The second mycar door slams shut, I stretch big like I’m shaking off the road. Then I smile up at the front door, happy to be home.
Admittedly, it isn’t much to look at—hell, it’s barely more than four walls and a roof—but it’s ours. And for once, it doesn’t look like total shit. Inside, the counters are wiped down, the laundry’s stuffed away, and there’s no week-old takeout boxes in sight.
It's damn near a miracle.
Dakota stumbles out of the car looking half-dead, hair sticking up like a hay bale. He yawns so wide I swear I see his tonsils before he staggers to the back of the SUV and starts dragging in the bags like a zombie.
Skyla slips out after him, small and careful, wrapped up in that oversized hoodie like she’s afraid the air might bite her. She tilts her chin up at the house, looking it over. Her face is quiet and wary, but there’s a flicker of somethingsharp underneath. Like she’s walking into enemy territory and isn’t sure if we’re friend or foe yet.
So I cut in before her silence can get too heavy. “Welcome home, omega,” I say, then I take her hand because it feels like the right thing to do. She doesn’t grip mine at first, but after a beat her fingers curl around mine. “Hey! Knox. Is it okay if I give Skyla a quick tour?” I ask the pack alpha, not wanting to overstep. Right now, it’s important for Skyla to bond with him, to establish our pack’s order, but surely a guided tour won’t hurt.
“Go ahead,” Knox says as he walks around to the back of the SUV.
I smile brightly at Skyla, pleased when she returns a very small smile. “Let’s go,” I say like we’re about to enter an amusement park and not a slightly run-down house in the suburbs.
The hinges scream like hell when I push the front door open, making me wince.We probably should’ve fixed that before we left.
Once inside, Skyla moves slowly, her big brown eyes roaming over the living room. Her gaze sweeps over the fireplace, the couch, the recliner, then to the sliding glass door that leads to the backyard.
There’s no smile. No frown. She’s…taking inventory.
She feels a little distant, but hell, I don’t blame her. This has to be one hell of a culture shock.
Her last pack probably had some high-dollar estate, chandeliers with marble floors, and shit like that. Omegas from academies don’t end up with guys like us. They get snatched up by rich assholes who wipe their asses with hundred-dollar bills.
I’d love to ask her what happened with them—why theyrejected her. But in the end, it doesn’t matter. All I care about is that she’s here. With us.Ours.
And while we might not have a butler or dumbwaiter, Skyla will never want for safety, love, and orgasms. The shit that matters.
“This right here is the laundry room.” I point to the door right next to the hallway. It’s really more of a closet than a room, but she can see that for herself later. “And the kitchen’s this way,” I tell her, jerking my thumb over my shoulder.
Skyla follows me around the corner, her feather-light steps on the old boards.
The kitchen is spotless—Tadeo’s touch is all over it. The counters are wiped, there are no dishes in the sink, and there isn’t even a crumb on the floor. While Tadeo isn’t as meticulous with cleaning the spacearoundhim as much as he is with keepinghimselfprim and proper, the young alpha is still a pretty good househusband.It’s a shame he insists on working.
“What do you think?” I ask Skyla as she takes everything in.
But she doesn’t say a word. She drifts around the kitchen, eyes flicking over the fridge, the table, the worn floorboards. Then she heads straight for the stove like it’s pulling her in. Her fingers brush the grates, lingering there like they’re the most important thing in the room. Her gaze shifts to the sink, and finally she asks, “Do you have any dish soap?”
I blink. “Soap? Why? You don’t have to clean.” The words slip out before I can stop them. Omegas don’t clean—they live in houses with staff for that kind of thing.Right?“You should relax,” I say, moving to the fridge. “Are you hungry?”I know I am.
“I’m good.” Skyla finally gives me a big, brilliant smile. “I’m happy to clean.”
Happy.
The word rings strangely in my ears. Does she really mean that? Do omegas actuallyenjoychores—or is she saying what she thinks I want to hear?
Or maybe this is some kind of omega instinct?
Like, this is her way of claiming it. Settling in.
Fuck, I don’t know.
“The dish soap?” Skyla asks again, her big brown eyes holding mine.
Before I can answer, Dakota bounces in from the living room, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket. “No dish soap. We just ran out. But we’ve got laundry soap,” he offers cheerfully. “Would that work?”
Skyla blinks, caught off guard, the corners of her mouth twitching like she’s not sure if she should laugh. But she smooths it over with a bright smile. “I can make that work.”
