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“Oh baby,” Adam whispers beside me, rage leaking out of his touch and his tone.
I look up at him, hoping he’ll confirm what I think I’m seeing, because it can’t be. It just…can’t. “Adam?” I say shakily, voice like my gaze, filling with tears.
“Baby…” He moves forward and, when I don’t immediately follow, reaches back and grabs my hand. He tows me to the first tree. He reaches up and his fingers make the fruit between them look so tiny as he plucks it. He bites into it, demolishing half of the somewhat desiccated-looking thing in one mouthful. He chews, swallows, throws his head back and laughs.
“Echo…” He presses the fruit to my mouth and I bite, chew, swallow and smile. “You did it.” He brushes his thumb beneath my left eye while his other hand brings the pit to his mouth. He licks it clean.
“I made a peach,” I whisper incredulously.
“You still think you need my savin’?” While I blush, he shakes his head and balks, “Baby, you made a goddamn fruit forest.”
He’s not wrong. He turns and sweeps his hand out toward the green that spreads and spreads, blotting out my vision and making me think of the man in the cave. I turn his words over carefully.I saw flowers growing in Paradise Hole.And there are a lot more than flowers growing here.
Peach trees form a dense forest around the hollowed out tree trunk. Tall, dry grass laced with flower-bearing vines form the floor of this orchard. The trunks of the trees are green, the branches are green, the leaves are almost electric. And as for the dark grey trees of Paradise Hole? They still stand, wearing robes draped in flowers.
Long strands of moss hang from the tips of all their branches like the tinsel some northern families use for solstice decorations. Ropes of vines hang between them creating a canopy that’s every color of the rainbow. You can barely see the sky above it.
“You gotta peach in your pocket or are you just happy to see us?” Whiskey and the rest of the Six approach from the left.
Yaron approaches from the right. “Your Beast Omega is gone.”
“What?”
“Fuck. When did she leave?” Adam asks, pulling another peach from the tree. He hands it to me and I gorge myself on it. The flavor is sweet, unlike anything I’ve ever tasted, even though there isn’t much of it. It’s smaller than my fist and the dark orange skin is fuzzy and a little wrinkled even though the inside is dense and delicious.
He’s watching me again. “What?” I whisper, aware that Yaron is talking even though I can’t hear him.
“You got some…” Adam touches my chin, leans in, licks the peach juice dribbling from the corner of my mouth. “Here. Tastes so fuckin’ good.”
“I know,” I say, jerking back from the intimacy of the moment. “I’ve never had anything like it.”
“Wasn’t talkin’ about the peach.”
Yaron clears his throat. “Is this fruit your attempt at a peach?”
I look up at the Berserker and his hot, austere aura and feel a little embarrassed as he reaches for a branch above his head and plucks a fruit from it. The branches rattle. Another peach on another branch falls. His red-cloaked friend or helper or worker or whatever catches it on its way down and throws the whole thing into his mouth. He chews, chews, spits out the core, chews and swallows.
“It’s supposed to be,” I answer.
“Peaches are plumper than this, rounder and much larger. This is the size of an apricot. The taste is also much too sweet.”
I feel my face heat and I can scent Adam’s aggression rising, making my thighs squeeze. “I’ve only seen one peach before and that’s what it looked like. Sorry…” I want to drop to my knees and present, but fight it.
Adam’s hand slips around the back of my neck and squeezes. “That’s enough, Yaron.” And then to me, “You apologize to no one. You are the Omega of Dark City.” Then again to Yaron, “Freya left?”
“My patrol saw a pack of white wolves escape into Paradise Hole this morning. Based on rumors circulating throughout the camp, it was your Omega.”
“She’s not his Omega.” Realizing what I just said and the hostility with which I spoke, I quickly try to correct it. “She’d be pissed if she heard you say as much.”
Adam’s hand on my neck has a full-out spasm. His chest rumbles with a deep purr. My legs squeeze tighter. He whispers, “Fuck.”
“If you insist on plunging into rut and triggering my aggression, I will be forced to challenge you as a Berserker,” Yaron threatens. “I neither covet your Omega, nor do we have time for this. We need to dispose of the bodies and there isn’t wood enough to form a pyre from the fallen trees. My Alphas are hesitant to begin cutting fruit-bearing trees in Paradise Hole and I share their sentiment.”
“We could…” Adam starts, but I step forward out of his grip, cheeks on fire.
“I can build it.” All eyes fall to me. I shrug, feeling nervous, a little rebellious, a little powerful looking out at my garden now. “I can try.”
Yaron, who seems to struggle to look at me — maybe, because I’m an Omega and he hates Omegas, or maybe, because it’s Alpha protocol not to look at an Omega claimed by another Alpha — finally gives in to the compulsion. He frowns. “Hm. Proceed.” He chomps into the peach.
