"You're sleeping with me and Raff tonight." His voice is low and soft, his thumbs brushing my cheekbones. "I need you close. Okay?"
And for the first time in hours, the knot in my belly unclenches.
My cheeks grow warm.
“Okay.”
Raff’s Old Room
Cliff
Raff'sold bedroom still has his trophies on the bookshelf.
Little plastic men on marble bases, lined up in a row, collecting dust. Motocross, mostly, and a few for wrestling. The gold paint is flaking off the one on the end. The nameplate reads "Rafferty Marchetti, 2nd Place, Junior Regional" in letters so small you'd have to pick it up to read them.
The rest of the room has been scrubbed of his teenage years. The walls are a clean off-white now, the old band posters long gone. A king-size bed with a quilted comforter takes up most of the space. It’s pushed against the far wall beneath a window with lace curtains that are pure Odette.
A dresser sits near the door, dark wood, with a dish of potpourri and a framed photo of Raff's parents on their wedding day. His omega father looks young in the picture. Happy. He's got his arm around Odette. She’s a full four inches taller than him, and she's laughing at something outside the frame.
Raff steps in, then he leans against the dresser.
Down the hall, I can hear water running in the bathroom. Adam and Perrin are taking turns washing up. The pipes groan, and somewhere in the living room a clock ticks.
Odette’s feet move closer, then she sticks her head in the room and looks at both of us.
"Goodnight, boys," she says. “I put more clean towels in the washroom.” Her gaze flickers to the cut above my eye. “Don't bleed on my sheets.”
"Yes, ma'am," Raff says for the both of us.
She looks at me for a long moment, but I can't read her expression. Then she nods once and shuts the door behind her.
And it's only us.
Raff crosses his arms, looking at me with those dark gray eyes. He's not angry. I almost wish he was. Angry I could handle.
"So," he says with a half-smile. “It’s been an interesting day.”
I snort then sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under my weight and the springs creak. My left arm is throbbing, the bullet graze pulsing in time with my heartbeat, and my knuckles feel like they've been filled with broken glass.
"Thank you," I finally say.
“What for?”
“For what you said in the kitchen about it not being my fault.” I flex my right hand and wince. “I know it's not that simple, but I still appreciate it.”
“I meant it,” he says simply.
“Yeah, well, there’s no denying that I fucked up today.” The weight of the day settles over me, making the tension in my back triple. I tilt my head one way, then the other, trying topop my neck. “I can’t believe I mated her without any thought for my pack. I didn't think—I wasn’t—” I take a breath, trying to collect my thoughts, but all I can think about is our betas.
My sweet, wonderful mates.
“You know it’s gonna be okay, Cliff.” Raff glances toward the living room, then back at me. “So, are you two bonded? Can you feel her?”
"I don’t think so." I frown then close my eyes, reaching inward to try to feel the faintest hum of connection that every alpha mated to an omega is supposed to feel. But there's nothing. A quiet, empty space where a bond should be.
Maybe I didn’t do it right?
I mean, it’s not like I knew what I was doing. I don't have a mental bond with Perrin or Adam. But that’s also not very common between mated alphas and betas.
