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“Of course they—”
“Then why are they never here? Why do they avoid touching me? Why—” His rising voice chokes off and his pheromones sharpen like crab apples, bitter in my throat.
“Hey. It’s okay.” I crawl to him, something inside me needing to respond, needing to help him.
Steeling myself for him to throw off my touch, I smooth up and down his spine. He’s hot, vibrating like a leaf in a whirlwind.
“You’re okay.” I pat his shaking back, moving my other hand to his shoulder. “That’s your hormones talking.”
When he takes a deep, hitched breath, and turns wide, vulnerable, blue eyes to me, I flinch away like I’ve been burned.
The moment drags.
He stares at me. I stare at him, mouth opening and closing.
What do I say?
What do I call this—whatever it is between us?
I’ve never met an omega like Orion.
His pain hurts me, and his scent revs me just as quickly as his alphas’. When his eyelids droop, and he looks up at me from underneath thick golden lashes, I swear he’s attracted to me too.
But something keeps us from moving, from closing the space between our too-warm bodies, and seeing what the fuck is going on.
I’m too big a threat to his position, and too much of me wants, needs, craves his alphas.
And maybe I want Orion, maybe I want him just as much as I want them, but truth is, he’s stealing my alphas too.
I slink away, crushing the moment. “Dinner? You’ll feel better if you eat.”
“Yeah.” Orion rubs his shoulder. “Dinner.”
We head to the kitchen, and he texts while I grab ingredients from the fridge that someone finally excavated. The food is fresh, all the old takeout containers sent to dumpster graves.
“Burgers?” I pull out the ground beef.
“Can we make enough for everyone? The guys are on their way.” He looks at his screen instead of me.
I try not to let it bother me. “Sure. There’s plenty.”
I rummage around the kitchen, trying to find the right bowls and spices while Orion ignores me.
After a while, he tucks his phone into his pocket. “What can I do to help?”
“Chop the lettuce and tomato? And find a cutting board? Because I don’t see one.”
“Up here.” Without even lifting onto his toes, he easily grabs a board from the stash of pans in the cupboard above the fridge. “We need to get you a stepladder. Or a ladder ladder.”
My jaw drops. “Are you calling me short?”
“You fit in my pocket.”
Orion’s pockets don’t need to be on my brain, because then I’ll want to reach in and check what he’s hiding in those jeans.
While he starts cutting vegetables, I slow down, stuck in omega dick fantasyland. He’s super tall, so I can’t help wondering if he’s proportionate.
I wonder what the other pack members do to him in the madness of his heat.
