Page 18 of A Murderous Omega

“Why’s your scent turning burnt?” he asked.

How did he know that? How did he know when I was unhappy? Only a⁠—

“Scent match,” I breathed before I could stop the thought.

“C’est ça,” he agreed. That’s right. “You already knew that too. Like I said—perfect.”

These two alphas were scent matches—biological matches that could result in children—and they wanted me.

“I can’t have children,” I said, rushing the words out, as though saying them quickly could diminish their hurt. “My womb’s as broken as the rest of me.”

“So?” Emile said, starting up the stairs.

I stopped, tugging on his hand to bring him back down to my level.

“So that’s the only reason to scent match, right?”

He furrowed his brow as he looked at me. I couldn’t meet his searching gaze, the weight of it unbearable, like he was staring into my soul and seeing the most vulnerable parts of me.

“Conor and I are bonded scent matches, and we can’t have kids together,” he said. “Who the fuck cares?”

My chest heaved as I took deep breaths, trying to wrap my head around two alphas who didn’t care that my womb was broken, who didn’t care that I could never give them a litter of children.

I perfumed.

Emile tugged me against him and dropped a kiss on my forehead. “C’mon, let’s eat before I turn you over the closest piece of furniture and fuck the uncertainty out of you like your pussy is begging me to.”

My stupid little omega heart thumped twice before relaxing back into a steady, regular rhythm. I hadn’t told them everything, hadn’t admitted I’d killed my pack, but just for one goddess damned moment, I could pretend none of that mattered, that they wanted me with all my trauma and flaws.

I followed Emile up the stairs. Conor’s bright blue eyes lit up as we stepped into the living room.

“Hey there, slut,” he said, the insult cutting across my chest like a knife.

He must have seen my distress, because he dashed out from the kitchen area and took me in his arms, purring softly until I melted against him.

“I don’t—” I closed my eyes and leaned my face against his shirt, breathing in his delicious peppermint scent and summoning my courage. “I don’t like it when you call me that outside of sex.”

“All right, my tenacious, vicious murderer, I won’t.”

I smiled against his chest as he complimented the things I loved most about myself.

“Let’s get you fed. Then we can talk about this alpha we’re going to skin alive and kill together.” He grinned. “I was thinking we could make a whole evening of it—dinner, murder, a movie after?”

I choked down my laughter. “You’re planning our first date around a kill.”

“Yes.”

I hated how good that sounded.

8

EMILE

My stomach clenched with nerves. Despite my urbane exterior, I wanted to impress this delightful creature who’d captivated Conor and me from the first moment we’d discovered that grisly kill. No, captivated wasn’t a strong enough word. She’d seized our hearts with both hands and stolen them, and I feared we’d never get them back.

Not that we wanted to.

I tried to imagine the open plan safehouse from her eyes—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a forest covered gorge that ended in a waterfall in the distance, minimalist furniture, and⁠—