Chapter 8

Russt

After days of rutting and knotting my little mouse, I still can't get enough of her. I'll never stop wanting her. Even with exhaustion weighing me down and satisfaction flowing through me, I yearn to sink into her tight, wet heat again. No longer in estrous, she lies on top of me, fully asleep and snoring against my chest.

I stroke my fingers through her hair. Despite the happiness flowing between us, I can't ignore the dark spots in her soul.

She doesn't even realize it, but she's lonely. Even though she's ecstatic over our union, she yearns for other kinds of human interaction. She was a social butterfly as a child, always flitting around from kid to kid, never afraid to take a struggling outcast under her wing or jump into an ongoing conversation. Our bond helps ease the ache within her, but she needs more.

Her father used isolation as a weapon.

I will not.

She grumbles as I slip her off my chest, but I tuck our ruined nest around her and smile as she huffs and falls soundly asleep again. I stalk to the desk, grab the radio, and slip through the door into the second room. After shutting the door behind me, I step deeper into the room and trail my fingertips over the delicate furniture as I send instructions through the radio. In less than three minutes, I return to my sleeping omega and take my place underneath her. I'll happily be her pillow for the rest of our lives.

I kiss the top of her head and pause at the scent wafting off her. Unbridled joy sweeps through me as understanding dawns. I roll over, pin her under me, and wake her with kisses. She grumbles and swats at me, but I nip her bottom lip and coax her tongue into dueling with mine.

When I pull back, she opens her eyes with obvious reluctance and stretches, testing my control as her lithe body arches against mine. She slips her hands around my neck and sighs.

"I'm not complaining about the method, but why are you waking me up? I'm tired and sore and just want to sleep."

Her tone sounds like she's complaining, but the wistful smirk on her face and the happiness swirling through our bond confirm she's not mad.

"I needed to kiss you," I say.

Her smirk morphs into the most gorgeous, ethereal smile on this godforsaken watery planet. With her in my arms, I hold the future. She's my hope. My savior. My omega.

She scowls as I rise and scoop her, wrapped in the filthiest blanket, into my arms.

"Where are we going?" she asks.

"Hush, little mouse. Let me take care of you."

Her brows remain furrowed, but she leans her head against me and doesn't complain as I walk away from our mating nest. I open the third door and set her on the counter. She studies the small washroom with interest despite her tired eyes. With a sink along one wall, a toilet in the back corner, an open shower on the other side, and a drain in the center of the room, the space provides compact comfort and practicality.

I wet a washcloth and clean her face with warm water. She holds the blanket tight around her, savoring the pheromones wafting from the fabric. I kiss her forehead and wash my face before carrying her to the desk in the main room. She sighs and watches me with interest as I pull a t-shirt and shorts from the shelf, but when I drop the shirt on the desk beside her and unfold the shorts to slip them on, she growls and snatches the material out of my hands.

Hunger grips me when she pulls the shorts into her cocoon. Her toes curl as she rubs the silky fabric against her body.

"Fuck, little mouse, don't tease me," I snarl as I yank the blanket open.

She tosses the shorts at my head. The fresh scent of her slick enraptures me. I purr and rub the fabric against my face.

By the time I pull myself together and tug the shorts up around my waist, she sits with the blanket wrapped tightly around her and my shirt dangling from her fingertips. I take it from her, thread my arms into the sleeves, and pop my head through before grabbing a clean quilt off the shelf and adding another layer to her temporary, mobile nest.

"I don't want to leave," she whispers.

I peck the tip of her nose and cradle her against my chest.

"It's just for a few minutes. We'll be right back," I promise.

She leans her head against me with a sigh.

I make my way through both sealed doors, balancing her slight weight with ease, but descend the ladderwell slower than usual, refusing to put such precious cargo in danger. I skirt around the couch and open the outer door to our den without stopping to put on shoes. After a short walk down the hall, I step into the conference room and stop at the head of the table.

The four females on the far side of the room stand so fast their chairs swivel back and forth with little squeaks. Authentic to the ship, the metal table and chairs remain intact, since looting the bolted-down furniture was too difficult before I took command.

Morwenna stares at the other women with wide eyes for long, silent moments before swinging her gaze up to mine. I nod toward the female on the left.

She gives a slight bow, revealing the mating mark high on her throat, before introducing herself.

"Hi, I'm Stash, Cooper's mate."

At Morwenna's confusion, I say, "Cooper is my second in command."

The taller, stockier beta woman in the middle nods her head in greeting.

"I'm Carrie. If Traiden or Caymen give you trouble, tell me and I'll smack ‘em back to their godforsaken mother."

"Traiden and Caymen oversee decks three through six," I say.

Morwenna blinks.

The third woman, an older beta with stooped shoulders and greying hair, crosses her arms in lieu of a bow.

"I'm Olma. I ain't got no man and I ain't never will. They're too much trouble, so I just clean up their messes. Seems like you're putting me right to work, ain't you? Gonna be real messy in a few months, eh?"

Morwenna doesn't react. I pull her closer.

"You can make other friends, but these are the females I trust the most, so I'd like you to get to know them first," I say.

She blinks. Studies the three women. Blinks again.

Tears fill her eyes. She pulls the blanket over her head and curls against me as she breaks down into sobs. I growl and turn toward the door.

Olma chuckles. Her words follow me down the hall, but I doubt my little mouse hears her through her crying.

"New mothers ain't got no chill. She's too sweet for the likes of him, but I like the way she has him wrapped around her little finger, though, yeah?"

Carrie and Stash murmur their agreement. I shut the outer door to our den and clear the distance between my omega and our nest. When I pull the filthy blankets over us, her crying lessens. She clings to my chest and crawls on top of me as I settle onto my back.

"I'm sorry, I can't stop crying. Thank you, Russt. I… just… thank you," she says as she wipes her face on my shirt.

With a shuddering sigh, she curls her fingers under my collar.

"I'm hungry."

She wriggles her hips. My cock hardens. Her stomach rumbles and she blushes. I smile and rub her back. Anger twists her face and she whacks my arm, but freezes in alarm.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I thought my heat broke, but I'm still so…"

Frustrated tears fill her eyes.

I purr and tilt her face up to mine with my knuckle.

"It's okay, little mouse. You're carrying our first offspring, so you're allowed to be volatile."

For a moment, she stares at me with hazed eyes, but when my meaning sinks in, her pupils shrink and her jaw drops.

"But it was my first heat," she mumbles.

I kiss her forehead and cheek as I chuckle. Her lashes tickle my nose before I pull back.

She jerks and grabs my shoulders as the reality hits her.

"I'm pregnant. We're going to have a youngling."

"Yes, little mouse. We are."

She smiles. Fresh tears drip from her eyes and land on my throat.

"I figured out what we can use that extra room for," she says with a cute little smile.

"There's no need," I say.

Her brows scrunch.

"What do you mean?"

I roll and wrap her legs around my waist as I stand and open the middle door. Her eyes widen as she studies the fully stocked nursery. With a crib, rocking chair, stuffed animals, books, and several rugs spread across the floor, the room is ready for our first babe.

Her breath hitches. She digs her nails into my nape and whispers my name.

I return to our nest and cover her with my body.

"I love you, Russt. I need you. Now," she demands.

Urgency pulses through our bond. I rise just long enough to whip my shirt over my head and shuck my shorts off my legs.

My omega needs me, and I need her.

In my bed. In my life. In my heart.

She's my little mouse. My mate.

My past, present, and future.

My everything.

Mine.

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