Page 17 of The Omega’s Nest

But he cuts me off before I can explain that I don’t mean it in the way that he should be ashamed. I don’t like him being here. I’m catatonic with rage at the thought of other alphas touching him, but I don’t blame him for this. He’s done nothing wrong. I’m the one who fucked up by letting this happen.

“You have to go.”

He drops his hands from behind my head and I let him go, my hands trailing down his back and arms as slowly as I can get away with. I stare at him for another moment, his wide eyes, the way they’re shining up at me. I’ve known those eyes all my life, so familiar, and yet so strange now with their mix of longing and wistfulness. It’s in his scent too.

“I’ll be back,” I repeat firmly.

“Have a shower first.” He smiles, a playful thing. And there’s my Addie.

“No,” I tell him and grin. “I want to smell like you.”

Addie’s lips part as if I’ve shocked him. What’s so shocking? Am I still not being obvious enough?

The sound of chairs scraping on the floor downstairs cuts between us.

“You really have to go now,” Addie says apologetically.

“Okay.”

Now I just have to get my feet to move.

Addie drops his gaze to the floor, and his scent is nothing but sadness. How in the fuck am I supposed to leave him?

“Please,” he says softly.

A pained sound rips out of me before I can stop it. I step close, grip him by the nape and tilt his face to mine. I press my lips against his in a punishing kiss before I tear myself away. I don’t look back as I scramble past his curtain and down the hall. But his scent, jumbled with desire and heartbreak, chases me out onto the street.

My alpha, my father, is up and presumably waiting for me when I get home. It’s an hour’s drive from Celo to Hollow Point, but he looks like he’s been waiting at the kitchen table since last night. He meets my eyes, inhales obviously, and exhales with a deep, accusing frown.

I hold myself rigidly, and use all of my admittedly limited self-control to not explode at him. I have to play my hand very carefully here—he can command me not to see Addie again. And until I bond with Addie and become my own alpha, an alpha with the beginnings of his own pack, I fall under the command of my father.

What I want to do is tear his throat out for lying to me. For telling me Addie had gone out of state to stay with some uncle after his father died, implying with very little room for doubt that I’d be able to find him when I got back and bond with him then.

“No need to drop out and rush home,” he’d said gruffly on the phone when I’d called in desperation because Addie wasn’t answering my messages, nor was he replying to any of our friends. No one had seen him. My dad told me what’d happened—Alpha Cunningham had a heart attack, and Addie was with his uncle.

I would have needed to be home for months—waiting for Addie to go into heat, then staying with him for months while the bond solidified. Dropping out would have been the only option. Of course I was prepared to do it, fuck the Air Force. I’d have done something else once Addie and I were settled. But my dad assured me Addie would still be around, with his uncle. He’d talked me out of coming home when he’d known where Addie had really gone.

And when I got home, he kept that lie alive. He watched me texting non-stop, never stopped me from driving all over the fucking country looking for him whenever I got leave, on every off day when I was on a home rotation. And then he lied about a bond, refused to tell me how he knew.

I’m so furious I’m scared of the anger welling inside me.

But getting Addie out is more important than making myself feel better by exploding at my alpha. My best play now is to say nothing.

“I’m going to bed,” I say quickly.

“Not so fast,” he says, unmoving from his seat at the kitchen table. His nostrils are flaring—no doubt scenting Addie all over me—and his clasped hands on the wood might be mistaken for calm, but I know better.

“Where have you been?”

Why is he bothering to ask? Is he trying to bait me?

“Out with the guys,” I say, trying to sound calm, but I know my expression is barely concealing my rage. Also, there’s no way he can’t smell it.

He sighs, runs a hand down his face and looks away from me.

“So you found him, then,” he says into the empty kitchen. The tap drips, the clock ticks. My omega, my mother, is not up yet—it’s barely eight a.m. on a Sunday, the only day she sleeps in. Usually it’d be her in here, bustling around, cooking for us, imbuing the room with her warmth in an effort to make up for the coldness of her bond with my father. A tireless parade that’s made me uncomfortable since before I was even able to give rise to the word for it.

I don’t answer. Carefully, hoping he doesn’t notice, I unclench my fists. I didn’t even realise they were tightened to the point of being ready to swing.