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Alphas who ride out a heat with a well-suited omega nearly always end up bonded.
Case in point, Kitten. A few months ago, she was single and not in a good place. Now, she's sporting four bite marks. She'll have five if Storm ever gets his shit together.
Kitten and Lachlan are putting on quite the show. Saint stands, waiting for his cue. Lachlan dips Kitten, kissing her fiercely. He pulls her up, spinning her to face Saint.
Saint drops to one knee, holding out the box.
Kitten gasps, her hands flying to her chest.
Issac grips me tightly, pulling me back into his chest. It's quite the romantic moment.
Issac kisses me senseless.
"That's gonna be us one day," he whispers against my lips.
"Yes!" she exclaims.
My focus goes back to my best friend. She's so damn lucky. Shaking my head, I try not to feel any sadness. This is an important moment, and something she deserves more than just about anyone.
It's tough, though. It's hard not to wish I was an omega. I wouldn't have to worry about losing the man I love, or not being enough to keep him from going feral. My chest tightens at the thought.
Life's that way sometimes. It gives you a taste of everything you ever dreamed of, only to rip it away again.
Shaking off my anxiety about the future, we make our way over to congratulate their pack.
Kitten can't help what she is any more than I can. Even if I'm a little jealous of the security she has with her guys, I'd never begrudge that girl anything.
I just wish I had that, too. Having a guarantee that I could be enough would change everything.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Issac Matthews
Rooker Jacobs looks incredibly serious about something. It immediately puts me on edge. Calling Dex and me into the conference room at Ruined Records definitely didn't help my stress level. Things haven't gone exactly well with regard to us working with Oakley Graves.
"Is there a problem?" I ask, glancing between Jamen Jacobs and his son, Rook.
Dexter is busy fidgeting in his chair. I slide a hand over, squeezing his knee. It's our signal that he needs to chill the hell out. Listen, I get it. He's got ADHD. He can't help that shit. But he also knows when it's something like this he has to focus and at least give it his best effort.
Dex gives me a nod. He folds his legs under him like a-five-year old at circle time, but I let it go. He interlocks his fingers together, and if he doesn't start having a thumb war with himself in less than five minutes I'll call today a win.
"No, nothing like that," Jamen says, swiping a hand through the air. He's got long, dark, wavy hair and dark eyes. Considering his kid is my age, it's a little crazy how young he looks.
Jamen's got a couple of file folders in front of him.
I'm intensely anxious to see what the hell is in those files. Jamen's tattooed hands shuffle papers around. He might be a record exec now, but he used to be in one of the biggest rock bands of all time.
"We're opening another office." Rook stretches back in his chair. "The memorial tour was a huge success," he says, referencing the mini-tour we just got back from.
"The charity my wife set up was Lyric's brainchild," Jamen says, smirking.
"We were lucky to get Lyric on stage with us for those," Rook says. "It's unlikely we'll make that happen again soon."
"Yeah," Dex says, nodding. "Kitten said she only did the shows because the proceeds were going to charity."
"Right," Rook agrees. "The part Lyric doesn't know about yet is that we've broken ground on building that charity a home."
Jamen opens the folder, shoving a couple sketches and computer models at us. He tosses down a map. It's Colorado.
