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It’s the bandage on Orion’s neck that no one’s asked about. It’s my backup pack defecting, and the Wyverns chip, chip, chipping at my determination with kisses and care and chocolate-chip muffins.
It’s my growing terror that they’ll do all that, and still walk.
“They’re with the dads,” Atlas answers. “Questioning Renee.”
“Even Jett?”
“Hunter will take care of him.” Atlas’s shoulders dip. “If I’d known…”
“He didn’t want us to know.” Orion sighs. “That’s been the problem. We would’ve done so much so differently.”
I chew my lip.
I had to sit for a while before Jett would let me go. He clung like he was hanging at the edge, and the soft heat of his breath is permanently seared on my thighs.
I need to talk to him.
I need to see if he’s confused, because why else would he touch me, let alone hug me like he’s falling apart?
But first I have other problems. “Did you catch what she said about grooming omegas?”
“Hunter’s on it.” Atlas’s stays focused on my fingers. “He’ll handle the investigation.”
Orion’s brows lift. “You’re not going in? Don’t you need to lead the charge?”
“This is where I want to be.” Atlas kisses my hand, then strokes Orion’s cheek.
He and I share a silent, wide-eyed what the hell, but before we can burst into flames, Atlas’s phone vibrates with an incoming call.
I’m expecting Scorpio. Maybe some emergency that’ll have him dropping all these good intentions and shipping out for a quick assassination.
Celeste flashes on screen with a picture of a cute old lady, and he answers so fast, I wonder if she’s a secret agent.
There’s no greeting, but the woman chatters on the other side while Atlas nods. “I already soaked the potatoes overnight. Can you walk me through? I’ll put it on video.”
He walks into the kitchen, propping his phone and starting to assemble bowls and knives. He lines everything with military precision, then pulls a huge bowl of potatoes from the fridge.
Orion tugs me into his lap to whisper. “He’s making you homemade fries.”
Fucking shit.
Just mate me now.
Luckily for my sanity, Atlas burns the first batch. The fries don’t look burnt to me, but he won’t let me taste. He orders us pizza while scribbling notes about what went wrong, muttering about peanut oil and prepping a new batch of potatoes for tomorrow.
After dinner, I go through more Redfang papers, but Orion snatches them and makes me take a bath.
Rough life.
It’s way late, and I’m pacing my dark bedroom when I realize why I can’t sleep.
The reason is a double donkey kick to the ribs.
I’m waiting for the pack to get home.
I swear it’s my creeping heat hormones.
This jitter. This need to see the alphas.
