Page 22 of Heat Hesitation

"You don't believe me?" Enzo asks curiously.

She pulls a jug of orange juice out of the fridge and tilts her head back, drinking straight from the carton.

"Greta would strongly disapprove," I chuckle, admiring her long neck.

She snaps toward me, "Who's Greta?"

Enzo laughs, and it's a trip to hear. I've known the man for nearly eight years; I don't think I'd ever heard him truly laugh before Ophelia.

She has no idea what effect she's having on us.

"Greta is our housekeeper. Relax, Ophelia, there's no need to be jealous. She's like a second mother to Sully."

"I'm not jealous," she says petulantly, sitting on the floor opposite us, hiding her body behind the coffee table and resting her elbows on the table.

The collar of her t-shirt is too high to stare down past her neck, but I try, anyway. Oblivious to my perving, she answers Enzo's earlier question. "It's a lot of pictures of women literally hanging off of you. You expect me to believe they're all fake?"

"They weren't all fake," I hedge. Feels like falling on a sword for my asshole brothers for putting me in this position, but it's kind of her fault, too, for not trying harder, for not truly believing in me. I try to explain, "They weren't there. It was you and me up there on that bridge last year."

"So you told them you met your scent-match, but they still went out to meet other omegas?"

"Do you have a right to this indignation, little one? I spent all year looking for you. You, clearly," I point to the now empty coffee table drawer, "knew exactly where I was and never once reached out."

She presses her lips together, and I'm surprised to see her eyes watering in frustration. My alpha roars to take away her pain. "You don't understand what it's like," she whispers, a tear sliding down her cheek.

I attempt to gather her in my arms, but before I can, there's a knock on her door. Enzo stiffens beside me, but Ophelia doesn't seem alarmed. Whoever it is, she's expecting.

Wiping the tear away from her cheek, she glances at us beneath her lashes, trying to make a decision, but the knocking becomes more persistent and aggressive. Finally, she takes a deep breath to brace herself and walks over to the door, opening it without even checking to see who it is.

We'll have to have a long talk about safety, especially when Sully told me she left her house key under her doormat where any common thief could steal it and make a copy or sneak in and hide in wait.

Ideas of ways to punish her bounce around but are immediately forgotten when a large alpha storms into her apartment; Enzo and I stand on alert.

"Phe, why aren't you answering your phone? Jess told me some alpha was sniffing around out back, and another one followed you around the club all night," he bellows before noticing us. Tensing, he grits his teeth, "Babe, you okay?"

Babe?

An actual, feral alpha growl leaves us both, but Enzo's closer, and we barely hear Ophelia's "Oh shit" before he shoves the new alpha against the wall.

The man is taller than Enzo, but he's not taller than me. Regardless, he, like most people, lacks the pure, single-minded intensity Enzo possesses, making the two evenly matched.

The alpha shoves back. The coffee table cracks beneath Enzo's foot before he steps in and throws a whip-fast fist into the unknown alpha's face.

Ophelia throws herself between the two, and I want to spank her ass raw for getting between two fighting alphas, but both care enough about her to notice immediately and separate.

"You want to know why I didn't find you? Besides reading the newspaper every week and seeing your pack members and you—" she pokes her tiny fingers ineffectually into my chest, "Yes, you, Asher, with all sorts of omegas! I didn't know some of those pictures, or only the pictures of you, were old. I was hurt and jealous and scared. But this! This is why I don't date alphas! I'm nothing but a fucking possession to you. I'm not yours."

She shouts at all three of us, though the third alpha is confused, his palms coming up as if he's not deserving of her ire.

I don't bother addressing her anger, which may be valid, but it's nearly one o'clock in the morning, and she has an unbonded alpha visiting her. So, instead, as calmly as possible, I ask, "Mind telling us who this is, little one?" The endearment doesn't soften her, but it does make the new alpha look at us more closely.

"Little one?" He scoffs.

She waves him off, "This is Red."

Enzo's practically snarling, the most emotion I've ever seen him express. He's tense in a way I've never witnessed, and I'm actually a little concerned. We've never needed to test Enzo's control because he's always so steadfast, and, honestly, uncaring, but seeing our omega with this guy sets off all kinds of alarms.

"And who is Red?" I ask through gritted teeth, though the black-haired motherfucker just smirks.

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