Chapter Eighteen

Red

My muscles are on fire, throwing my full force into every blow.

The punching bag rattles at the onslaught. Today's task is endurance. Skill will find its way back to me, but not if I don't have the strength to back it up.

Can't get rusty.

Eve is in the nest, spending some much-needed time with Riley and Marcus—the only two alphas interested in reconnecting with their family packs, and both no doubt needing a shoulder to cry on.

God knows if my family pack came knocking, I'd need a shoulder, too.

I smirk at the bag.

Or other parts .

"Working hard?" A voice asks. "Or just … hard."

I spin around, finding Thorn at the bottom of the gym steps. He has his hands in his pockets as he sidles up to me.

My fists drop. "Took you long enough."

"You were waiting for me." He quirks a brow, nodding to my crotch. "Excitedly?"

"Don't flatter yourself, jackass. Got something else on my mind."

He marks the still-swaying punching bag. "How long have you been out here?"

"I dunno—couple hours. Wanted to catch you on your way in."

He seems almost impressed. "Well, you caught me."

"Good. Then we can go a couple rounds."

Whatever hesitation I sense from him—probably something along the lines of, Now? Really? —is gone just as quickly. He has been working all day, and most of last night. But between Eve's reluctance and Thorn's crowded schedule, I haven't had a chance to train in ages.

He shrugs. "Show me what you got."

This could be my chance , I realize. He's exhausted—not to mention just as out of practice as me. Maybe tonight will be the night I finally land a blow. We size each other up, getting into position.

Thorn lets me make the first move. I feign low then hit high. He rolls, effortlessly avoiding my fist, and somehow clips my waist.

He's like a goddamn snake.

Back and forth, we exchange blows, getting into the rhythm of each other. There's something predictable about Thorn's unpredictability. I know it should piss me off, but if anything, right now, it's a comfort.

"So—" I grunt, punching air, "how's work?"

He bristles. "Fine. Except there's too much of it."

I take the opportunity to catch him off guard, or try to, failing miserably.

"You could take it easy, you know. Pretty obvious you're already making more than the rest of us."

"It's not about that." He trips me up and gives me a second to regain my balance.

"Then what's it about?"

He strikes once. I dodge, but I'm so proud of myself that I cop the second strike right in my gut.

"Sorry," he says blandly. We resume as soon as I've caught my breath, exchanging a few more blows in silence before he says, "I don't know what it's about. Honestly—" he leaps back, "—something feels off."

I frown. "With the jobs?"

"The jobs are basic. But to be getting so many, all at once, gives me a bad feeling."

If Thorn's got a bad feeling about something, we're all fucked. I grab his fist mid-punch. "Have you talked to Baxter about this?" I ask seriously.

"In passing."

"In passing—?" I shake my head, like that might dispel the outrage. "You gotta tell him everything. Right now."

"I've got a feeling." He shrugs me off. "That's it."

"Yeah, and it's enough ."

He gives me a hard look, bordering on warning.

I step back, running my hand through my hair. "Can you at least say what the feeling is?"

He doesn't move, but stands still for a moment, before resuming a fighting stance. Finally, in a cool, even voice, he answers, "Like I'm being distracted."

***

It's been a weird couple of weeks. At first I thought becoming Marcus's kitchen-hand was the weirdest thing that was going to happen during Eve's pregnancy.

But now I see it's affecting me in a whole bunch of ways.

When Riley sits glaring at her phone, I help her craft a text to her parents. She's been going back and forth with them for days, but every word is tactical—not giving away too much, but not shutting them down altogether.

Marcus prefers not to talk to Riley about his parents, so he finds his way to me. We agree to hold off on reaching out to them until after we've caught up with Riley's folks.

Even Baxter and Thorn seem a little different. Not in what they do, or say, but … in the way they look at me.

I try to remember what Marcus said—something about my alpha being on high alert. Pregnant omega pheromones taking over, mixing me around. Maybe that's what this is.

Or maybe I'm just finally growing up.

No wonder I'm so jittery , I tell myself as I walk Eve outside. Lots riding on me.

She tilts her head up. "You're unusually quiet, alpha."

"Huh?" I frown, though that frown is quickly replaced by a grin: Eve is wearing the little pink sundress I love. I've been too preoccupied by my stupid hang-ups to notice. My cock stiffens.

Some things never change .

"You sure you want to do this right now?" I ask, almost begging. "We can go for a walk anytime. But if you want a workout …"

Colour fills Eve's cheeks. "You're mean."

"Mean?"

She huffs, striding along. "You know what Marc said."

Damn, that's right. No ‘workouts' for our pretty pregnant omega. The only people Marc even trusts to knot her are Baxter and Thorn. I remember thinking it didn't look like much fun for either of them, getting cockwarmed until she fell asleep, but right now? I'd do anything just to be inside her.

"Red," Eve whines. "Come on. I'm trying to be good."

"What do you mean ‘trying'?" I catch up to her. "You're as good as they come, baby girl."

We walk around a little, enjoying the fresh air, the warm sun, as I consider her words more deeply.

"You've been a real trooper, you know," I tell her. "If Marc's getting worried—" if all of us are getting worried , "—it's not because you've done something wrong. We're just being extra careful."

"I know," she murmurs, though she sounds even unhappier than before. I start to wonder about that afternoon we found her next to the nest, breathless, terrified something bad might have happened to the pup.

"Are you still worried?" I ask. "You know, after the other day."

She shrugs, glaring ahead at the trees. "Sometimes."

"That ‘sometimes' sounds a lot like ‘always'."

She smiles wryly.

We make a full circuit around the clearing. I could hang out here forever, walking and talking in circles, but Eve needs to rest. And, though I hate to admit it, I should be getting back to work.

"It's okay," Eve says, seeing my look. "We can go inside."

I groan, pulling her into me, wanting to sink into her in every way imaginable. She wraps her arms around me, her scent sweet and tart as citrus rinds. Happy. Sad. Both. It's hard to get a lock on one emotion or another lately.

I hold her a little tighter, and she grimaces, pulling back.

"What is it?" I scowl. "I didn't squeeze the pup, did I?"

"N–no. No that."

"Then wh—" I stop, transfixed, as her fingers skim the fabric over her breasts. "Oh."

"Sorry." She blushes deeply. "They're a little tender."

Instinctively, I reach out, gently holdings her breasts in either hand. Omega's in pain. Gotta … fix it. But then I actually feel them—so round and swollen—and my cock just about pokes a hole through my pants.

"Red …" Eve whimpers.

God. Damn. If she wasn't supposed to be fucked good and deep right now, why the fuck would her body be responding so sweetly?

Something glistens in her eyes—I don't know if it's need, or tears, or tears of need, but I can't just let that slide.

I crash my lips against hers, distracting her just long enough to sweep her off her feet.

" Mmph —Red!"

I know what Marcus said. But I also know what my omega needs right now, more than anything else.

"Come on, baby girl." I carry her inside. "Let's get you taken care of."