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Total fucking psychos.
I’d pity whoever’s in our cells, only they’re getting the torture they deserve for coming after Lilah.
I shake my head.
Whatever’s going on, it’s nice to see them looking alive. Finn and Jett always felt like lead in my chest.
If we’re ever bonded again—if Lilah can let us in and be the center I never wanted to be—all of us will be different men.
If she can’t…
That’s the thought that steals my air and pops the bubble on this new freedom.
I want to fucking yak.
Can’t lose her.
I’ll turn right the fuck back into that needy gremlin if I can’t keep Lilah in my life. Not that I won’t need alphas when my heat rolls through—I just need Lilah more.
I spend the rest of the day unpacking boxes of clothes, lotions, knives, and every other thing she could possibly want or need, keeping an ear cocked just in case she calls.
I’m deciding what to bring her for dinner when the main door clicks. Atlas shoulders in, carrying a huge plastic container.
I don’t relax, but I stop reaching for my gun.
He’s in his casuals, a black tee and pants.
I’ve spent a lot of time staring at Atlas, but he always bowls me over, even now. His broad shoulders, thick torso, and solid, sky-holding aura.
His gaze snaps to me, and suddenly I’m just a needy omega again, because he’s my alpha. Atlas is the one I wanted even when I thought I’d be alpha too.
“Did you eat?” He sets the container on the kitchen counter, then moves to my side.
He smooths up my arm, wrist to neck, then tugs the back of my head, pulling me in for the most unexpected kiss.
It’s just a quick peck, but my lips burn.
His thick fingers twine in my hair, and his eyes are just as hot as my skin.
A soul-shaking shiver rocks my gut. “Huh?”
Dragging his palm to the top of my head, Atlas gives me that wide-palmed head pat that makes my knees shake and my cock go iron.
“Dinner?”
I blink. “Ye—Yes?”
What the fuck are they teaching him in these classes?
Atlas pulls out a stool for me. I sit at the island while he whips out a bunch of smaller lidded containers. “I cooked. Spicy sweet potato gnocchi.”
It smells like cream and spices, and I’m still not processing as he stabs one and offers it to my lips.
I reach for the fork.
Atlas pulls back, lifting his brows.
Playful.
