14. Kyrian

14

"What the fuck," I growl. "What in the actual fuck. Who dared."

Archer pats my arm. "Take it easy, Ky."

"Easy? He has a black eye. Well, it's going to be black, it's red and puffy now. It's recent. It was swelling as I stood there looking at him."

"I saw it. He's okay, though."

"Okay? What the hell? What if it's someone in here? That hit is from today." I start toward the bar. "I'm going to check the place out."

Archer starts after me, but Roman grabs his arm.

"Let Ky check on him," he says. "He needs to make up with Sawyer, and it might be easier if we're not breathing down their necks."

"We're not breathing down their n?—"

"I can hear you," I grumble.

"Then go," Roman says. "We'll stay here. Sawyer is okay, and he said he'll be right back."

"But what if Ky is right, and whoever attacked him is still in here?" Archer asks.

"Exactly." I open my stride, leaving my mates behind, as I make my way to the bar. It's kind of old-style, wood and marble, like most of the furnishings of the café. Old-fashioned. Vintage. And romantic, I guess. Hanging lights swing over it.

And there he is, Sawyer, at the coffee machine, slender fingers measuring the coffee.

He's alone.

He glances at me but says nothing. I watch him work, torn between relief and renewed fury. Relief that nobody's threatening him right now, and furious I can't get my hands on the bastard.

Fuck my life, why am I even standing here, itching to punch something because of an omega I barely know?

A damn cute omega, I think, as he shoots me another look from big, hazel eyes. His dark hair is sticking out in all directions, kind of curly but not quite. He's narrow-shouldered, but his slim body has a fluid grace to it when he moves. So well-proportioned and strong, from the way he handles the machine and moves a crate full of soft drink bottles aside, to open a cupboard.

Hm. His ass is… pert. Is that a word? My vocabulary isn't that rich. Not too muscular, but nice. Perfect to hold onto. Maybe slap a little.

Dammit.

How can the man be so cute but also sexy? Pretty and boyish, but also masculine and well-built. His mouth is full, but his jaw is chiseled and the way he takes out the plates from the cupboard, fine biceps flexing, the way he wipes his face on his forearm, it's all so… hot, somehow.

He's hot.

And the small glare he shoots me as he gets back up reminds me that he doesn't really like me. Not after I behaved like an ass to him the first time we met.

The bruise under his eye is going to be impressive. And that reminds me…

"Will you tell me who gave you that shiner?" I growl.

"I told you, nobody hit me," he says, his gaze back on his work.

"Bullsh—"

"I hit my eye on the doorknob of my apartment."

"But—"

"I'm clumsy, all right? More so these days, but it won't be the first time I've wounded myself." He takes what appears like a calming breath. "Look, I appreciate your concern, all right? But there's no one you need to punish. I swear it to you."

"I don't believe you. That's what abused people always do, excuse their abusers?—"

"Oh, fuck you," he grinds out, grabs the tray with the coffees and cake, and stalks toward the bookshelves. "I don't have to prove the truth to you, and you're not my alpha, so fuck off."

My brows are climbing up to my hairline. Such a filthy mouth on such a pretty man, and… fuck, I like it. I find my mouth twitching as I follow him back to my mates. A game of ‘Follow the pert ass and scent of cake.'

Question now is, is that really the cake I'm smelling, or him?

The coffee is good, strong and aromatic. The cake is damn delicious, but now I know that the sweet scent I smelled was all him. Melted marshmallows and sweet apple cider, I think, sweet and spiced.

Mouth-watering.

Sawyer passes the other cups to Archer and Roman, along with plates carrying slabs of this heavenly cake I'm stuffing my mouth with now. It's so good, but it can't erase his scent from my senses.

I want to know if he tastes the same way he smells.

Fuck, I've never felt so hungry for someone since I met my mates.

I stuff more cake into my mouth, as if that will erase the thought, or this new hunger.

"So, you said we'd talk." Roman takes a big gulp of his coffee. He's sitting on one of the low tables scattered among the shelves, an edge of a grin on his face.

"Not much to talk about," Sawyer mutters.

"About the bruise," Archer gestures at him, as if to refresh his memory, then takes a sip from his cup.

"As I was telling Kyrian, nobody assaulted me." Sawyer shakes his head. "I dropped my key, crouched down to grab it, got up and hit the door knob. I'm just clumsy as fuck."

Archer chokes on his coffee.

Yeah, a filthy mouth. It makes me grin, as if I'm party to a secret nobody else knows yet.

An image comes to me, of said mouth wrapped around my cock, and I hiss as my dick tries to bore a hole through my pants.

"So you actually slammed your face into a doorknob?" I ask.

"My apartment's doorknob, to be exact." Sawyer nods, a mournful expression on his face. "Today hasn't been one of my best performances."

Roman snorts, then bites his lip. "You bump often into doorknobs?"

"Doorknobs, walls, furniture… people. You name it. I just… I've been stressed out." Sawyer shakes his head, dark curls flying. His cheeks are reddening. "Why am I telling you all this? I should get back to work."

"We're the only customers right now," Archer points out.

"Hey, maintaining a coffee shop takes a lot of behind-the-scenes work, you know. You have to clean the coffee machine, wash the dishes, make sure everything you need is in stock…"

"I'm the manager of the Alpha Bet bar," Archer says. "I know. So…" He lifts a hand when Sawyer scowls. "So I understand."

Sawyer lets out a breath, his scowl melting away into… confusion? Like he didn't expect a man like Archer to get it, to agree and be understanding. Because he's an alpha? Because he's a businessman? Because he can look intimidating as hell when he chooses to?

Makes me wonder what sort of people Sawyer has been dealing with, in his life. Makes my protective streak flare again.

Dammit.

He's fucking adorable.

Fuck my life.

"And why are you so stressed out?" Archer asks, and I frown because I sort of skipped over that bit. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh, you know." Sawyer gives the bar with the coffee machine a longing glance, as if he's dying to escape this interrogation. "Work. Family. Meeting people. Thinking about finding a pack."

"Another pack?" Roman snaps. "Other than us?"

He blinks. Damn, he has long, long black lashes. It's fucking mesmerizing. "A pack looking for an omega. Are you looking for an omega?"

"No," I say.

"Nope," Archer confirms.

"Maybe?" Roman says at the same time.

Both Archer and I turn to stare at him. "Really?"

He shrugs. "Why not?"

"What is…? What are you talking about?" Now Sawyer looks flustered, and damn him, even flustered looks good on him.

"Nothing," I growl. "This isn't something we have discussed as a pack."

"Sorry," Roman mutters, his jaw clenching.

What is going on here? Roman wants an omega to join our pack? Since when? Like I said, we have never discussed such a thing as a pack, except to mention a couple of times that we don't need an omega. That we're fine, just the three of us.

Even if this omega is hot, even if he triggers all my alpha instincts and sends sharp feelings through my heart.

"We need to talk," Archer growls at us.

"About what?" I growl back. "I thought we had an agreement. An understanding."

"So we set down the laws, and they can never be changed ever again?" Roman grumbles.

"It's not like that," I hiss.

"Then what is it like?"

I just… hate change. I like our life. My life with them. Not sure I want to change the rules, the agreement, whatever it is that keeps us going.

Meanwhile, Sawyer has taken a few steps back. We've scared him off, I think, and I shouldn't give a damn, only I'm already reaching for him, opening my mouth to ask him to wait.

Until I realize it's not us he's looking at.

He's staring at the far end of the café. At the entrance.

A girl is standing there. She's short and on the thin side, a pixie of a girl with a riot of blond curls and wide eyes. I've never seen her before, but everyone else—yes, including Sawyer—sort of freeze and let out a shocked breath.

"Brinlee," Sawyer says.

"The girl from the shelter," Archer and Roman say in unison.

"What in the actual fuck?" I snap. "You guys know her?"

A moot question. Obviously, they do.

"Brinlee." Sawyer starts toward her and we all follow him, trooping behind him like we're fucking trained monkeys. I want to stop, but the pull is stronger—his pull, a kind of magnetic draw, and then… the girl.

My nostrils flare as we approach her.

That faint, sweet scent.

My dick twitches.

My breath catches.

Fuck.

A new player enters the game.

Time to hit pause.