26. Mean Left Hook

Mean Left Hook

Bishop

"Keep it up and I'll have to punish you," I snarl through gritted teeth 1, two seconds away from losing control and fucking Sinclair right here in the dining hall, bent over the table next to a platter of asparagus with hollandaise.

I can't stop replaying the events of last night. Remembering how her used pussy looked leaking my cum makes my dick throb, and it's infinitely harder to remove her hand from my thigh.

"Mmm, sounds fun," she taunts, looking at me through her eyelashes. Her eyes haven't lost their gold since I claimed her two days ago. If I wasn't reaping the benefits, I'd be questioning whether it's healthy for her to be lust drunk for this long.

I haven't been able to eat more than two bites of eggs, too busy trying to keep my shit together while my horny little omega keeps rubbing my thigh and trying to stroke my cock under the table next to the Berylls. At least she's eaten, having downed two platefuls of French toast with berries and crème fra?che.

Maybe I'll skip breakfast, have her instead . . .

My mind short-circuits when I look at her just as her bottom lip slackens and she slowly drags her thumb through a small dollop of cream at the corner of her mouth, never taking her heated gaze off mine.

"Don't fucking do that," I growl in warning.

She leisurely sucks her thumb clean with the hint of a smirk. "Do what?"

I'm so close to snapping. I can feel individual fibers breaking on my already weak thread of control. "You know—" My head snaps up and my skin prickles as I'm hit with a sudden awareness of a threat.

Approaching us through the aisle between the two long dining tables is the Cyan pack. Yves looks like the biggest fucking douche in a mint green polo and tight salmon shorts with matching green palm trees stitched into a pattern. Merigold's heels tap obnoxiously as she walks tucked under his arm. And she's wearing a pearl necklace. Who wears a pearl necklace to breakfast? A fucking insufferable Cyan, that's who.

Even though there are at least a dozen other people here, I know they're coming for us from their smug sneers and the petty viciousness in their eyes. I sense a shift in Sinclair like a change in the winds. Since the bonding, I've become not only more attuned to her, but hyperaware of anything that could harm her. Like how I picked up the Cyans' arrival before consciously noticing it.

Sinclair and I stand up as they come to stop in front of our seats. I try to push her behind me, but she swats my arm away and steps up shoulder to shoulder with me. I let it be. I'll protect her to my dying breath, but I won't take away her ability to stand up for herself either.

"We just wanted to let you know that we're getting close." Yves crosses his arms proudly, like he just dropped a bomb on us.

"Close to what?" There's no hiding the annoyance in my voice.

"To finding—"

"Oh, thank god!" Sinclair exclaims, and I look at her, just confused as the Cyans. "I was beginning to worry you'd never find them." She sighs dramatically in exaggerated relief.

"What are you even talking about?" Merigold huffs.

"Your last two brain cells, of course," Sinclair states plainly, and Griffin snorts a laugh. Merigold goes from looking peeved to like she just got slapped.

Yves snarls, "You dumb—"

"Think about your next words very carefully, Cyan." Ecker's smooth yet menacing tone travels down the rows of tables. He and Titus must have just come from the gym, sweaty shirts clinging to their bodies.

"Whatever." Merigold rolls her eyes then glares at Sinclair. "We thought your surprise arrival was a little suspicious. True-blooded omegas aren't just stumbled upon in whore houses. So, we found your grandmother in that hovel you came from. It would be a shame if we don't get answers about who you really are and something happens to the poor, old lady."

I feel Sinclair's reaction through the bond seconds before she acts on it, launching herself at Merigold. Both girls scream—Sinclair's is more of a battle cry and Merigold's a shriek. Like fighting cats, there's an uncoordinated storm of flying limbs as both omegas tangle together on the floor.

It takes no more than a few seconds for Sinclair to end up straddling Merigold, who is frantically trying to paw away Sinclair's flying hands—that are grabbing fistfuls of her hair. By now, everyone is standing, and some people are even chanting and pounding the table.

One of the Cyan alphas lunges for Sinclair, and I jump in front of him, a threatening growl thundering in my chest. As I shove him back, Ecker grabs Sinclair around the waist, pulling her off Merigold kicking and screaming. He throws her over his shoulder, and Titus blocks anyone from following him as he carries her out of the dining hall.

"Well, she certainly fights like a street mutt," Yves hollers after them, and it takes everything in me to not bury my fist in his face until I hear bone breaking. If it wasn't for the painful need to make sure my mate is okay, I probably would. Consequences be damned. I'd take a hundred lashes if it meant putting this posh asshole in his place.

I am vibrating with rage when Titus taps me on the shoulder.

"Go get her. I got this." He jerks his head in the direction of the exit. I give him an appreciative nod and go after my omega.

I break out of the dining hall, the heavy wooden doors swinging shut with a loud bang. Ecker and Sinclair are standing down the corridor facing each other and don't seem to notice.

"That was an embarrassment—oof!" The rest of his sentence turns into a pained groan when Sinclair knees him hard in the crotch.

"And fuck you, too," Sinclair shouts, turning away. He reaches for her arm, and she looks down at where he's grabbing her like he burned her.

Even though I gave him permission last night to touch her—and he did a lot more than just touch—my hackles rise at another man laying hands on her in a way that isn't for her pleasure or safety.

I snarl, and they both look in my direction. I'm startled by the icy blue of Sinclair's eyes, having gotten so used to them being metallic.

"Both of you, listen," Ecker says, dropping her arm and looking at her. "You're a Cerulean now. You should fight like one. None of this hair-pulling, tit-slapping bullshit. I want you knocking a bitch out—you get me?"

I don't know if I've seen such a look of surprise on Sinclair's face. Her jaw actually dropped. She cants her head in suspicion. "You're not mad at me for fighting?"

He scoffs and takes a step forward, resting his hands on her hips. Smirking, he walks her back until her shoulders hit the wall. "Mad? No. Turned on? Yes. Because, baby, that was hot as hell."

He dips down to kiss her neck as she laughs and only half tries to push him away.

"Hot, but sloppy," I say, walking up to them. "Ecker's right. We need to teach you how to fight."

Her eyes light up as she looks at me over his shoulder. "Really?"

I chuckle. "Yeah, really."

She squeals and gives Ecker a hard shove so she can jump onto me. I catch her in my arms as she wraps her legs around me and peppers my neck and cheeks with kisses.

"Can we start now?" she asks excitedly, and her joy is contagious, flowing through the bond.

Somehow, it makes perfect sense that our omega wouldn't want expensive shoes or shiny necklaces, but to know how to throw a mean left hook.

I'll still get her those things, but I'll proudly show her how to "knock a bitch out" too.

1. Play "Grace" by Jacob Banks