Something cold and heavy settles in my stomach. Disappointment. Which is ridiculous because I’ve known this man for all of five minutes and have no right to feel anything about his relationship status.
But I do feel it. Sharp and immediate.
I lean in, letting him relight my cigarette, trying to hide the way my hands aren’t quite steady.
“Your omega is lucky,” I say, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near strained. “Most of the alphas I meet aren’t this considerate.”
Judah hesitates, drawing back. His throat works as he swallows, and for a moment he looks almost stricken.
“I’m not sure he would put it quite that way,” he says finally, clearing his throat.
He.
The shape of the word registers distantly, like I’m hearing it from underwater.He.Male omega. The image forms unbidden in my mind: some beautiful, delicate man wrapped in Judah’s strong arms, claimed and protected and cherished.
The current of desire that runs through me is shocking in its intensity. I’ve never particularly cared about gender when it comes to attraction—alpha, beta, omega, male, female, neither, both—but something about the specific combination of this alpha and a male omega makes my heart race in a way I’m not prepared to examine.
“I should go.” I stub out my cigarette against the brick wall, suddenly desperate to be anywhere but here. “Thanks again for the rescue. And the light.”
I turn to leave, but his voice stops me.
“Phoenix.”
I look back over my shoulder.
“My family has a place on the edge of town. Near the water.” He says it casually, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Old manor house. Too big for the few of us left, but it’s been in the family for generations. Plenty of space.”
I stare at him, not understanding.
“If you and your…entourage need more room than the inn can provide, you’re welcome to come stay.” He pulls a business card from his pocket—who even carries business cards anymore?—and holds it out. “No strings attached, of course.”
I take the card automatically. It’s simple, understated.Judah Daniels. Daniels Fishing Co.A phone number. Nothing else.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, though I would be crazy to even consider it.
Though let’s be honest, I’m not exactly known for my enduring sanity.
He nods once, like that’s all he expected. “Stay safe out here.”
I slip the card into my pocket and hurry away, feeling his eyes on my back until I turn the corner.
The night air does nothing to cool the heat in my cheeks or calm the storm in my chest. I need to get back to the inn, back to the safety of that too-small room with its too-large bed and the two men who are rapidly becoming more complicated than I ever wanted them to be.
But first, I need to figure out what the hell just happened. And why, despite everything, part of me wants to turn around and go back to the alpha with the ocean eyes and the claiming bite that means he belongs to someone else.
FIFTEEN
PHOENIX
“I can’t believethat was you singing,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual as we walk down the darkened street in the general direction of our hotel. “I’ve had that song on my playlist for years.”
Atticus’s mouth quirks up at one corner. “I’m wounded you didn’t recognize my voice.”
“It sounds different on the recording.” I kick at a pebble on the sidewalk, watching it skitter across the cobblestones. “More…processed, I guess.”
“That’s because my father insisted on layering it with about fifteen vocal tracks and enough reverb to drown a small country.” Atticus shoves his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the evening chill. “Said my natural voice wasn’t ‘commercial enough.’”
The bitterness in his tone catches me off guard. I’ve spent the last hour trying to reconcile the Atticus I thought I knew—privileged, arrogant, coasting on family connections—with the man I watched pour his soul into a battered guitar in a dive bar.
