“Becoming a counselor…it helped,” she continues, her voice soft. “Helping other Omegas…it felt like…atonement, I suppose. Like I was finally doing somethinggood, something that mattered.“ She looks up, meeting my gaze. “I never thought I’d amount to anything. My father always said I was useless, that I’d never be anything but a burden. He had me learn how to hot-wire cars, break into houses, pick locks…all when I was a kid. I didn’t think I had anyrealskills. Any skills that mattered, anyway.”
She sighs, setting the captured pawn down on the edge of the board. “Even before…before all ofthis,“ she gestures vaguely, encompassing the room, the house, our pack, “I was living in a shared house for Omegas. Rent week-to-week. Barely scraping by.” She offers a small, humorless smile. “Not exactly a picture of success.”
Her words hit me with unexpected force. The vulnerability, the self-doubt, the lingering pain of her past; it resonates in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
“I assume…everything I had is gone now,” she says, her voice quiet, almost to herself. “My clothes, at the house… They probably cleared out my room the second I disappeared.” She shrugs, a forced casualness that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s just clothes. Nothing important.”
But I know it’s notjustclothes. It’s a symbol. Of a life, however precarious, that she’d built for herself. A life that was stolen from her.
“My personal things…they’re in storage,” she continues. “I always…I always paid for it a year in advance. Just in case.” Shegives a small, bitter smile. “I never trusted my father not to…well, not to do exactly what he did.”
“We can get your things,” I say, the words out before I even fully consider them. “Whenever you’re ready. We can go to Pueblo, get everything out of storage.” I pause, adding, with more firmness, “You don’t have to keep things instorageanymore, Sandra. You have a home. With us.”
The words hang in the air, heavy with implication.With us. A permanent offer. A pack offer.
Tears well up in her eyes, spilling over and tracing paths down her cheeks. She makes a small, choked sound, her hand flying to her mouth. “I…I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “I don’t…hormones, I guess.”
I feel a surge of awkwardness. I’m not good at this. Comforting. Emotional displays. Oli’s much better at this sort of thing.
But she’spack. And she’s hurting.
I move, shifting around the chessboard to kneel beside her on the floor. I reach out, tentatively at first, then gather her into a hug. “It’s okay.” My voice comes out rough. “You can cry. You’ve been through…a lot. In a very short amount of time. It’s…natural.”
She leans into me, her body trembling. She doesn’t sob, not like before, but the tears flow freely, soaking into the shoulder of my shirt. I hold her, feeling strangely…protective. And something else. Something deeper.
After a few minutes, the tears subside She pulls back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving damp streaks on her cheeks. We stay there for a long, silent moment, just looking at each other. The air crackles with something unspoken, something new.
And then she kisses me.
It’s not like the frantic, desperate kisses after the bonding. It’s not the claiming bite, the possessive instinct. This is…different. It starts soft, her lips tentative against mine, a hesitant exploration. I don’t move, don’t react, letting her set the pace, unsure of whatthisis, but knowing, instinctively, that it’s important.
Her lips are soft, a little chapped. She tastes faintly of chamomile and salt, of tears and something uniquelyher. My hand, which had been resting awkwardly on her back, moves, finding its way to her waist, drawing her closer.
The kiss deepens, a slow, deliberate increase in pressure. Not demanding, not yet, but…searching. Exploring. My other hand comes up, cupping her cheek, my thumb brushing lightly against her skin. It’s a connection, a spark.
She makes a small sound, a soft sigh that vibrates against my lips, and that’s when something breaks loose inside me. A warmth, a tenderness, a fierce protectiveness that goes beyond instinct. It’sher. Sandra. Not just an Omega, not justourOmega, buther.
My lips part, inviting her in, and she responds, her tongue tracing the seam of my lips, a hesitant, delicate touch that sends a shiver down my spine. The kiss is slow, deliberate, filled with a quiet intensity that’s more potent than any frantic passion. It feels like…love. A different love than I feel for Jethro, Ross, or Oli, but no less real, no less profound.
The slow, searching kiss builds, igniting a fire within me. My hand tightens on her waist, and she responds, her fingers tangling in my hair, tugging gently. The quiet intensity shatters, replaced by a growing urgency.
My tongue slides against hers, tasting her, claiming her. She answers with a soft moan, her body arching into mine. The cold fear that had clung to her, that had lingered in her scent, isreplaced by something else. Something hot and sweet. Desire.Herdesire. And it’s intoxicating.
I deepen the kiss further, my hand sliding from her waist to cup her back. The soft fabric of my old sweatshirt does little to hide the curves beneath, and my Alpha stirs, responding to her closeness, to her scent, to the undeniablerightnessof this.
The front door opens.
We break apart, both of us breathing hard, flushed and disoriented. The sudden interruption is jarring, pulling us back to reality with a thud.
“Food’s here!” Ross calls from the hallway, his voice followed by the sound of approaching footsteps.
I push myself up, moving back to my side of the chessboard, trying to regain some semblance of composure. Sandra sits up, too, smoothing down her hair, her cheeks flushed.
Oli and Ross enter, carrying bags overflowing with takeout containers. The aroma of burgers, fries, and barbecue sauce fills the room, a sharp contrast to the lingering scent of arousal.
Ross sets the containers down on the coffee table, glancing between us, a knowing smirk on his lips. “Smells like someone’s been perfuming. Did we interrupt something?”
Oli sniffs the air, then grins at Sandra. “Should I put this aside to keep? We could all have a bit of fun, if us coming in didn’t kill the mood.”
