“Dr. Wiley!” someone calls.
I ignore it.
Lark makes a small, strained sound, her body tightening. I scoop her up, one arm under her knees, the other around her back, pulling her close.
She presses into me immediately, fingers clutching at my jacket. “I—"
“I know,” I murmur against her hair. “We’ve got you.”
Silas is already ahead of us. “Valet!” he calls sharply. “Now.”
Saint stays close at my side, one hand braced lightly against Lark’s leg.
“It’s okay, princess,” he says quietly. “We’ve got you. Just hold on.”
She whimpers, her body tensing again. “Bond,” she manages, breath hitching. “I need—”
My chest tightens. I press a kiss to her forehead. “We will,” I say against her temple. “We will, beautiful. But we need to get you home first.”
The car doesn’t come fast enough. Lark shifts in my arms, another wave hitting her. All three of us lean in closer without thinking, closing ranks. Blocking her from the outside world.
“Easy, little bird,” Silas murmurs, reappearing at my side. “Almost here.”
Headlights cut across the drive. Finally.
The Rolls pulls up hard to the curb. I don’t wait for the door to open properly. I’m already ducking into the back seat and pulling her in with me.
My legs immediately protest the tight space. I ignore them. Lark curls into me, breath uneven, her scent already thickening in the enclosed space.
To hell with comfort.
“All right,” I murmur, tightening my hold on her as the doors slam shut and the car lurches forward. “Let’s go.”
Silas
As soon as we pull into the garage, Saint hops out and opens the back door, pulling Lark from Graham’s lap. Graham stumbles out after, reaching to tug her back into his arms. Saint growls. Graham snaps.
I give them exactly one second.
“Enough,” I bark.
They both freeze, reluctantly baring their necks. “I’ll take her. You two can deal with that shit later. This is about Lark.”
They at least have the grace to look embarrassed.
“Bite,” she groans, as I take her into my arms and carry her through the house. “Now—Need.” Her hands reach for Graham and Saint.
Over my shoulder, I ask, “Can she do this now, or should we wait?”
Saint looks at Graham, eyes wide. “What does the research say?”
Graham stops behind us at the entrance to the elevator. “I… I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? You’ve read every article published about omegas.”
He blinks up at me, then hits the button for the third floor. “I don’t think it will harm her, but,” he hesitates, “I’m not certain.”
I lean back against the wall as we make our ascent to the nest. “You want her to remember this.”
