair is a mess, but he’s got the wickedest smirk on his face, and Tyson in a white button-down and jeans is near pornographic. Of course, even the new guy falls victim to my appetite—he is the personification of a damn tasty Alpha snack, for me at least.
His grey eyes are captivating, despite the fact they’re currently aimed at me not in the nicest way. He’s tall, probably pretty similar to Tyson and they also share the same colour hair, although the new guy has it tied up in a bit of a bun thing with loose bits all around his face. My eyes jump to the rest of his face; eyebrow pierced, nose ring, freckles for days, and a beard. The new guy is fit.
