Page 30 of Bonds and Beasts

I mute Lumi for a moment. "We don't have to do that. It’s a good idea that will keep you away from the public eye, and if you come onto set, we could sneak in touch therapy between shoots. But if you're upset at the idea, we can say forget it and find another way."

She searches my face and I try to keep it open, not shuttering my emotions away as I usually do under close scrutiny. It's a habit from being examined by nearly everyone I meet as an actor.

"No, it's not—I don't care about saying I'm your assistant. I'd rather not get media attention if I can help it. It's—" She closes her mouth to gather her thoughts. "I was worried about something else. Not really important now. This is the right call."

Lumi’s been a good agent, but this is beyond neglectful. If we weren't about to retire from the limelight I'd likely fire her for this, but it hardly seems worth it when we're about to be rid of her anyway. After this one last shoot.

I unmute the phone. "Fine."

Adison

Today’s outfit is similar to yesterday’s. The temperature has dropped, so I wear a long, brown, cable-knit sweater dress and lined leggings with matching boots. An orange and black plaid backpack holds items that will both entertain me and give the appearance of working as the pack's new personal assistant. I'm going to avoid talking to anyone if I can.

The drive down is silent at first. I'm between Easton and Dean. Dean has a hand on my thigh and keeps circling the fabric of my leggings with his thumb. The movement sends shivers skittering up my spine. Easton is less subtle. He scent-marks along my jaw and neck and I mimic the action. Having my rose scent mix with his is intoxicating. It makes me feel like these alphas are mine in a visceral way that words can't capture.

"What upset you back at the breakfast table?" Then there's Bello. He has been more physical, more affectionate, and more attentive to my touch deprivation.

I tilt my head at him and he waits, patient in his demand to know everything I'm imagining.

"Was it the idea of posing as our assistant?" Easton asks as his hand slips under my hair and squeezes at the base of my skull, tugging deliciously at my scalp. He can tell I love the move. My eyes flutter closed and my scent lightens. Dean groans next to me and it sounds filthy. If they aren't careful, they're going to tip me into a heat spike, and then everyone will be able to smell that we're mates and this whole charade will be over before it starts.

"No, I said I didn't care because I don't," I insist.

There's a pause. Bello reaches across the space between seats and takes my hand. He surprises me by bringing my knuckles to his mouth and scent-marking them before pressing his lips to them. "I was going to ask you if you'd allow us to start courting you tonight," he says.

My heart is fluttering so fast that it feels like it might take off. After my perfume went out of control, I thought I'd never go on a courting date. My mind returns to the phone call from earlier, but I try to shake it off. "I'd love to go on a courting date with all of you," I smile.

Bello, however, seems to see right through my expression. "Tell me what's the matter," he says.

I hesitate. It feels too early to bring up the issue that's been plaguing my thoughts, about the penthouse in LA, so I decide to go with something more immediate. "I haven't been out of the manor in almost a year," I say quietly, looking out the window. We're entering town. There are open shops and people walking the streets, cars parked or driving past us. This is my town. My community. Seeing it up close instead of through a high manor window is thrilling and nerve-racking. I wonder what the people who knew me, who attended that fateful party, are still saying about me nearly one year later? Before that day, I’d led a fairly charmed life. Do they cast me as the villain now? The thought twists in me.

"We hadn't considered that when we headed out, Beauty. I'm sorry. Do you want to head back?" he asks, gently using the tips of his fingers to move a piece of hair from my forehead behind my ear.

"No, I don't. I want to be out. I want—" The words get sticky but I won't let them get lost anymore. I push through the feeling. Dean presses his lips to the top of my head and I feel safer. He was there at the beginning when they found me and it almost fell apart, and I know he'll always protect me, like he said that first night. So, I find his eyes. "I want to be able to do this. To be in the world again. It feels so big."

The words don't feel exactly right, but Dean understands anyway. "Would it help if one of us was with you the entire time?"

I bite my lip but nod. I feel pathetic. Even though I've been desperate to get back to normal life, the idea of so many people around me after being nearly alone for a year has fear swelling in my chest.

"We don't have any scenes all together today, so that should work," Easton confirms, looking at his phone, which I assume has his shoot schedule on it.

"I don't want to be a burden to you," I try. I'm not actually sure I won't tip into a full panic attack if they leave me alone, but I'd rather cry in the car by myself than have them resent me for being so incapable of staying on my own.

Bello suddenly leans forward and grasps me by the hips, hauling me across the middle space and onto his lap. My knees land on either side of his thighs until I'm straddling him. One arm goes around my waist to pull me flush with him, while the other threads into my hair where he squeezes lightly. I gasp, and a small omega whine escapes when his scent surrounds me and I feel the hard, muscled lines of his body.

"You are not a burden, Beauty. Ever. You are our mate, and you've been kind and caring with us. You've been forgiving and generous when you still thought Clocks was a good person. And you've been oh-so fierce when you realized what that man really was. You are a survivor, and I'm more than proud to court you. Understand?"

I nod, but his hand tightens slightly in my hair. I settle further into his lap, which presses us closer. I notice his length through his trousers and whimper.

"No, Beauty. I want to hear you say that you're not a burden. That you're our perfect omega."

I stare at him, heat creeping into my cheeks. He can't be serious. But he doesn't crack a smile or let up. He continues to look at me, head slightly cocked, black hair framing his face.

"I'm not a burden," I mumble to satisfy him. He is apparently not satisfied, though, because he continues staring at me. I stare back.

Dean chuckles. "Come on, Sweet Girl. You’re our perfect omega. You can say it because it's true." He kisses my cheek but my eyes never leave Bello's.

"I'm your perfect omega," I mutter quickly, feeling like a fraud. How could I, the cursed omega of the town, the freak with the overactive scent, the one who destroyed her own birthday party, be their perfect omega?