Page 33 of A Nest of Maple & Mist

I sucked at this whole diffusing the mounting tension thing.

Her lashes fluttered as she blinked. The look of pure awe on her face reminded me of how she used to look tucked into the corner of the coffee shop, wild curls framing her face as she sipped her latte, face buried in a book.

“What’s your genre of choice?” I asked, the question coming out more like a panicked shriek.

“What?” she asked with a breathy laugh.

“Books. You were always reading in the shop. Based on the look on your face most of the time, I doubt they were textbooks.”

“Oh,” she giggled.

Holy shit, I adored that melodic sound. It was bright and carefree. I wanted to be the one who always caused her to make that noise. She deserved it. After everything she had been through, I wanted our pack to protect her.

The blush deepened on her freckled cheeks as she flashed me a shy smile. She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, and she had never looked more adorable.

“Romance.”

She whispered it as if it were some dirty secret. My fingers skimmed over her fluttering pulse, twirling a loose curl. I gave it a gentle tug, and she huffed the tiniest growl at me.

“That’s a huge category. What kind of romance? Fae with glowing skin and twinkly cum? Blue aliens with two cocks that vibrate? Hulking Vikings with bloody hands? Mafia alphas ready to burn the world down for their omega?”

A broad grin split my cheeks at her stunned expression. She blinked once, twice, and then a third time, finally speaking when her brain seemed to come back online.

“Excuse me? You read romance?”

“I’ve dabbled.”

Truthfully, I read a lot when I lived alone in the city. I had the time. Now, not so much. When I’d seen a blue alien on the cover, I bought it mainly out of curiosity. Next thing I knew, it was ten days later, and I had barely slept, devouring twelve books about devoted aliens worshipping their women.

“So… What genre?” I prodded.

“I read most of it. But my favorite is horror romance.”

My fingers slid to her chin. She gripped my biceps as she wrinkled her nose. I tried not to lose it at her touch. It felt like wildfire. The kind I wanted to let consume me.

“Oh, so you’re a little terror? Got it.”

It came out breathier than I intended, my gaze fixed on the place where her hand curled around me. My chest expanded. I had been touch-starved when I first found Shane and Jason.

The doctor said he usually only saw touch starvation in omegas. Apparently going years without hugs or affection made it possible for it to happen to betas as well.

Now I never went a day without strong arms holding me or confident lips melding with mine. Still, I craved the affection that came from knowing that someone chose me. And when Mia held me with so much gentleness, it made my heart ache.

I had always wanted to be loved, to be chosen. After years of getting bounced between foster homes, I had accepted that it would never be me. Until Jason and Shane proved me wrong.

Maybe it made me greedy, but I needed this stunning omega to choose me too.

She was pack.

“I like that,” she hummed.

“What?”

“When you call me little terror. Makes me feel like I’m fearsome despite barely being five feet tall.”

“You are fearsome.”

Without second guessing myself, I banded my arms around her waist. She swatted at me half-heartedly as I pulled her down onto my lap, sitting us on top of a rickety stool I definitely shouldn’t have trusted.