Page 75 of His Stolen Omega

Levi seemed…particular. Like the type who had to get to know someone before trusting them in his bed. Which, Elm supposed made a lot of sense considering his position in the mafia, and how that had to paint a massive target on his back. It couldn’t be easy, trusting people, and sex itself was an act of vulnerability in the sense it left you completely exposed to the other person. Sometimes in more ways than one.

“Were you reading me?” It occurred to him then what the alpha had been up to all those nights he’d stared at him from the other side of the bars. He glanced back at the statue and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Were you picking me apart the same way—”

“Art is all the same,” Levi cut him off, “in the sense it provides clarity. It shines a light on fresh perspectives, opens the viewer up to emotional processing and self-reflection. Each piece tells a story, expresses who the artist is at a fundamental level. The things they believe in. The things they fret over. The things they love and hate, and hate to love.”

Elm shook his head. “I’m not a piece of art, Levi.”

“Aren’t you?”

He retreated another step.

“You’re afraid.” Levi tilted his head, eyeing him from head to toe.

“I don’t like the way you’re looking at me,” Elm admitted.

“Because I see you?”

“Because—” Wait. He frowned.

“Oh.” The corner of his mouth tipped upward. “There it is again.”

“What?”

“Something you hate to love. You like the idea of someone finally seeing you, but hate that it could be me.”

Elm didn’t know how to address that without digging himself into a hole. He still didn’t even know where he was. He’d dropped his guard thanks to the statue, nostalgia and curiosity getting the best of him for a moment there, but he came back to his senses.

“You don’t know me,” he insisted. “I don’t know what game you’re playing—”

“No game.” Levi held out a palm and beckoned him. “Come. Take it.”

“Hard pass.” Whatever this new tactic was, he wasn’t falling for it.

“You were out for two days. You’re starving, omega.” He wiggled his fingers. “Come. I’ll bring you to the kitchen and feed you.”

“I can find the kitchen on my own.” It was literally just across the room.

“Take my hand. Let me lead you.”

“Or what? Go hungry?” Elm growled when the alpha’s silence told him all he needed to know. “Fine.”

He slapped his palm over the alpha’s, glaring at their joined hands as soon as Levi had his back turned toward him.

Chapter 18:

Eating at a table like a civilized person wasn’t a new experience for them, since Elm had spent a week dining upstairs at the manor. But aside from that first morning when Levi had made them breakfast, the food had always been prepared and laid out for them already.

“You can cook?” he watched Levi move about the sprawling kitchen, seemingly with purpose.

This space was set back from the rest of the living area, with a high ceiling, rows of cabinets built into the wall, and a long white granite island. Elm was seated at it, perched on a stool. Snow continued to fall outside, which he could see clearly from the wall made of window to his left.

They must be in the mountains, possibly deep in the forest, since Elm had never heard of a place like this existing. Hiding a building this massive took effort.

“I’m allergic to a certain spice,” Levi answered. “One my father loved. He took it with everything. Every dish had to be made with it. Cooked into the sauce. Into the soup base. In the batter and baked goods. My nanny took care of my meals when she was alive. After she passed, he didn’t bother.”

“So you took cooking lessons?”

“I taught myself.”