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Longing pulsed through me at the phrase, an unwelcome burst of my sweetest, headiest perfume billowing around us.
“Be… a…” I stole another quick sip, needing it to get the word out as confidently and clearly as I could. “Familiar.”
He nodded. “Yes, sweetness. Our familiar.”
Familiarmeant nothing to me, butour, the word, the implication, was like a lover’s arrow to my little omega heart.
Licking my lips, I sat back in the armchair and fidgeted with my bathrobe belt.Whump, whump, whump. My pulse roared between my ears like the sea singing in a shell. Adrenaline made me tremble. I perfumed harder, as if my body sensed a new, better future on the horizon.
All I had to do was consent.
What was there to think about?
This was a ticket off Mistletoe Isle and Sweet Maple Bay, Jackson Misery in my rearview mirror. No more club cage. No more Mistletoe alphas making me sick every night. No more yuletide décoreverywhere, all the time, pines and gold ornaments, mistletoe hanging in every doorway, red presents crowned with silver satin bows. No more twinkly little lights forever shimmering in the corner of my eye. No Adeline. No more beta minions. No corporate nests and nonchalance that sweet omegas like Tara were bloodied and beaten and broken by a patron who wouldn’t even remember her name when he walked out the front door.
I scooted to the end of the chair, the bonded trio eerily still, all eyes on me. Nibbling my lower lip, I waited a few more beats, expecting instinct and self-preservation to slam on the brakes and pull me back from the edge.
Nothing.
So, I gave Ambrose, Kane, and Laszlo a great beaming smile, took a deep breath so my hoarse words came out loud and clear, then thumbed the door over my shoulder, ready to get the fuck out of here.
“When do I start?”
THE END…
