Chapter Thirty-Eight

Eve

I know it's ridiculous. I know it's inappropriate.

But if I have to sit in this panic a moment longer, I'm terrified of what's going to happen to my pup.

I lift my hips again, shifting urgently on Red's cock. He grips my thighs with a strained grunt, his eyes never leaving mine, barely even blinking.

We were being … followed. Does someone want to hurt us? Is someone going to hurt Thorn?

I ride Red harder, urging him to fuck these questions out of my body—questions my sane, non-pregnant self might be able to grapple with, but this current version of me cannot. All I knew, when Red and I walked out through the parking lot, was that it was starting to hurt again. The same way it hurt when I was bleeding.

He's gonna fix it, my inner omega promises. Alpha's gonna make it all better.

Pump after pump on top of his cock, the pain lifts further away, diminished by a much fiercer current.

Pleasure.

"Eve," Red pants, "Eve … Eve … ah …"

He's going to come, my omega warns me. I whine, knowing I'm not there yet—and for a second I worry he's going to try and slow me down. But then he grips me harder, taking some of my body weight, bouncing me faster .

"It's okay," he grunts, "take what you need from me. I'm not going anywhere."

What I need … is this. Every sensitive half-stroke of his cock rubbing against my insides, twitching for release. I let myself fall onto every thrust, ensuring he gets as deep as possible.

"Legs hurt," I whine, annoyed I can't make myself go any harder.

"I got 'em," he assures me, grasping the underside of my thighs. "Hold on, baby girl."

At last, my omega gives in. I feel so heavy, like a slack, searing weight, but Red either doesn't notice or doesn't care. He lifts me with ease, allowing for longer, stronger strokes.

"Oh," I sob. "Please. Please ."

"That's it," he grits out. "Come on. Come f'me. Such a good … good … girl."

A flicker of sanity makes me turn my face deep into his shoulder, muffling my cries. He wraps one of his arms around my back, pinning me to him, crushing his chest to mine.

" Omega ," he groans, bucking up into me several more times before shuddering. That knot I need so badly swells up at the base of his cock. The sheer stretch of him makes me bite into his shoulder.

"Aww, omega … that a happy bite or an angry bite?"

Truthfully I'm not sure why I'm biting him at all. To keep myself quiet, maybe? Or maybe to add another layer of closeness, making sure neither of us can escape the other.

We breathe heavily, our pheromones levelling out into a warm haze. Finally, in a soft voice, I ask, "Do you think Thorn is okay?"

Red chuffs. "I'm more worried about the other guy."

What other guy? I almost ask, but Red probably knows as little as I do.

"He'll sort it out," Red goes on. "He always does."

The words sooth me, reinforced by my own trust. Red's right. For better or worse, Thorn is an expert. And taking on bad guys is his specialty.

I turn my head, looking cautiously out the window. "Do you think anyone, y'know … saw?"

"Who cares?" Red grunts back. "You needed a knot."

My face heats. Yeah, I needed a knot so bad I couldn't wait half an hour to get home first . This pregnancy has come with its fair share of surprises, but public indecency? Really didn't see that one coming.

Suddenly Red stiffens. I stiffen too, trying to follow his eye. "What is it?" I ask.

He pulls me into his chest, his other hand tugging down my skirt. "Someone's coming."

My heart skips a beat. I hone my senses, quickly identifying a clean pine aura. "Thorn."

"He's not alone."

Before I can ask, there's a tap at the window. Thorn's face peers in through the semi-tinted glass, his expression darkening when he finds me on Red's lap. I can scent his disdain, but somehow I'm not sure it's meant for us.

That's when I see the woman behind him.

Snarling, Red yanks my skirt down harder. Thorn turns his back to the window, shielding us, and pulls out his phone.

Even before he speaks, I know he's calling for Baxter.

***

"Let me see if I have this right," Baxter says, arms folded. "There's a photo of you and Eve at the market? Together?"

His eyes shift from Thorn to Red, still huddled against me in the backseat of the SUV. It took a good fifteen minutes before his knot came down, after which point Baxter instructed us to head back to the den—skeevy photographer in tow.

Talk about an awkward drive.

Thorn huffs. "Not together like that ."

The photographer has been wise enough to stay silent. Every time her eye wanders—trying to scope out Maddox Den from the front clearing—Thorn growls.

There's no way they're letting this rat inside.

"I don't care what it's like," Red snarls. "We're not letting this bitch keep a single photo of Eve—let alone sell it off to some shitty magazine."

"You might want to rethink that," the photographer says, her eyes not on Red but on Baxter. "The press is only going to get more relentless the longer you hide her away."

"She's not a sideshow!" Red snaps. I put a calming hand on his arm. Thorn's face is dark and unmoving, but I can sense that lethal energy simmering beneath the surface. He'll strike at the first thing that moves wrong, and I really don't want that thing to be Red.

"You seem very confident," Baxter says, sounding unimpressed. "For all we know, a photo would only spark more interest."

She smirks. "Not this photo."

Baxter holds her gaze for a moment, then shifts to Thorn.

Thorn nods once, stiffly.

"Let me see it," I find myself saying.

My alphas hesitate. Oddly, only the photographer acts, quirking a brow at Thorn as if to say, Well? Aren't you gonna give the omega what she wants ?

With a strained breath, Thorn lifts the camera, showing the photo to Baxter. Our head alpha stiffens and grunts in acknowledgement.

Then it's our turn.

Thorn turns the screen to me and Red.

It's hard to describe the sensation—something between skin-crawling, goose-bumping chills, and at the same time … warmth. The fact that a stranger saw me like this, saw us like this, is sickening. But the animal part of me is overjoyed to see me and my alpha caught in such an intimate moment.

A real moment, between alpha and omega.

"Hell no," Red snarls.

"It's okay." I look up, first at Thorn, then Baxter. "You have my permission."

The photographer scoffs. "It's not your permission I need, sweetheart."

This time it's Thorn who snarls, grabbing her by the cuff of her hoodie. Baxter chuffs sharply, stopping him.

The photographer is a jerk, but she's not wrong. Assuming relevant permissions are given, the final call for all major matters in Pack Maddox comes down to our head alpha.

Baxter takes a breath. His voice is grave.

" How much ?"