Mac moved over to the wall, crossing his arms and leaning against it. “Is that how they ended the story?” He asked, amused.
“Yeah. I think so. I mean, it’s been a while since I heard it.” Her face fell, like she was realizing her brothers couldn’t tell it to her anymore, no matter the holiday or month. “Is there more to it?” She swallowed down whatever she was feeling and finally asked.
“A bit more,” Mac smiled kindly at her. “The newest wife wasn’t an idiot,” he picked up where Tessa had left off, trying to distract the obviously saddened Omega. “She knew survival depended on hiding her transgression. Unfortunately, she’d dropped and bloodied the key while in that forbidden room. No matter how she scrubbed, the crimson stains wouldn’t disappear. So, she hid the evidence. Only, Blue Beard wasn’t an idiot either. Once he returned to the estate, he asked for his keys. The minute he held them, he knew the truth. The telltale key wasn’t among the others. He knows there’s only one reason why it would be missing, and he informs his young wife that she will soon join the others for her betrayal of trust.”
“Your version is just a longer version of Tessa’s,” Tray pokes with a shrug. “The newest wife ends up ding-dong dead.”
“Not exactly,” Mac locked gazes with our Omega. She looked back, her own eyes shining with interest. He continued. “You see, the wife's brothers were supposed to arrive that day to visit. They’d promised. The wife asked her murderous husband for time to pray; hopeful the brothers would arrive in time to save her. Against odds, they did. So, the last wife survived. Curiosity,” his gaze flicked down to Josie, “did not kill the cat.”
Tessa grinned widely. “I never, not once, thought to look up the story myself. If my brothers were alive—” she halted abruptly, grin dying away. Seconds later though, she gave herself a little shake and finished. “I’d kick their butts.”
“Just so we’re clear here,” I walked forward, closing the gap between me and Tessa. I wondered if she’d shrink away from me, but she didn’t. “We don’t have bodies behind this door. Although, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to see inside regardless.”
“Hmm,” she cocked her head, considering. “Yeah, I’m not sure whatto say to that. All you just accomplished is making me wonder what other terrible, horrible things you guys might be hiding instead of dead bodies.”
“Just show her,” Dixon rumbled to life. “She’s not going to feel safe if she thinks we’re keeping secrets.”
“I agree,” Mac added.
“Can I hold the cat while you look?” Tray bolted forward, eagerly outstretching his hands. Tessa looked down at his waiting arms. She considered for a moment but then shook her head ‘no’. “Oh, that’s okay,” Tray backed up, sheepishly putting one hand on his hip while the other slipped through his hair. “Whenever you’re cool with it.”
“Thanks,” Tessa offered him a tentative smile. “I just can’t let her go… yet.”
While they were talking, I punched the code into the keypad mounted next to the door. The deadbolt retracted with a whirr before the security light transitioned from red to green. I turned the knob and pushed the door inward. The lights were motion activated, so they glowed softly to life, casting the entire space in calming blue light. We could change the hue with a remote, whatever fit our mood. Tessa took one step into the room, looked around, and whistled.
“So… not… dead bodies.” She breathed out, moving further inside.
I followed, feeling the guys at my back, but we all made a point to stay out of the way. I wondered if Dixon, Mac, and Tray were feeling as weird as I was. This shit had never felt embarrassing in the past. It was part of the rock star lifestyle. We fucked when and who and how we wanted, though it never filled the void. Now I was kicking myself—and all of us—for not thinking about clearing this shit out before her arrival. Tessa was leaning over, examining a leather recliner for spicy features. I thought about telling her it was just a comfy chair, one with a seat at just the right height, perfect for giving and receiving, but I kept my mouth shut.
I tried to see everything through her eyes, wondering if she thought we were insane. A huge wall of sex toys, lined straight up to the ceiling and arranged according to size and color. That made us look neurotic asfuck. The double humped bench in the corner, one peak higher than the other, with its strategically placed O-rings ready to bind someone down and hold them there. Hello, pack of sadists. The swing dangling from the ceiling, just begging to be tested, probably looked like another torture device. Then there was the padded wall on the far side. It boasted chain link handcuffs suspended high with leg cuffs curled low against the floor. All it needed was a body to fill the gap.
After making one awkward comment, this girl bolted from the pack suite. Yet faced with our sexual depravity, she couldn't stop exploring, examining every little detail.Was she captivated in a positive way, or was it morbid fascination like witnessing a bad car crash which kept her in thrall?
Eons later, Tessa turned around to face us. She stood in front of the padded wall. For a split second, I imagined her tethered to it, wrists and ankles locked in the cuffs. My dick throbbed, and I had to imagine something less erotic in an attempt to fight back a raging hard-on. That would really be the icing on this fucking cake. Her seeing all this and then witnessing my utter lack of control.
Her eyes roved over our faces, but her expression didn’t betray whatever she was thinking behind her bright blue gaze. This was not part of the first impression we’d planned. Our new Omega was going to think her scent-matched pack were a group of degenerates.
Finally, when I thought I’d whither up and die, she walked forward purposefully. She came to a stop only a foot away from us all.
“I’m starving.” She quipped. “Can someone please take me to the food.”
A few minutes later,we were all in the kitchen.
Why the hell hadn’t she said anything about our... our sex den?A sane person wouldn’t have seen that and just moved on the way she had.
“This is… a lot of food.” Tessa took a deep breath; her hand moved methodically, stroking Josie’s fur. The cat’s eyes were huge, as if she too were overwhelmed by the feast.
"Help yourself to anything," Tray told her, gesturing to the spread of takeout containers covering our massive kitchen island. "We've got Thai, Greek, sushi, classic burgers from this place on Sunset that has the best truffle fries?—"
"And dessert," Dixon cut in, opening the oversized refrigerator to reveal a shelf of bakery boxes. "We’ve got ultimate chocolate brownies, cherry cheesecake.” He paused, thinking. “And whatever the fancy French things are that Mac likes."
"Macarons," Mac supplied.
"Right,” Dixon nodded, “Those taste like shit if you ask me. Think you only like them because of their name."
“Mac likes to mack on Macarons,” Tray sang, shimmying over to a cabinet and pulling down thick paper plates. He turned; a pile clutched in his hands. “Wait, should we use the good stuff? I feel like we should. This is a momentous meal.”
“Yeah, but the cleaner doesn’t come for a few days. I’ve no desire to wash.” This from Mac, who, admittedly, always ended up on kitchen duty.
