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The whole house is immaculate. Glossy wood floors, tasteful navy-and-light-blue furniture. Perfectly painted walls, accented with strategic patches of blue-and-white patterned wallpaper. Fake pink peonies on all the tables. Area rugs so soft that you sink into them when you walk.
Cass went off to hunt our omega down, but I couldn’t move. One thought repeated in my head, again and again—She gives us everything. And I’m about to have nothing.
My thoughts race while my fork chases my food around my plate. When I hear my name, I startle.
“Damon?”
All three of them are looking at me. Remi’s eyes drop to my dinner, her teeth nipping her lower lip. “Do you not like it? I think I put too much pepper in the gravy.”
Smith sways close enough to kiss her head. “It’s perfect, petal.” His eyes land on mine, brow quirking. “Are you okay, Damon?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. How the hell do I explain this? I’m being replaced? I’m washed up? Please still love me?
Fuck.
“Damon.” Remi sets her utensils down and stands, coming around the table, right to me. My body reacts without my useless brain, opening my arms for her. She folds herself into my lap.
Fuuuuuck.
But she feels perfect. Everything locked up inside of me unclenches immediately, tension receding like a tide getting sucked into a wave.
Only… the wave doesn’t come crashing over me. Instead, while she fits her face into my bare shoulder, the waters still.
Plush lips graze my collarbone. “Trouble,” she whispers, “what’s wrong? Do you feel sick?”
Not anymore. At this moment, I feel like I could eat ten pork chops. Shit, I’m hungry. When was the last time I was able to get a full meal down? Two days ago? Before that last game.
Remi watches my face closely before pivoting on my lap and scooping up a forkful of food. When she holds it up to my mouth, her eyes wide with hope and worry, I immediately wolf it down.
Damn, that’s so good. She’s so good. For me. For all of us.
My insides settle, their seething soothed as she feeds me another bite. This is supposed to be something alphas do for their omegas, not the other way around. But I don’t care.
Smith does.
He picks up Remi’s plate and starts carving her meat for her. Scooting his chair closer, he offers her a bite of her own for every one she gives me, pausing to pet her hair every few moments. When he stops to squeeze my shoulder, I’m so shocked, I could fall out of my chair.
His dark eyes meet mine over Remi’s head, solid and sure. “Whatever’s happening, we’ll work it out,” our pack alpha says.
I tilt my face into Remi’s hair again. This is the part I’ve been dreading—the thing I can’t figure out. I don’t know what to say or how to explain.
But, then, suddenly, I don’t have to. Remi peeks up at me. Our eyes lock, and I can just tell—she knows.
She’s known this whole time.
And she’s never treated me any differently because of it.
She listens anyway, letting me tell my whole story while Smith watches with a concerned frown. By the time I wind my way through every single humiliating detail, Remi has tear tracks over her cheeks. As soon as I finish, she stretches up in my lap and presses her damp lips to mine.
“I wish I could feel you,” she whispers.
My heart seizes. She’s talking about a pack bond. Because she wants to be able to sense what’s going on inside of me.
A dark laugh huffs out. “Even right now?”
She cuddles closer. “Especially right now.”
I lean back and look into her eyes, sparkling with tears and soaked in sincerity. She means it. She wants to be with me, in me, even when I’m a mess.
