Page 25 of The Omega Verse
Mine.
If my eyes could glow, they’d be doing a full-on wolf shine right now.
And then she steps fully into view, and all the moisture in my body flows towards the surface of my skin. Because she’s wearing nothing but a blanket, her hair a wild tangle and her pupils blown wide. But it’s the scent flooding off her – pure, needy omega – that makes the sweat break out all over my body.
How the fuck did I miss this?
I’m not sure if I’m just talking about her medical condition, or the fact she’s wearing the scent of at least two other alphas. But either way, my first statement stands.
Mine.
“Tom?”
She blinks as if she’s coming out of a daze, and the next second she’s launching herself off the step. I’m already moving forward to meet her, and she thuds against my chest, her arms and legs wrapping tight around my torso. I grip her back just as fiercely, an echoing thud pounding in my chest.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
I bury my face in her hair. Fuck. She smells so good. Other guys, yeah. But I’ve never been selfish in the way I feel about Cass. I want her to be happy. I want her to have everything. If another guy – or guys – can give her that, then I’m right behind it. And while I’m well aware I’m not her best choice, that doesn’t mean I’ll let some random fucker mess with her heart.
“You okay, baby girl?”
I need to get a fucking grip. I’m here to assess her wellbeing – which I can’t really do with us wrapped together. Still, I give myself another few moments to soak her in before I pull back to see her face. Fuck me. I always thought Cass was beautiful, but like this, she’s damn near irresistible.
Focus, you horny piece of shit.
“I need to check you over. Can you come sit in my Jeep?”
But she’s already shaking her head. “Come on the bus. I don’t want to be outside.”
Of course. Omegas like to feel safe, cocooned. And somehow, Cass is an omega.
I push that revelation aside and focus on what I can sense. Just by holding her I know she’s running a low-grade fever – a normal aspect of a heat and within medical guidelines, assuming someone is monitoring her at all times. Dehydration and blood pressure are harder to assess by touch alone, but I know better than to suggest a hospital or tending facility. So, I settle for a middle ground. “Only if we go to my place. And you have to have a facilitator, Cass. Someone to make sure you’re looked after and things don’t get out of hand.”
She snorts, a flash of the pre-heat Cass shining through. “Beyond the knots and multiple orgasms, you mean?”
“Ah, yeah.” Fuck me. “Beyond that.”
She laughs at my awkwardness, but then seems to realise we have an audience. For whatever reason, Jett Colter is still standing there, watching us with his visor up. It’s too dark to properly read his face, but my other senses tell me he’s struggling with something. And I don’t think it’s the normal alpha-omega tension.
“Thanks for letting me stay on the bus,” Cass says in a stilted way. She doesn’t like to be indebted to anyone, but I know from long experience this is her trying to be gracious. “And sorry about messing up your holiday plans.”
He gives another of those disinterested shrugs. “This is just a detour.”
She nods, but he’s already stalking back to his bike. We both watch him mount it like he’s dying to get away. “He been giving you problems?”
“No,” Cass replies after a beat. “He’s okay. But I don’t want to be out here anymore.”
I nod, and holding her tighter, mount the stairs into the bus. The driver is standing a respectable distance away, his eyes cautious. “If you give me your keys, I’ll radio one of our guys to collect it for you.”
I hand them over, feeling a little more civil now I have Cass in my arms.
Besides, the bus is distracting. Other than the fact it’s made of metal and on wheels, it has nothing in common with any other kind of transportation I’ve ever used. In the army, everything was function over comfort, and as an ambo, we’re more urgent care taxis than luxury rides.
The front door opens into a storage space, and then we’re in the kitchen and sitting area. There are a couple of big armchairs that swivel on their chrome bases, and an L-shaped couch against the wall. There’s also a booth under the window, with a couple of coffee cups and a Jack Daniels bottle on the table. The kitchen is decked out with top-of-the-range fittings, including an expensive coffee machine that catches my eye. Everything is black and gold, and you can’t miss The Sundowners’ logo, since it's stamped on damn near every surface. The bus seems pretty new, and I have to wonder why they’d go to the expense of pimping their ride if the band is really breaking up. Or maybe these guys are so rich, this is just how they roll.
“We’re down the back,” Cass murmurs in my ear. I don’t really need directions since I can smell them – Cass and two alphas, and maybe a beta in the mix as well. It’s a heady combination, and my heart starts to beat faster as I carry her down a narrow corridor with bunks on both sides. There are a couple of closed doors – definitely a bathroom, based on the sound of running water and the faint scent of omega – and then we’re standing outside the bedroom.
Cass’ scent is so much thicker here, I have to take small breaths so I don’t start nuzzling the source. But I come to an abrupt stop because there’s a big guy standing in the doorway, and even in the dim light I recognise him. “Kobi Grace,” I murmur, feeling starstruck. “Hey, man. I really like your music.”