Page 40 of A Murderous Omega

Emile did the same on the other side.

The pain was debilitating, all-consuming, rushing through me from my scent glands to my toes and back again in a wave of agony so intense my vision wavered. The strongest climax of my life roared through me as the bonds snapped into place between us, an open link that the two alphas poured their love through, filling in the cracks in my soul with gold.

Conor growled my name as he came inside of me. Emile whispered it as he did the same. Instead of collapsing, exhausted, into bed as I expected, allowing us to bask in the sunlight of our bond, they rearranged me on their laps, carefully lapping at the bite marks, sending shivering aftershocks of pleasure as they cared for me—as my alphas cared for me.

Mine.

“I love how possessive you are,” Emile murmured against my neck, his amusement teasing at my heart like a gentle feather. “I can feel it through the bond,” he explained when I looked at him quizzically.

Conor extracted himself from underneath me with a groan, only to return a moment later with a warm, wet towel that he used to clean me up. Afterward, he tilted my chin up to look me in the eye. “How’re you feeling, baby?”

I took stock of my aching muscles, the bruises that covered me, my sore pussy and ass, and the blissful contentment that rolled over me every time I glanced at my pack mates.

Hesitation came over me. Was it too early? Would they think I was too much?

Emile wrapped me in his arms, arranging me so I was sprawled across his chest. Conor draped one of my legs over his, and they soothed me with their touch.

“Je t’aime,” Emile murmured into my hair. “I’ve loved you since the first time you beat us to a kill.”

Conor ran a hand up my back to tangle in my hair. “I've killed for you. Bled for you. Waited two years to make you mine.” His voice dropped to gravel. “You think I’m letting you go? I thought I’d found my purpose in killing, but—” He stopped. “It’s you. You and Emile. I love you two.”

I lay in silence, stroking my fingers along Emile’s jawline before surging up to drop a kiss there.

Confidence, affection, acceptance, all floated through the bond between us, communicating their love without words, and suddenly, I couldn’t hold the words in any longer.

“You’re mine,” I said. “Forever.”

And they were.

“Say it,” Conor growled, his fingers tightening blissfully in my hair. “Tell us.”

“I love you,” I murmured. “Both of you.”

And I did.

17

LARK

“This one. And this one. And—wait, feel this one.”

I thrust the charcoal duvet at Conor, already reaching for another. The fabric section of the luxury bedding store sprawled before me like a treasure trove. My instincts had unlocked in my chest the moment we’d walked in. I wanted to touch everything, feel everything, take everything home.

“Baby, that’s the fourth duvet,” Conor said, but he was grinning, the fucker.

“They’re all different.” I clutched the fabric to my chest. “This one’s heavier. And this one—” I grabbed another “—has a different texture. Feel it.”

Emile obligingly tested both. “Lark, they’re both lovely.”

“Right?” I beamed at him, then turned back to the displays. “I need pillows.”

“How many pillows?” Conor asked, amused.

“All of them.”

I loaded our cart with pillows—firm ones, soft ones, body pillows, and decorative pillows that served no purpose except to look pretty, but felt amazing against my skin. Then I started on blankets, mountains of blankets in charcoal and navy and deep forest green.

“What about this?” Emile held up a cashmere blanket, carefully tucking the price tag away, as if he hoped I wouldn’t notice.