Page 64 of The Rust in Her Hair

Nico reaches over and pats Mack's leg. "Let's go inside, eat something, and figure it out from there." He glances back at me. "It’ll all work out." He waits for me to nod, then he pushes his door open.

We all file out of the truck, and Mack catches my eye. He gives me an exaggerated grin, before patting me gently on the back.

Maybe he can sense I’m a little off.

I hope not.

"Well, hello, gentlemen," Renata says as she slips out the front door. "How was work?" She steps off the porch, going still when she sees the big, white truck. "Where's the pickup?" She looks past us at the company truck like it offended her.

"It sounded a little off this morning," Nico says as he shuts his truck door. "I dropped it off at Duke’s during my lunch break."

"A little off?" Mack snorts. "The damn thing was rattling louder than skeletons fucking on a tin roof."

That makes Renata laugh. She moves toward me, arms out, and pulls me into a quick hug, up on her toes, her arms tight around my neck for a second before she lets go.

Then she turns to her brother, and her voice goes light and wicked.

"Soooo." She crosses her arms. "I have to say, I’m a little surprised you finally got yourself a sweet little omega. She’ll be a great addition to the pack. She’s⁠—"

"Renata." Nico's tone instantly changes. His eyes cut down the street, one way then the other, making sure no one is around to hear. "You know better than to say shit like that out here."

The she-alpha lifts her hands, then quickly apologizes. "My bad. I was just saying I like Lyra. She’s sweet, with incredibly good taste." She glances down at the tattoos along one arm. "And she smells honest, which is more than I can say for most people who walk through our door." She tips her head toward the house.

"I’m surprised you like her." Mack leans against the hood of the truck.

"Why?" Renata pulls a face, clearly not understanding.

"Cause that sweet little omega in there is the Van Houten. The one you were cussing about the other day. Rich’s daughter.” He frowns. “Or something like that.”

Renata goes still. "Do you mean Aldric Van Houten’s daughter?" she corrects him, and Mack nods.

"Yup. That one."

Her mouth falls open as she turns and looks back at the house. "You're kidding," she whispers as she looks at Nico. Then at me. Then back at the house. "That girl is a Van Houten?" She hitches a thumb at the door. "In your house with your mate? Surrounded by pictures of your pack." She mouths the last word.

"Yes," Nico says simply, but I can see it in his eyes. He’s sick of talking about this. And I get it, there’s no easy answer here.

"Are you out of your minds?" Renata’s voice goes hard, still whispering, as she rounds on Nico. "Why in God's name would you bring her here? Do you have any idea what happens to you guys if that man traces her to this house? To your door? And he figures out what you are? Letting her come here was —"

"She was attacked," I blurt out, and Renata's head snaps around. "She was hiding at the library. Somebody hurt her real bad." I make myself hold her eyes. "I wasn't going to leave her there. I couldn't."

All at once, the anger drains out of Renata's face. Her brows draw together with deep sadness as she slowly looks back at the house. "What?" she whispers, before turning back to look at me. "Who the fuck would hurt an omega?"

"We don't know yet." Nico steps in close and sets a hand on his sister's shoulder. "But we're handling it. She's safe, Ren, I promise you. Nobody's getting near her." He squeezes once. "You staying for dinner?"

Renata blinks at him, clearly stunned. "I can't," she finally says. "I've got plans tonight." She glances at the house one more time, then back at him, and her voice drops. "Be careful, Nico. I mean it. This is…this is crazy."

"I know," Nico says, but I don’t hear whatever Renata says after.

I'm already moving. Up the walkway, onto the porch, and stepping inside.

All this talk about Lyra has me anxious to see her face. I need to see her.

The house is quiet. The TV's on in the living room, the news running with the sound off, headlines crawling silently across the bottom of the screen, but nobody's watching it. Then I hear low voices coming from the kitchen, Owen's easy murmur and then Lyra, soft and sweet.

I follow the sound then stop in the doorway.

The pair are at the counter with their backs to me. Owen's got the kettle going with a mug set out, teaching Lyra how long to steep the tea leaves.