CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

The following evening, Bree shifted restlessly in her seat. The meeting with the omegas was thankfully almost over. She needed to be home by six, since Elle would be arriving then. Bree had managed to coax the redhead into helping her redecorate her bedroom.

The omegas met twice a month in the break room at the pride’s daycare center, which Dani ran. The other omegas were gathered around the circular table, drinking coffee or tea. In Bree’s opinion, it wasn’t the best place to hold a meeting. Not simply because it was small and cramped with the most uncomfortable plastic chairs in the history of ever. The daycare center didn’t close until seven-thirty, and the walls didn’t block out the sounds of kids crying and fighting and playing with electronic toys that were loud as shit. It wasn’t exactly a peaceful or professional atmosphere.

The meetings were opportunities for them to raise issues, express their concerns over people who weren’t seeking counsel, discuss arrangements that were being made for any events, and to suggest that Dani speak to Vinnie about complaints made from pride members.

It was also Dani’s opportunity to check on the welfare of each omega. Constantly absorbing negative energy was much like regularly cutting yourself. It didn’t matter that the wounds would scab over and heal, just as it wouldn’t matter that an omega could purge their body of the alien energies—getting wounded day after day, feeling that slice of pain again and again, took its toll.

If omegas became too overwhelmed by their gift, it could lead to professional burnout. Anxiety. Stress. Even depression. All those things could cause an omega’s shields to weaken.

Such people often developed addictive habits, became agoraphobic, or isolated themselves from others—even from their loved ones. And then their seven-year-old daughter might one day find their dead body swinging from a tree … just as Bree had found her mother.

Charity Dwyer had been an amazing omega. Strong and patient and compassionate. Like Bree, she’d been able to hear snippets of people’s thoughts while reading their emotions. Some speculated that that had contributed to her “fall,” as it was termed. Those same people expected Bree to fall, too.

It hadn’t been easy for her father to survive the breaking of the mating bond, but he’d fought to live for Bree. It was a few days after her eighteenth birthday that Jim’s health began to deteriorate until, a week later, he passed in his sleep. It was almost as if he’d told himself he’d hang on until she was old enough to take care of herself. Then he’d lost the fight.

“Earth to Bree,” said Dani. “Hello, are you with us, sweetie?”

Bree blinked, snapping out of her thoughts to find everyone looking at her. “Sorry. Woolgathering.”

Dani raised an imperious brow. She had a Stepford Wife vibe going on and always looked immaculately well-groomed with her sleek, ruler straight blonde hair, expertly applied makeup, manicured nails, and elegant manner.

The primary had always disagreed with Bree’s “approach,” feeling that tough love was not what omegas were all about. But she’d mostly left Bree to her own devices until she began to grow in strength at a fast rate. Although Bree had made it clear to one and all that she had no wish to usurp Dani, the primary felt threatened by her. And so, she nitpicked her. Put her down. Patronized her. And it pissed off Bree’s cat big time.

Bree figured that most people had had a bitchy, micro-managing, confidence-killing, “I know best” boss at some point. There was a special place in hell reserved for them.

“I heard Quinn sought your counsel this week,” said Dani, her voice a little stilted.

Hell. The guy in question had been Dani’s boyfriend up until two months ago. Bree had known the primary wouldn’t be happy that he’d sought another omega’s advice. It simply wouldn’t occur to Dani that he might find it awkward to confide in his ex; that they no longer had that level of emotional intimacy.

“Yes, he did,” Bree confirmed.

“And his problem was?”

“You’ll have to ask him.”

Dani’s eyes hardened, but she managed to keep a smile on her face. “Excuse me?”

“He asked me not to repeat our session to anybody.”

Dani licked her front teeth. “Yes, well, I’m sure he didn’t mean he was uncomfortable with me knowing whatever his issue may be. You can bring me up to speed later.”

Bree shook her head. “Afraid I can’t do that. It’s understandable that you’d be worried about him, but I won’t break his confidence.”

Planting her hands flat on the table, Dani leaned forward. “I wasn’t requesting that you share the information, Bree. It was an order.”

Bree’s cat hissed. “If he’d wanted you to know, he’d have gone to you for counsel.”

Her cheeks reddening, Dani drew in a breath. “Need I remind you who the primary is, Bree?”

It was a struggle not to roll her eyes. “Need I remind you that one of our oldest rules is that if someone asks that their session remain confidential then we respect that? Look, I can call Quinn and ask if he’s fine with me sharing the details with you. If he says yes, I’ll do so. But I won’t do it without his consent, and you really shouldn’t ask me to.”

Dani slowly leaned back in her seat, her back ramrod straight. “You and I will talk after the meeting is over.”

Bree couldn’t help but bristle. Dani had spoken to her like a teacher would to an unruly member of the class. She flexed her fingers beneath the table. She would not flip her lid. Nope. Her father had raised her to be always in charge of her emotions.

Jim had also raised her to take no shit from anyone.

He’d have hung out on his balcony after hearing about the hyenas; would have spent time “cleaning his gun” while watching for any signs of them. She’d reported the hyena-incident to Vinnie after Benny left yesterday … only to discover that Alex had already notified him. The wolverine was such a Chatty Cathy. And now the entire pride knew of it.

Once the meeting finally finished and the other omegas had filed out of the room, Dani headed straight to Bree. “I get that you have an inborn problem with authority, but you need to shake that off. I am your primary. If I ask you to do something related to omega business, you do it. You do not ignore me. You do not contradict me. And you do not deliberately undermine me in front of the others.”

Bree’s cat bared a fang and swished her tail. “If I give someone my word, I won’t break it. You know that, so you knew I wouldn’t tell you what Quinn said. Are you sure you didn’t push me on this just so that you’d have a reason to flex your primary-muscles at me?”

“I have no choice but to be hard on you, Bree. I taught you how to counsel and guide people, just as I taught the other omegas. They follow my directions. You don’t. Your approach to helping others is wildly inappropriate.”

“Is it? Or is it just different? I’ll be the first to admit I’m not the greatest omega—”

Dani’s bark of laughter dripped with condescension. “That’s something of an understatement, don’t you think?”

“What I think is that if Vinnie had witnessed that shit you just pulled, he’d have ripped you a new asshole for abusing your authority by trying to, essentially, force someone into submitting to your will.”

The amusement fell from Dani’s face. “Oh, you’re going to run to Vinnie with tales, are you?”

“If it happens again, yes, I will. Because I’m done with your shit. As you so often remind me, you’re primary, so act like it instead of punishing me for something I absolutely cannot control.” With that, Bree walked out.

Fumbling in surprise, Elle nearly dropped the paint roller. She gaped at Bree. “He mentioned the kiss? The kiss? He actually acknowledged that it happened?”

“Yep,” said Bree, sweeping her roller up and down, spreading the soft, sedate blue paint on the wall. The redhead’s price for helping with the bedroom makeover was the promise of a juicy piece of info—Elle rarely did anything for nothing.

“I can’t believe you’re only telling me this now. Well, I can believe it. You’re like a freaking vault. It’s maddening.” Elle huffed. “Please tell me there’s more.”

“There’s more. He reminded me of how I came all over his thigh. At which point I reminded him that he’d shoved me away afterward. And then …” She cut off, hesitant to continue, worried her friend might read too much into it.

Elle wagged her finger. “Oh no, you can’t just stop there, Dwyer. Spill.”

“Well, I teased him over how he likes to pretend our chemistry doesn’t exist. And he got all … weird.”

“Expand on weird.”

Bree sighed. “Don’t wanna.”

“Bitch, don’t you leave me hanging like this. Expand.”

“He, in so many words, admitted that he was attracted to me—no, don’t get all excited, I haven’t finished—but then he also said I’m not ready for what he’d demand of me.” Alex hadn’t been back to the store since that day. Which was good, because both she and her cat were still mega ticked off at him.

“He, a commitment-phobe, said that to you? Unbelievable. Did you tell him that you’re planning to shit all over me in a way from which I’ll never recover?”

Bree’s lips twitched. “If you mean, did I tell him I’m planning to leave the pride, no I didn’t.” She dipped her roller in the bucket, coating it in more paint. “It’s not his business.”

“I don’t think he’s gonna like it. Not at all.”

“Which isn’t my problem.”

Elle sighed. “I don’t know how to talk you out of leaving. Nothing I’ve said so far has worked. And I have a feeling that Mateo made my chances of changing your mind harder, whatever the fuck he did.” She shot Bree a sideways glance. “I’m guessing, given how much of a nosy shit Alex can be, that he pushed you to tell him what you and Mateo argued over. Did you?” she asked, her tone careful. And Bree knew her friend would go psycho on her ass if the answer was yes.

“No. I already promised you that you’ll be the first person I’ll tell when I’m ready to talk about it.”

“I’m holding you to that promise.” The redhead licked her lips. “He did something bad, didn’t he?” she asked, her voice low and sad. “I know you. You’re not a person who’d turn away from a friend like this unless they really deserved it. What did he do?”

Bree swallowed. “Something he can’t ever take back.” She swept the roller over a drippy, streak of blue paint to smooth it out. “We really could have used another set of hands,” she added, forcing a perky note to her voice.

Elle narrowed her eyes. “Changing the subject, are we? Fine. I’ll—”

Hearing the doorbell ring, they both stilled.

Elle’s face brightened, and she let her arms fall to her sides. “Finally! An excuse to stop for just a minute.”

Snickering, Bree placed her roller on the paint tray. “Lightweight.” She headed downstairs with Elle trailing after her. As Bree opened the door, Paxton’s parents and his twin brother flashed her broad grins.

“Hello, sweetheart,” said Bernadette, her smile bright. “We just wanted to see how you were getting along with all the redecorating.”

They’d stopped by once before, offering to help, but Bree had politely shut that down. The Cages would only do what they’d done when she’d first moved in—advise her on what Paxton would like. Bernadette did not believe her son was anything but alive, well, and intending to return.

Even as her cat rumbled a disapproving growl, Bree stepped aside to let the trio pass. “It’s all going great, thanks.”

“That’s good to hear,” said Ruben, Paxton’s father.

Calvin entered last, his amber eyes twinkling. Although he was Paxton’s identical twin, many things set them apart, particularly their temperaments. Unlike his brother, Calvin was the life and soul of every party. Very smooth and silver-tongued. He was easy to like and talk to, but her cat didn’t like being around him purely because he shared the same scent as Paxton, who she’d happily claw to death.

Their styles also differed. Calvin wore fashionable clothes and shiny, expensive shoes. He also had a light mustache and a well-groomed beard. He kept one side of his hair extra short while the rest was longer and casually swept over the other side of his head. His tattoo sleeves gave his business-casual look an edge that suited him.

Paxton, however, had never dressed to impress. He’d worn casual attire and had no interest in looking slick. He’d preferred the clean-shaven look. He’d kept his bronze hair spiky at the top, and its length had faded the further down it got. He’d also had a lot more muscle on him than Calvin, whose build was more athletic than ripped.

Calvin kissed her cheek. “Hey, gorgeous.”

Closing the front door, Bree said, “Sorry, I’m a bit of a mess right now.” She had paint spatter all over her, including in her hair.

“Moira would have come but she was busy,” Bernadette told her.

Bree almost snorted. Moira despised her. Unlike her parents, she wasn’t blind to the cruelty in Paxton, but she’d loved her brother anyway. She blamed Bree for his faults.

“You got all the light when your soul split; he only got the dark—how is that fair?” she’d once snarled at Bree.

Once the Cages had exchanged greetings with Elle, Bernadette headed straight to the contemporary kitchen, asking, “So, who wants coffee?”

Soon enough, everyone was gathered around the kitchen island with a mug of coffee. Bernadette did most of the talking. She was one of those people who didn’t really require you to contribute; she liked to be center stage. Unfortunately, but not at all unusually, quite a bit of the conversation centered around Paxton.

“Oh, here.” Bernadette dug her hand into her large purse and pulled out a giftwrapped, book-shaped object. “I thought you might like it. Call it a contribution to your giving the place a new look.”

Bree’s mouth curled. “Thank you.” But her gratitude quickly flitted away when she tore off the wrapping paper. It was a framed photograph of Paxton.

“He can’t be with you in body just yet,” said Bernadette. “But there should still be something of him here. I noticed that you don’t have any pictures of him anywhere. He’s going to love this house. Right, Ruben?”

“Right,” agreed Ruben, but his smile was tight. He didn’t believe that Paxton was alive—Bree could sense that clearly enough. She doubted he’d admit it to his mate.

Did it irk Bree that the woman couldn’t face that he’d been a twisted freak? Yes, but Bree couldn’t really blame her for being so determined to see the best in her son or to not give up on him.

Still, it was hard to be around Bernadette. The woman didn’t really see Bree when she looked at her. She saw a living, breathing link to Paxton. And she clung tight to it.

Calvin gently nudged Bree with his elbow and then tipped his chin at his mother.

Bree blinked. “I’m sorry, Bernadette, I didn’t catch that last bit.”

“I said I received a call this morning from Vinnie. He wanted to know if anyone had approached us to ask for Paxton’s whereabouts, but none of us have. Did hyenas really come to you, looking for a way to contact him?”

“Yes, they did,” said Bree. “They weren’t convinced that he’s never contacted me.”

“It is odd that he hasn’t,” Bernadette allowed. “But he will, Bree. I know you have trouble believing he’s alive, but he is. I feel it.”

Calvin sighed. “He left over twelve years ago, Mom. If he had any intention of returning, don’t you think he’d have done that already?”

Bernadette glared at him. “He’s just giving her time to mature, that’s all.”

Mature. She’d used that same word when she gave Bree a half-heart necklace a few days after he left. “Paxton asked me to give this to you,” she’d said. “He has the other half. When you’re mature enough for him to claim, he’ll come home to you.”

Bree had never believed that the necklace came from Paxton. No, Bernadette had told her such a lie to soften the blow of him leaving, mistakenly thinking that Bree felt abandoned and heartbroken. It had been a pointless gesture, but it was also sweet.

“You don’t think it’s strange that he never once contacted any of us?” Bree gently asked her.

The woman’s face went hard. “I don’t think he’s dead, if that’s what you’re really asking. A man like Paxton … sometimes they need to go their own way for a while.”

“And you’re so sure he’ll want Bree if he doescome back?” asked Elle. “I mean, yeah, she’s his true mate. But he never treated her as if that meant anything to him; as if she meant anything to him. He left her. He never once contacted her. Never said he’d one day be back. To me, that doesn’t say he has much interest in taking a mate.”

Bernadette’s eyes flicked to Bree. “Tell me you don’t believe that, too. Tell me you haven’t given up on him.”

Bree only sighed.

“You’re his mate, Bree. The other half of his soul. He needs you more than you can ever know.” Which was as close as Bernadette would ever come to admitting that Paxton hadn’t been normal. “You can’t give up on him. You can’t move on with your life as if he shouldn’t be a part of it.”

“If the situation were reversed, if I’d left him, would you have expected him to put his life on hold for me? Especially if I’d given him no indication that I ever meant to return?”

“He’s alive, and he’s close.”

Impatience rushed through Bree. “Well, what’s he waiting for? Why lurk in the background?” she challenged. “He’s gone, Bernadette. I’m not saying he’s dead. I’m saying I don’t believe he intends to return. I don’t think he ever did. And I’m sorry, but I won’t live my life alone just because it would make you feel better if I didn’t commit to someone else. Would you really ask that of me? Would you really ask that I grow old alone?”

Bernadette stared at her, breathing heavily. Then she slipped off the stool and stormed out of the house.

His mouth downturned, Ruben gave Bree a helpless shrug and then followed his mate.

Calvin lingered. “Don’t feel bad about being straight with her. It’s not your fault that she didn’t like what she heard.” He gave her shoulder a supportive squeeze. “Take care of yourself.” He nodded at Elle before striding down the hallway and letting himself out of the house, closing the front door behind him.

Elle let out a long breath. “That was brutal.”

“And draining.” Bree raked a hand through her hair. “I need gin. Pink gin.”

Elle grabbed two glasses from a cupboard. “Calvin’s right; you did the right thing in being straight with her.”

Bree pulled the bottle of gin out of the wine rack. “I shouldn’t have snapped at her, though. She’s hurting.”

“She’s delusional is what she is. I love my aunt but, God, listening to her ramble on and on about how great things will be when her golden boy comes home …” Elle plopped some cubes of ice into the two glasses she’d placed on the countertop. “It’s honestly uncomfortable to see someone live in such denial.”

Bree retrieved the pack of strawberries from the fridge. “Paxton made sure he was his parents’ favorite by being everything they wanted him to be and more. He made them feel like good parents. Made it so that they’d never believe he’d be capable of hurting someone for the sheer pleasure of it. If he was my kid, I wouldn’t want to believe him capable of that either.”

“I don’t blame Bernadette for clinging to the hope that he’s alive, or even for kidding herself that he’s normal. But expecting you not to have a life purely because he’s not around to be part of it? That’s just shitty. I mean, she doesn’t even like that you have one-night stands. She only overlooks it because shifters need touch, social and sexual. But if any of your flings had developed into something more, she’d have lost her shit.”

“Probably.” Which was another reason why leaving the pride seemed best for Bree. Slicing up strawberries, she said, “Ruben and Calvin probably believe Paxton is dead. But unless Bernadette believes it, she’s unlikely to support me having any sort of a life with someone else. Moira sure won’t.”

“Those women definitely won’t support you starting something with Calvin, so I hope he doesn’t decide to finally act on his little thing for you—it’ll just make everything worse.”

“His thing for me?” Dropping slices of strawberry into the glasses, Bree frowned. “He’s flirty, sure, but he’s like that with everyone.”

Elle shook her head. “When you’re not looking, he sometimes stares at you with a covetous glint in his eye. It’s kind of sad that his brother—your actual true mate—had no interest in you whereas his twin feels the opposite.”

“I’m not convinced he’s into me that way, but whatever.”

Elle glanced at the framed photo of Paxton that lay on the kitchen island. “What are you going to do with that?”

Bree cast an uneasy look at it and poured the pink gin into first Elle’s glass then her own. “Is it wrong that I want to dunk it in paint?”

“Nope. If anything is dunk-worthy, then it’s that.” Elle lifted her glass. “Hey, what would you do if …”

Bree sipped her gin. “If what?”

“Well, I truly do think that Paxton is dead, but if he was alive, if he came back and tried to claim rights to you, what would you do?”

“That would never happen. Not just because Paxton cares nothing for me, but because he thinks mating bonds are traps. Plus, he wouldn’t want to risk the mating urge kicking in and stealing the choice from us. He was only around me when I was too young for it to be triggered. Now that I’m an adult, a simple case of us making eye-contact could start it.”

The mating urge was rumored to be a literal urge to fuck that was so intense and overpowering it threatened to take away a person’s willpower. The arousal wouldn’t go away until the mating was done. “If that happened, I’d spend my life perpetually horny, because there’s no way I’d let that man claim me. No way. And why are we discussing such depressing shit?”

Elle shrugged and sipped her gin. “It was the only thing I could think of that would distract you from painting. My arms are killing me.”

Bree rolled her eyes. “Weak, weak, weak.”

“Blame the Antichrist,” said Elle. “I’ll swear he uses the dark gifts imposed upon him by his true father to slowly sap me of my strength and, in doing so, make himself infinitely stronger, because no amount of eating or working out seems to improve my fitness level. I’m telling ya, he’s draining me slowly but surely.”

Staring at her friend, Bree shook her head. “Sometimes I think you’re joking when you refer to Damian as the Antichrist. Other times, I find myself wondering if you believe he is in fact—”

“A vessel in which evil incarnate dwells? I have no reason to doubt it. Do you?”

Well, yeah, because Bree was normal. Sort of. But she simply sipped at her gin and said, “No.”

“Then let us pray the Apocalypse does not occur until after our generation has passed on, because all on the Earth are prophesized to perish—that doesn’t sound fun to me.”

Bree could only snicker.