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With my heat delayed until who-the-fuck-knows-when, I’m jumpy, cranky, and all I want to do is leap into Atlas’s arms and bury my face in his neck the second he comes home.
That would stop the itch under my skin, the twitch of these fucking hormones that keep my brain spinning like the Ferris wheel from hell.
Where are they?
Who are they with?
Are they disappointed I can’t help with the mission?
Are they happy I can’t help?
Are they sniffing after other omegas, regretting their choice to take me as the pack’s mate?
Maybe my mates are sitting at Wyvern House HQ, planning how to cut me loose. Because there’s no point having a male omega who can’t give them children, let alone me who’s so fucking useless I almost got Finn killed.
It’s fine.
They’ll just kick me out of the pack, maybe welcome in perfect NATHAN instead. My brother’s the tech genius I’m not. An alpha who’s the perfect fit for their missions.
Oh, and he also loves pussy.
They can pick a perfect new omega together. Have a perfect pack and a perfect family.
Without me.
The endless thoughts wind me up so tight I’m shaking.
I curl into the pack bed, breathing in the balled-up shirts I stole from my mates. As pack leader, Atlas has the muskiest, most dominant scent. It’s familiar and sexy, like broken-in leather and tonka bean, instantly calming my racing heart.
I groan.
Being an omega is bullshit.
All these thoughts and instincts. I feel like a needy gremlin half the time. There’s no way I’m ever showing my pack how deep the madness goes.
If I can’t give them kids, I have to at least pretend to have my shit together and not drag them down with me.
The sound of a car engine jerks me out of my downward spiral.
They’re back!
Finally. I’ve been losing my ever-loving shit.
I jump up, instincts screaming to sprint and throw myself at all of them at once.
No fucking way.
I straighten the sheets, brush crumbs off the bed, and toss their stolen shirts into the hamper. The scent of my desperation soaks the room, but at least now it won’t be so obvious I spent the entire weekend without them wallowing in their scents, housing chocolate, and holding back hormonal tears.
They should’ve been home yesterday. All I got was a we’re fine, we’re in trouble again text, then nothing.
Nothing!
Calmly, so fake fucking calmly, I walk downstairs to the foyer.
I can hear them talking on the way inside.
I let out a breath. Thank god no one’s hurt this time.
