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“I have everything I need.” I give an awkward little wave and duck downstairs. When I shut the door behind me, I take a huge, shuddering breath.
The more I get to know the guys, the more scared I am.
Because what happens to me when I have to let them go?
***
Twenty-Six
LILAH
If by “rest” Orion meant I should spend two hours hitting the treadmill on its highest incline, then I’m so refreshed.
The supply closet has zippy bags so I can stash my used pads until I find a way to burn them without setting off the smoke alarm.
After a shower and another change of bandages for the bullet wound that’s weeping, I flick on my tablet and hit the digital pavement. Curled up in my loaner nest, I balance spreadsheets until my eyes ache and I have to double-count the numbers to stop making stupid mistakes.
“Lilah?” Orion calls from way too close.
I drop the tablet into my lap, clutching my blanket tighter. “Orion?”
He swings open the heavy door but doesn’t cross into my space. “Would it freak you out if I came in?”
I take a second, waiting to feel the kind of hair-raising, gonna-stab-you-in-the-jugular rage that I felt every time some bitch snuck into my dorm room to mess with my shit, but nothing boils to the surface.
That doesn’t mean I’m still water.
The feeling bubbling up is more nervous excitement, a light, happy dance of electricity.
I want Orion in my space.
Damn it. I clench my legs, hoping I slathered on enough de-scenter.
“I don’t mind,” I answer, a smidge too breathy.
Orion crosses the threshold, both of us holding our breaths. When his nostrils flare and he doesn’t react to my scent or the fact that I’m occupying his basement, my shoulders finally drop.
“How are you not uncomfortable living down here?”
I shrug. “I’ve never had this much space to myself before.” The nest and kitchen are a palace compared to my dorm room. “It doesn’t bother you to be here?”
“I thought it would. Guess not.” He sits on the edge of the bed, but the mattress is so freaking huge we have our own zip codes. “Did you get some rest?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “So much rest.” I haven’t closed my eyes, afraid I’ll perfume in my sleep.
“I was thinking of cooking dinner, but then I remembered the only thing I can make is tomato soup.”
I laugh. “The OCC made me take culinary classes. I’m surprised the pack never sent you.” Older omegas were always popping in for day classes.
He scuffs his feet over the old carpet. “My blood tests said I was alpha. When I awakened omega and the pack chose me anyway, we were so caught up fighting the dads, classes didn’t seem important.”
“Why do they have a problem?” I wrinkle my fingers in the sheets. “Aren’t you guys a best-case scenario? Awakening to form a pack with your best friends?” It sounds way better than all the awkward courting rituals OCC omegas are forced into. You don’t get to know what a pack’s about from a few ice cream socials and tea parties.
“We’re not a scent match,” he confesses.
I hide my wince and pray he can’t sense the guilt that feels like lead pellets in my belly. “That shouldn’t matter. They care about you.”
“Do they?” he asks bitterly.
