Page 67 of Sweet Torment

"You're making a nest,” I observe.

"Is that okay?" Freddie asks, pausing with a blanket in his hands. There's uncertainty in his eyes, like he's afraid I'm about to reject it.

Isn't the omega supposed to do this? Build the nest? But it’s sweet. I walk over and remove some of the blankets and pillows. "It's getting a little too Princess and the Pea in here," I say, but I can't keep the smile from my voice. I lean down and smell the makeshift bed. It's good, but not quite right. "Definitely needs more of you," I say, and then flush, a little embarrassed I just did a sniff test in front of them. "I mean, your scents."

My omega brain practically purrs. A nest. The logical part of me screams that I shouldn't get used to this. We don’t know what happens tomorrow. This could all be temporary. Their fathers could try to strip us of the bonds somehow.

An ugly thought wiggles into my head.

"Did you make her a nest too?" I know it makes me sound jealous, and I hate myself a little for asking, for needing to know.

"Fuck no," Owen says immediately.

"Never," Tristan adds, dropping a pillow with more force than necessary.

That settles the wild, territorial omega in me. Somewhat.

Weller and Freddie disappear, returning with snacks from the main kitchen. Freddie tosses a bag at me. "Even found your favorite."

I catch the bag, staring down at the familiar blue packaging. Salt and vinegar chips. "You remembered."

"Hard to forget," he says, dimples appearing. "They're disgusting."

"They're perfect," I counter, tearing open the bag and inhaling the sharp, vinegary scent.

My mouth waters instantly. It's been a really long time since I've had these—they don't exactly stock gourmet chips at the refuge.

"They're an abomination," Tristan says with a theatrical grimace, but he's smiling too. "Like licking a battery."

"You would know what that tastes like," I shoot back, and he laughs, deep and rich. The sound is startling and beautiful.

We settle onto the makeshift nest, our bodies finding their places. I end up between Weller's legs, my back against his chest, his arms loose around my waist. Owen's hand finds my hip again, but he’s not being demanding. Freddie presses warm against my side, seeming happy just to touch me. Tristan sits at my feet, one hand wrapped around my ankle, thumb stroking over the bone. The TV plays something stupid. We pretend this is normal.

"This is completely fucked," I finally say, voicing what we're all thinking.

"Yeah," Owen agrees easily.

I glance up at the nearest camera, its red light blinking. "Now he has footage of me throwing knives at a picture. I guess I make it easy for him.”

They chuckle, but there's no real humor in it.

My eyes grow heavy, the weight of it all finally demanding payment. "So," I murmur, already fading, "when your fathers tell you they want to break the bonds tomorrow, what's the plan?"

The rumbling is immediate. All four of them, the sound vibrating through their chests into mine. A warning. A promise.

"Not happening," Owen growls, his grip tightening on my hip.

"Alexander seemed pretty confident I wasn't the one for you," I mumble, my eyes closed now. "Had a whole speech prepared. Multiple talking points. Probably has a PowerPoint ready with pie charts showing how many people I've killed versus how many people a proper omega would kill. Which is zero, by the way."

"Stop," Weller says firmly, his arms tightening around me.

"They've been interviewing other omegas," I continue, unable to stop the words now that they've started. "Pretty ones. Ones from the correct bloodlines. Ones that know how to be good little omegas. Ones who have never been touched. Probably ones who don't throw knives at paintings or have mouths like sailors."

The rumbling gets deeper, more threatening.

"Never," Weller says with absolute certainty, his lips against my hair.

"Princess, no one is coming between us again," Owen adds, his voice deadly calm.