Chapter Forty-Four

Thorn

An omega. A little omega pup.

Already my alpha is raging, imagining all the ways I need to step up to my new role. Not just Eve's alpha, not just a father, but the father of an omega.

If you ever let them get hurt, my inner alpha snarls, I'll kill you myself.

Weird choice of words, considering I'm basically threatening myself with suicide, but I don't even try to fight it. An omega pup is precious, not to mention delicate. Whereas an alpha or beta has every chance of bouncing back from early complications, an omega needs twice the amount of care.

Eve is oddly quiet on the drive back to the den. Earlier today, she was looking forward to the appointment, as well as our long-awaited dinner with Flora and Lucille at Coffs Den. Now she just looks tired.

"How about a nap before tonight?" Marcus suggests, already guiding her to the too-small nest.

"Mm," she agrees.

"Wait." Baxter strides up to Eve, putting one hand on her face, another on her stomach. "You're upset," he asserts, gentle and stern in equal measure. "Let us help."

Eve recoils. "I–I'm not."

"Is it because the pup isn't kicking?" Red sighs. "Yeah, that's a bummer—but sounds like they will be soon."

I fight the urge to flash him my teeth. How tactless can one alpha be ? But Eve just smiles appreciatively, so I guess his idiocy is a comfort. Even if he is well off the mark.

It's obvious the not kicking is only one part of it for Eve. The second, bigger part, is in knowing our pup could be an omega.

A rank Eve is all-too familiar with.

Is she worried that she won't be able to properly nourish an omega pup? Or does she think we won't accept them? Omegas are coveted, naturally, but it's tradition to pray for an alpha firstborn.

Thankfully Maddox doesn't give a fuck about tradition.

Baxter tilts Eve's face up. "Whatever their designation, we will cherish this pup. You know that, don't you?"

Her smile softens. "I know."

Her pheromones are in overdrive, pumping out what seems like a dozen different impulses at once. Every month into this pregnancy, it gets harder to read her. All these damn hormones—hers and mine—keep fogging up the image.

Finally, Eve settles down for a midday nap. I take the opportunity to do a quick sweep of the area, making sure no-one managed to tail us. I also find my way to Coffs Den for a brief poke around. It's certainly impressive for high pack suburbia, and more contemporary than Carson's old place—with tall, well-manicured hedges and a pristine white exterior. Not to mention the massive glass windows, just begging to be spied through.

By the time I've gotten back to the loft and had a shower, Marcus is rousing Eve from the nest. He and Baxter guide her sleep-dazed self into the bath.

"Hey," Riley says, rifling through her bag. "How fancy do you reckon it's gonna be tonight?"

I shrug. "We're just going to their den."

"I know, but … they're, like, big on the elitism, right? I need to figure out what to wear."

"To impress them?"

She rolls her eyes.

"You don't give a damn what they think. Why stress?"

"Because Eve does . And I don't want to embarrass her." She jabs a finger at Red across the room. "The same should go for you, hot shot!"

Red snaps up. "You trying to pick a fight?"

"And get you all bloody right before the party?" Riley grins, chucking him a fresh shirt. "Our omega might actually kill me."

***

I'm starting to wish they'd gone a couple rounds. At least the bruises would've given us something to talk about.

At first, Coffs's alphas—Christopher, Mateo, and Grayson—are keen to discuss business with Baxter, looking for an in with Maddox Tech. Baxter's answers are more or less monosyllabic:

"No. Yes. Not at this time."

Not even Marcus can butter them up with his well-trained social niceties. We end up sitting across each other at the dining table, tuned in to our omegas' conversation.

"Every night?" Flora gasps.

Eve nods, scooping up another mouthful of the dessert Marcus brought over—all the way from Maddox Den. "He is the best cook. And baker." She smiles. "Red's catching up, though."

Next to me, Red shuffles in his seat, looking smug.

"I do most of the cooking around here," Flora sighs wistfully. "Though it's been a lot of takeout since week six. I got so sick I could barely move."

"Right?" Eve answers excitedly, only to pull back, like she's afraid of letting her guard down.

Well, at least she's still aware of the danger.

Lucille huffs. "Not every conversation has to circle back to you being pregnant."

My alpha simmers, hating how every word she says seems to make Eve's pheromones that bit colder. I wonder if any of the Coffs's alphas will step in on their omega's behalf when Flora answers:

"Okay, let's talk about something else." Her eyes light up. "I know! Lucie—given any more thought to Maddox's offer?"

The alphas' side of the table goes even quieter. Lucille says nothing, her jaw hard as a steel trap.

Eve clears her throat. She sneaks a sideways glance at Baxter for approval, then returns to her oldest sister. "W–we'd be glad to have you."

Something about the way the Coffs alphas shift in their seats, their eyes darting about a couple microseconds faster than usual … they haven't told us the whole truth about why they're here. A friendly check-in, sure, but there's something I'm missing.

Without looking up from her untouched plate, Lucille says, "I've changed my mind."

My heart sinks. Red, Riley, and Marcus all look like beasts in headlights: prepared to get up and run, or get up and fight.

Lucille sighs. "I can't stay here forever, and there's nothing for me on the peninsula, so I guess I'm out of options." She hesitates. "Does your offer still stand?"

The question is directed at Eve, but I know it's not just Eve she's talking to. It's all six of us.

Eve nods, her eyes shimmering. "Yes. Of course. Of course ."

All of Pack Coffs sinks with relief, finally relaxing into their chairs. Sneaky bastards, I want to snarl. They might be good-natured enough with their new omega, but that doesn't make their backhandedness any less apparent. This is what they've been chasing all along: for someone to take Lucille off their hands.

Baxter locks eyes with Coffs's head alpha, Christopher. I'm sure he knows as well as I do that Christopher's gratitude is no more than a smokescreen.

What he's really feeling, is victory.