Page 12 of Flight of the Omega

“I would like,” he said, sashaying back up to the brunet, “for you to join me in my nest.” He ran a hand down Jack’s chest for emphasis, then glanced up, locking eyes with the ranch hand so there could be no mistaking his purpose.

Jack blinked a couple of times. “You lonely?” he asked, a frown marring his handsome face.

“You could put it that way,” JP murmured. He was thinking more physical than emotional at the moment;lonelywas emotional, and that would get him hurt.

Jack took off his hat and, for a second, JP thought he might be getting somewhere.

Then Jack said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Well. You’re the boss’s kid, for starters.”

“Uh-huh.” JP trailed a hand down Jack’s arm, all smooth brown skin and corded muscle.

Jack followed him with his eyes as he paced around him. “And second, I reckon you don’t like me all that much.”

JP made a noise of protest in his throat. Much to his annoyance, the opposite was true. He’d become increasingly fond of Jack over the last couple of weeks.

“And I don’t much like you.”

JP had to force himself not to flinch. Of course. What else had he been expecting?

He tossed his head imperiously and folded his arms. “I don’t see what the problem is,” he declared. “So what if we don’t like each other? I didn’t say anything about a relationship or … feelings.” He forced his lip to curl up on the word, tried to make himself feel disdain for the very idea. After all, he’d known feelings would hurt. His pride was already smarting from those barbed words. “It could be a one-off thing. It’s convenient.”

Jack frowned. “Like … casual?” he asked, his dark brows knitting together.

“Yes,” JP agreed, nodding vigorously. “Exactly like that. I’m in heat, and you’re here.”

Jack lifted his brows. “With all due respect,” he drawled, “I ain’t into that sort of thing.”

“Oh,” JP said, deflating a bit. Well, there went that gambit. Now he was up shit creek without a paddle. He should have guessed Jack would be the romantic type, not the tumble-in-the-hay type. Jack didn’t find him attractive enough to bang him no strings attached, and he didn’t like JP enough to want a relationship with him.

“Sorry,” Jack said. The silence hung there awkwardly for a moment. Jack cleared his throat and tipped his hat. “With that—I’ll take my leave now.”

“Yeah,” JP agreed, unsure of what else to say or do. Part of him wanted to scream and cry and beg Jack not to go, not to leave him alone, but his pride wouldn’t let him.

He’d dealt with worse. Felt worse. He gritted his teeth.

Jack nodded again, then backed out the door, closing it behind him. JP waited for a moment or two. Then he let his knees buckle, dropping to the ground.

JP had never spent a heat alone. He’d gone into heat for the first time three years ago, when he was sixteen. That had been forced. His father had told him he wasn’t going to school anymore, and JP was delighted. Then they went to the lab. He remembered, vaguely, a doctor or a nurse sticking a needle into his arm. Shortly after that, he’d been given another medication that forced the shift.

Then the fever had come on, and almost everything had been a blur after that. He remembered, in hazy fragments, another bird, who had pecked and poked at him. He thought he remembered being held down.

There wasn’t much else—just darkness and a horrifying lump in his throat, a twist in his stomach, because he knew, in his bones, what had happened.

His father had no sympathy for that. Asked him what the hell was wrong with him. Why he was afraid. It was natural, after all.

JP couldn’t quite explain the fact it feltwrong. Made him sick to his stomach. Made it hard to sleep.

He remembered even less about his subsequent heats. He guessed his father had told the doctors to increase sedative dosages to knock him out.

Not remembering just made it worse. There were gaps in his memory, things he couldn’t piece together, timelines that didn’t make sense. He felt like he was going crazy, but everyone around him acted like it was so normal, so natural, like nothing had happened.

He’d laid dud eggs every time after, so maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe nothing had happened anyway.

The doctor wasn’t surprised—“he’s a hybrid after all,” she’d said. “They’re rarely fertile.”