She huffs and sits up, keeping her ass tucked in Silas' big spoon. I chuckle when she steals the slice of bacon from me. Watching Vivie wiggle with happiness from a bite of meat gives me so much joy it's probably blaring down the bond.
Round and round our feelings travel, guiding and encouraging Vivian to munch and fill her belly. As she eats, Silas and I chat, providing opportunities for Vivie to join our conversation if she chooses. When asked a question, she responds with her body—head shakes, nods, shrugs, hand gestures, whatever she's feeling.
It's common for her heat to alter how much she speaks or when. We've been with her since we were all in a designation university, so we know our omega and we know each other. Just about nine years of getting to know one another and our needs has brought us a long way in honing our patience and understanding.
"Few more bites?" I push, lifting the plate toward my omega.
I keep my face from twitching when she frowns at the half-full plate. If she can't stomach it, then she simply won't. We try not to force her to eat unless her depression is really taking its toll.
Silas, bless him, tickles her bare thigh and licks the syrup from her fingers. A smile and shiver pulls her from her thoughts. When a blueberry rolls, it catches her eye and appetite.
Maybe I'll be sucking both my men off today. One because he'll probably make me beg and the other, my beta, in appreciation for helping our omega eat a full breakfast.
Two
Vivian
I've been through this before and I'll continue to deal with it until I die. Being an omega doesn't give me much of a choice. My body does everything I don't want it to do every other month. The fact that some omegas have a heat every four weeks makes me ill for them.
For real. Who on earth decided the sheer hormonal anguish combined with physical pain and a mind-bending experience wasnormal?
Sometimes I wonder about those corrupt academies that were dismantled a few years back. They suppressed heats to occur only twice a year. Guilt throbs in my temples when envy flutters in my chest. I shouldn't envy the torture and abuse those people were put through. I don't, but forcing my heat to leave me alone most of the year sounds wonderful.
Every time I start feeling more like myself, my hormones go haywire. My fight, flight, and freeze instincts kick in. I shut that shit down so fast it exhausts me. I don't even have to try to mute my pheromones actively anymore. It's become an automatic response. I don't want to burden my pack so badly that I've rewritten my biology.That's fucked up. I'm very aware of myissues, but that doesn't mean I'm strong enough to battle them every day.
Not only does masking the effects of my heat tire me out, but the chemical imbalance in my brain that keeps me depressed likes to make my eyes droop by mid-afternoon each day.
When I was a young teenager, my parents put me on every antidepressant imaginable to fix me. Nothing worked. I didn't have the ability to tell them that research suggests waiting longer than just a week to see any changes.
Now, I won't touch the tiny pills. I won't have someone try to change who I am. Then there's the fact that even thinking about medication sends me right into some form of stress response. I'll blame my fucked up parents for that one.
I've decided that this is me, no matter how hard it is to justlivesome days.
Detaching from the discomfort of having no control over my body is the easiest way to ride the heat wave. That is, until my pack brings me back to life in the form of seductive touches and warm love.
I want nothing more than to close my eyes and zone out the next week. My pack won't allow me to fade away though. With them at my side, I can't whither and cease to exist, no matter how easily I could do it.
Without them to pull me from the depths of my silence and depression, I'd never eat, see the sunshine, or feel enough to be annoyed with them.
They've taken care of me more than usual, and I know why. I'm a bitfeistierthan we're used to. Even I've caught myself off guard with the amount of times I've glared.
I'm afraid if I speak, I'll say something I regret. Something feelsoff.I can't explain it, but I don't need to. My alphas and my beta know what to do.
No matter how much I want to push Kade's large hand away from me, I don't. He's pack alpha and the best cook ever. No way can I actually put up a fight about his constant need to feed me. I don't love the hand feeding, but waking up to a turkey panini under my nose is nice.
What'snotnice is Silas' task in getting me fresh air every day. An omega's heat usually makes them clingier, not me. I want to be alone. Except I don't at the same time. I'm complicated and don't know what I really want most days.
"Your rain boots won't help you if you keep stomping, princess," Silas teases, tugging my gloved hand toward his cheek. The simple scent marking makes my belly swoop and my omega side perk up with happiness.
Another glare pulls my eyebrows together as I sidestep a muddy puddle. I love our plot of land away from the city, unless it's springtime and all the snow turns the ground to muck.
I want one of my nests. Fresh air doesn't smell like the stormy scent of my pack. And the sloshing of the earth beneath my boots is horrific in comparison to my collection of silk sheets and fleece blankets.
"Vivie," Silas says my name with a sigh. "Fresh air is good for you."
Guilt for my behavior bubbles beneath the surface of my need for isolation. I shouldn't be pushing them away or fighting them so hard. This isn't like me. I love the way they take control of our lives and ensure my happiness, health, and safety.
After about ten minutes of following Silas around our property, I begin to relax. Only because each step takes me toward the comfort of our home. If it weren't for my mates, I would find a way to never leave it.
