Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

H arper

One moment I’m watching Pack Stanton cart the little omega with freckles away, the next I’m being surrounded by omegas, so many omegas it makes my head spin, all yammering at me at once.

“Oh my god, do you know those guys?”

“What’s their pack name?”

“Do they have an omega?”

“Are they new to Rockview?”

“Are they dating?”

“Are they actively looking for an omega?”

My gaze ping pongs from omega to omega attempting to keep up with the barrage of questions.

“Erm,” I say, rubbing my head, “yes, Stanton, no, sort of, erm, they want to be and yes.”

“They were like superheroes,” one omega dressed in pink gushes, “did you see the way they just scooped her out of the water?”

“And totally brought her back from the dead,” another omega, this one chewing gum, adds.

“And they are built like superheroes too,” a third chimes in.

“Is there something going on between Cindy and Pack Stanton?” another one asks, her diamond earrings winking in the sunlight.

“No. Not that I’m aware of, anyway,” I answer.

The crowd of omegas take a collective sigh of relief.

“How do you know them exactly?” the omega with gum asks me suspiciously, eyeing me over her shades.

“Daxton is my brother, step-brother.”

And is it my imagination or do they all do the relief-sighing thing again?

The omega in pink, threads her arm through mine and pulls me along to the nearest table, pushing me down into a seat as the others pull up chairs around me.

“Tell us all about them,” an omega with cute pigtails instructs me.

“Well,” I swallow, “they’re doctors.”

“Doctors…” Several of them swoon.

“Yes, Owen – the blond one – looks after sick kids.”

“Aww,” they all say together, one clutching her hands to her chest.

“And, erm, they like to surf,” I add, desperately searching my mind for other things to say.

“That’s why they’re so ripped,” the omega with the earrings tells the others. They all nod and then turn back to me expectantly.

“Errr,” I stumble, “and Owen is really talented with his tongue, if you know what I mean,” I say, remembering Owen wanted me to tell the omegas that.

“Oh, I can totally tell. Did you see the way he kissed Cindy?”

“I think that was a kiss of life not–” I begin.

“Wait,” the girl with gum says, eyeing me a second time, “how do you know he’s skilled with his tongue?”

I groan inwardly, cursing out Owen. “His ex told me.”

“That’s kind of weird,” the omega in pink says, “his ex telling his packmate’s sister.”

“Step-sister,” I correct. “She was really … happy about it,” I say, cringing. “Couldn’t keep the information to herself.”

“Wow,” the omega with gum says, looking off wistfully in the direction the pack took. “Even among the alphas it can be hard to find a dude who’s good with his tongue.”

“Uh huh,” the one with the earrings says, “my old boyfriend said it was boring.”

I decide this is my opportunity to escape, then unfortunately they spot me rising to my feet and six pairs of hands tug me back into my seat.

“Can you introduce us?”

“Can I get their number?”

“Do you know if they’re on Insta?

“Where do they hangout?”

I flop back on my chair. I think Pack Stanton’s problems finding an omega are well and truly over.

Ethan sends me a text message saying he’s heard from Daxton and will pick me up from the event in two hours. I message him back and tell him I can call a cab. His answer to that is a definite no. He’s been talking about finding me some more robust security – we’re all in agreement the dogs aren’t cut out for it. He doesn’t like the idea of his omega daughter out there on her own. For now though, there’s nothing in place so he’s coming to fetch me himself.

I beg him to come ASAP. If it were my mom, she’d be insisting I stay and make new friends. But I’ve made enough new friends to last a lifetime – new friends who say they want to grab a coffee or go shopping together. I suspect, though, that what they really want is more info on Daxton, Owen and Wyatt. Luckily, Ethan is far more amenable than my mom and twenty minutes later I’m climbing into his car and heading home, a lot of omega numbers in my phone but no alpha ones.

At home, I shower, remove the thick layer of lotion that alpha smothered on my skin, dress into some PJs, grab a tub of ice cream from the freezer and settle myself down on the couch in front of the TV. It’s about 100 degrees outside, but I still wrap myself in a blanket, stack the cushions all around me, and balance my old teddy bear on my lap.

I’m halfway through an episode of Too Hot To Handle , when my mom comes hurrying into the lounge in a whirlwind of excitement.

“Whatever you did, Snuffles, it worked. My phone’s been blowing up all afternoon. Moms desperate to know more about Daxton and his pack, wanting to know if I can set them up with their daughters. Harper – you are some kind of miracle worker.”

I grimace.

“What?” my mom says.

“Erm, brain freeze,” I lie, holding up my spoon. “But, Mom, it was nothing to do with me. It was all them. They saved this omega from drowning.”

“Cindy Carlisle, yes, I heard.” She perches herself down on the end of my sofa. “I can just imagine it …” She goes all misty eyed, staring off into the distance, looking a lot like those omegas by the lake.

“They were very … professional,” I say, trying to drag the image of Owen cradling that girl in his arms from my mind, or the one of Wyatt carefully wrapping a towel around her shoulders, or of Daxton emerging from the water all glistening and wet and–

“Harper?” My mom is observing me with a frown. “Are you going into a heat?”

“No,” I say, shoveling a large lump of ice cream into my mouth.

Her eyes sweep over me, taking in the ice cream, blankets and teddy bear.

“Did something else happen at the cook-out?”

“No,” I say, hugging my teddy more closely to my belly.

“Something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired and a little grouchy. Way too much peopling today. I want to watch mindless television and veg out.”

“You usually only adopt such a position on the sofa when you’re upset about something.”

“What would I be upset about?” I ask. Certainly not all the omega attention Pack Stanton is receiving. “And besides, that was when I was a moody teenager, battling hormones.”

“Aren’t omegas always battling hormones?”

“And that is why they like to build little nests and crawl into them.” I sweep my hand over the arrangement.

“So it’s not a heat thing?”

“Nope, I’m just tired.”

“Are you sure? Ethan and I are going to that new European restaurant down by the harbor. You’d be most welcome to join us.”

“Mom, I’m in my pajamas.”

“You could go get changed.”

“I already took my bra off. I am not moving from this couch.”

My mom shakes her head. “Do you want me to stay behind?”

“Mom! I. Am. Fine.”

She stands to her feet, shaking her head. “Okay, if you say so. You can call if you need us. The dogs are outside in the yard. Death rolled in something revolting. Ethan’s already washed him twice but he still stinks. Do not let them in.” She bends down and pats my cheek. “How did I make something so gorgeous?” she mutters.

“Because you are equally gorgeous, Mom. Ethan is one lucky man.”

She does a twirl, showing off the red dress she’s wearing. “You like it?”

“Stunning.”

After she leaves, I settle back down and watch two romcom movies in a row. By the end, I decide I am actually really happy for my step-brother and his friends – his two really hot friends. His friend with the exceedingly gifted tongue. With all those abs and pecs and biceps.

I stare down at my teddy.

The house is empty and I’m all on my own. Even the dogs are outside. Plus I’m very comfy and now exceedingly turned on.

I find the little tear in teddy’s side, fish around inside his belly, and pull out the vibrator I used to keep hidden there. I test the battery. By some miracle it’s still working, buzzing invitingly in my hand. I press it against my cheek and sigh, rubbing my thighs together, remembering how Daxton had discovered this little tool and used it on me again and again and again.

Laurent wouldn’t let me keep a vibrator in the apartment. He saw it as an affront to his masculinity. He really was a jerk.

I lie back on the sofa and drag the vibrator down my body. Just like Daxton did all those years ago, pressing it hard against my right nipple until it’s stiff and poking through my top, then against the other, then down my belly and towards the apex of my thighs.

His voice is fresh in my ear, like it was only yesterday.

“Look at you, Omega, so sensitive and needy. I wanna make you come.”

I slip the vibrator under the waistband of my sleep shorts and inside my panties. I’d begged him to press the vibrator against my clit. But Daxton was always a damn tease. He’d run it along the seam of pussy lips, over the sensitive flesh of my inside thigh, around my entrance. Everywhere but my clit, until I’d been panting and writhing and slicking all over his hands. Then he’d given me that wicked Daxton smile and pressed the thing right against me, ripping an orgasm right out of my soul.

I sigh, and hold the vibrator against myself. It isn’t the same, but those memories are still scorching hot in my head – memories I have been unable to shift in ten years. Memories I may – once or twice – okay way more times than that – have revisited in moments of frustration.

My clit throbs against the cool silicone, the vibrations sending shivers up and down my spine. I feel the orgasm rumble in my core. I close my eyes, remembering Daxton’s face, his dark eyes watching me intently as I came for him.

“That’s it, baby girl. Just like that.”

I come, hard, against the vibrator, jolting around on the couch, pleasure rippling around my body, Daxton’s face still hovering across my vision, his voice still in my ear.

Then I flop back on the couch.

Well, now I feel a lot less frustrated about the situation – for the time being at least – but way more confused.

I snuggle up to my teddy, wishing I wasn’t such a nut case, berating myself for getting carried away with my memories and my little fantasies.

Getting myself off while thinking about my step-brother is really, really … wrong. A heaviness sinks over me and shame burns my cheeks.

It’s late, the garden dark beyond the glass doors. I yawn, my eyes heavy. I should really drag myself from this pit and head to bed. But I’m so miserable and so comfy that no sooner have I thought about moving my butt than I’m asleep, dreaming … dreaming of that time ten years ago …