Page 16 of The Omega Verse

But my undies are the real issue. They’re a sodden wreck, and as I peel them down, I’m confronted by the reality of omega slick.

I sink back on the edge of the bed, careful to keep my dripping bits away from Jett’s comforter. Biting my lip, I spread my legs, peering down at myself. There’s a thick layer of moisture coating my thighs and pooling on the dark curls over my folds. Holy shit. It’s really slick. The only upside is that since it has a pearly sheen and smells like honey, at least I know I didn’t pee myself. But it’s everywhere, and more is trickling out the longer I inspect myself.

“Everything okay in there?” River asks from the other side of the door and I snap my legs together so hard my ankle bones make a dull clunking sound. Bunching my ruined undies up, I stuff them into my jeans pocket and pull on the clothes Silva gave me. Which doesn’t do much for the state of my arousal, since they smell like almonds and cherries – basically a shot of amaretto. My favourite liqueur.

“I’m fine.” I scramble onto the bed, wrapping the fresh blanket around me. Thankfully, it only smells like fabric softener, and I buy my nose in it as they come back in. My entire body throbs at the sight of them and I bite my lip, trying to swallow a needy moan. God, who the hell am I right now?

But River gives me a look of understanding, like I’m not a complete weirdo for turning myself into a blanket burrito. “Silva’s offered to stay with you while you get some rest. Is that okay?”

“Sure.” I push the blanket down enough so they can see more than just my freaked-out eyes. “But I’m okay on my own if you have some band stuff to take care of.”

“Nope,” Silva replies. “Nothing more important than this.”

I give him a grateful smile as he toes off his boots and climbs up on the bed beside me. He’s in the matching hoodie and his jeans, so it’s not like he’s here for anything but comfort, but try telling my body that. I’m tingling all over, and there’s no way I’ll be able to give him his sweats back. Ever.

Especially as he shoots me a small smile and cuddles closer. But when his head hits Jett’s pillow, he tosses it over the side, settling for tucking his arm under his head. Reaching for me, he pulls me into the dip of his chest. “This okay, Cass?”

“Yeah,” I murmur, surprised by how good it feels. And not in a sexy, I’m-in-bed-with-a-rockstar way, but in a soothing, I’ll-look-after-you-if-you-need-it kind of way.

But that all gets blown to hell when the bedroom door is shoved open and Jett stares in at us with a strange look in his eyes. I can read the irritation easily enough, but there’s also something that looks like guilt in the deep divot between his brows.

“Just tell me two things,” he mutters, and I stare at him. “Two things about Stephen the gossip fuckers don’t know.”

Ah. I get where he’s going now. “You want proof I didn’t troll the gossip columns for information and then turn up here, pretending to be his sister?” He gives a tight nod and I sigh. “Well, I can’t give you that, Jett. Because I did read the fan sites. As many as I could find.”

“Why?” he demands, gripping the doorframe so tight I can see his knuckles throb.

“Because I didn’t know Steven.” Saying the words aloud makes my chest ache, and Silva’s arm tightens around me. I try to draw comfort from that, since the story burning up my throat isn’t a pretty one. “The stuff I didn’t read in the fan sites is that Steven was in foster care from the age of twelve because our parents were drug addicts. They would party for days with their scummy friends and forget we existed. I was five, so I don’t remember much, and most of it was bad. Except for Steven. He looked after me, and as horrible as it was, I know it would have been a lot worse if he wasn’t there. But if you want factoids, I don’t have many. Except that he chewed his nails a lot, and he had a stutter when he got upset.”

I watch him struggle with something for a moment, his forehead pressed against the doorjamb. “Okay,” he says quietly. “I believe you.”

“But don’t you want to hear the memory that sticks in my head the most?” Jett pulls away, like he knows this one is going to hurt, but I don’t give him a chance to slink off. He might have loved my brother better than me – he definitely knew him better than me – but that doesn’t mean my scars don’t run just as deep. “It’s when he ran away from the last foster home we were in together. The Jacksons. Bev and Simon, two angry, bitter people who didn’t like to share, even with each other. They had locks on everything. The fridge, the TV room, even the bathroom, so we didn’t steal their pills or the hot water when they were out. But Steven had enough. He wanted a life without locks. So he left, and this time he didn’t take me with him.”

Cass

The next time I wake, the room is fully dark and I can see tiny stars on the ceiling. I didn’t even realise there was a skylight built into the roof when I crashed out. Probably had something to do with the bitter cloud I left in the room after the trip down memory lane I shared with Jett, but now I catch a glimpse of pale moonlight and skittish clouds.

I startle when I realise the bed beside me is empty and there’s a figure outlined in the door. “Sweetheart, you need to wake up,” River says quietly, his voice full of apology. “We have to make some decisions about what to do next.”

“It’s okay.” I force myself upright, rubbing at my gritty eyes. “Where’s Silva?”

“He’s just grabbing a shower. You’ve been asleep for eight hours.”

“What?” I reach for my phone before I remember that low-rent barbie stole it. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. It’s what your body needs. But we’re still a few hours away from Sandy Bay. There were roadworks on the coastal route that delayed us a bit.”

I nod and swing my legs out of bed. But I suck in a harsh breath at the way my pussy clenches and my thighs shake. “Crap. I slept like the dead, but somehow, I feel worse.”

“Yeah, your hormones aren’t really your friend right now.”

I snort at the understatement, then peer up at him. He’s still in his ratty old jumper, but it looks like a family heirloom on his graceful form. “You’ve been through this? And you didn’t throw yourself under the nearest bus?”

He smiles at my poor joke but holds out a hand, drawing me to my feet. “It’s a lot better when you have someone to help you through it.”

I just bet it is. According to the designation classes I took in high school, having a big alpha knot in the mix will turn my frown upside down.

“I’ll get right on that,” I murmur as he slowly leads me down the corridor, rubbing my back the whole way. The sweetest scent is coming off him – like peach sorbet - and I want to nuzzle into his neck. Probably lick his throat a bit, too, but I manage to squash that impulse.

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