Seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him not smiling or laughing. It’s unnerving, and I’m surprised no one has shot him yet because of it.
As we come to the second bedroom, Tynan is standing up already. Seeing him reignites the fire in my belly again. In a lot of ways, he let me down the most, not that that makes sense. Although it does too because the Genoa Alphas happened organically, but meeting Tynan feels contrived, especially now I know a little more about how he fits into the picture. Clearly, this is what made him moody that night. I thought it was because he was my masturbation buddy, apparently not. Which leads me to a completely different reason we need to have a discussion.
“Will your Omega come in for this chat, or will you relay it?” I ask no one in particular, being bitchy in my tone. But one look at Tynan is like getting punched in the face by the reality that this pack already has their Omega, and it’s rare for packs to have two Omegas. They don’t need me, which means I’m a prisoner for another reason.
My emotions flop again. The sting of hurt knowing they have their pack all sorted, and I’m here for another reason, has me sliding back into being pissed at them. In part, my emotions are out of control because of them and how good they smell. They influence my designation without trying, making me not feel myself. Add in the fact I still haven’t slept properly after last night, my injuries are hurting more than they should, and this morning's meeting with Walsh, and all I want to do is crawl into my nest and chase some comfort.
Wiping my hands over my face, I glance back at Tynan, waiting for an answer, but he’s not looking at me; he’s looking at the leader of this pack.
“Rafferty, are you coming in?” Tynan asks loud enough for his voice to carry through the two units.
There’s no response for a moment, and I take that as his answer. I wave everyone on again, keen to get this conversation over and done with, but before I take two steps, he answers.
“I want to, but I don’t think I should.”
“Why?” I ask, before I can stop myself.
“It’s your space,” he answers, and like his scent, his voice hits deep, impacting me more than it should.
“And this is your pack,” I snap back, feeling like a cow as soon as I finish speaking. I make a concerted effort to not be a complete bitch. “Honestly, I’m past caring.”
He pops into view, and the splash of pain and shock on his face is like someone burying their fingers into my stitches—it hurts. “Don’t say that. You should care. This is your space.”
Omega to Omega, I get what he’s saying. God, I do. Having these people, strangers, really, in my space where I eat and sleep is like having biting ants over my skin. On top of everything else, it’s a lot to cope with, but the most concerning is my lack of freedom.
“Like I said, you should be in here too.” I ignore the emotion pouring off him, almost as much as I ignore the way his scent is like a cuddle on a cold winter night.
I seriously think he’ll stay on his side of the apartment. I mean, I would. I’m sounding and acting like a maniac; it’s probably safer with a few walls separating us. Omegas don’t often share spaces because they both get territorial of each other—imagine a bitch fight with lots of slapping, hissing, and screaming, and you’re partway there to getting it.
Except, he doesn’t hesitate. He hobbles over, not stopping until he is almost nose to nose with me. So close, I can see for myself there’s no conflict in him, except perhaps, if I asked him to fight for me.
It’s too much. I turn slightly, bringing my hand up as a sign for him to stop. He freezes on the spot and becomes a smallerversion of himself. Which only makes me feel worse, but at the moment, I need to protect myself.
“Please give me a second. We can sit anywhere, but give me some space.” I talk to the room as opposed to one of them. It really is getting to be too much, being around them, that is. It makes my Omega pine louder than my fear of being locked up.
They move away without arguing, and instead of joining them, I have to walk back into my bedroom to gather my swirling thoughts. I open the window, chasing fresh air, and stand there, eyes closed, taking huge gulps of air until their scents have washed away. On my bedside table, I find a fresh bottle of water, and I drink the whole thing.
I don’t intentionally make them wait, but time drags as I brush my hair and do my face. I walk out feeling better, more put together, ready to argue or kill this perfect scented pack if they don’t let me leave.
Chapter Twenty-Two
KEEGAN
The alerts on my phone are going off like fireworks, shit is going down, and I need to get out and help. But not until Tally is looking more like Tally and less like she’s about to run for the hills.
It’s hard not to rush over and pick her up; it’s a fight to sit still and let her come to us. Every muscle in my body twitches in eagerness, and a sheen of rage coats my skin from thinking of what she’s been through. It’s not fucking right.
“Kee, you have to relax.” Rafferty reaches over and squeezes my thigh.
Looking up at him should have the noise inside rippling away to nothing, but seeing his blue eyes so listless, the bruises on his face getting more pronounced by the minute, only blackens my mood.
Two Omegas to protect now, and both of them are as battered and bruised as the other. Failure eats at me. We should have been protecting them, not the other way round.
Honestly, the only thing bringing me peace right now is knowing our Omegas are locked inside one of the safest, most secure buildings in Ireland. I should know, since I watched over every inch being built.
She walks out, and I’m on my feet, glaring at the world one minute, staring in wonder the next. Her hair is done, she’s got makeup on, and her lips are set in a hard line, making my blood bubble—for so many goddamn reasons.
“Well, being pissed is a new look for you,” she sasses as she passes.
