Page 36 of Captive Omega

It should be obvious why juggling throwing stars downstairs is a bad idea.

Right?

Vaughn hums a song under his breath as he walks down the stairs. Still juggling.

I hesitate.

I have no desire to venture downstairs to a breakfast that’s going to come with two alphas, but I am curious about this beta with a death wish.

Knife in hand, I trail after Vaughn, walking on my tiptoes to ease the worst of the throbbing pain in my feet. I lean over a matte black balustrade. It’s a modern house. White walls, black accents with silver door handles. Expensive looking, if a touch cold and impersonal.

And there he is, still humming, head banging as he juggles those silver stars. One slip, one tumble, and he’s at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck.

“Go on, you can say it.” He risks certain death by flashing me a grin. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

“Say what?” I fold my arms on the dark wood as he continues his path down the stairs.

“I’m an idiot about two seconds away from breaking my neck.”

“You look like you might know what you’re doing.” As mornings go, this is as unexpected as it is interesting. To my surprise, he reaches the bottom in one piece.

“Oh, and there’s a cell phone in one of those bags. Our numbers are in it. We guessed at your size for the clothes, but if things don’t fit, drop me a text and Lex can get something else.”

“Lex?” He’s practically underneath me now, and I have to lean a little over the balustrade to see him.

He peeks up at me and yelps when he nearly loses a star. Only fancy footwork saves his juggling act, and only biting my lip stops him from seeing my smile.

“Yep. You look beautiful, by the way. A beautiful woman with a knife in her hand will always be my weakness.”

He winks at me before he disappears through a doorway directly below me.

What do I do now? Follow Vaughn down the stairs, go investigate the bags he left outside my room, or do the smart thing and leave this house full of alphas like I told myself I would last night?

A dark-haired man with a strong jaw, thin lips, and hazel eyes steps through the doorway beneath me. As if he knew exactly where I’d be standing, he looks up at me. He’s in black pants and a white button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms.

Garrison. My scent match.

I can’t smell him from here, but I remember how intoxicating his cedar and leather scent was. I’d wanted to stretch toward him and drag that potent scent right into my soul. I’d ached to press my nose to his throat and spend hours and hours sucking it in.

It… disgusts me to know how badly I wanted him then, and how badly I want him now.

I shake with that same need now. But I tighten one hand on the knife hilt and the other on the balustrade and drive that stupid need out of my head.

He’s an alpha, Resa. And all alphas need to be launched into the sun.

“Resa.” Garrison nods a greeting, the corners of his eyes wrinkling.

I don’t nod back.

His dark presence is a bucket of icy water someone flung in my face. A visible, tangible reminder that I am in a house with alphas which is no place I would ever want to be.

Give me a flirty beta to dig shards of glass out of my feet.

I push off the balustrade and hobble back down the hallway.

I stop long enough to gather the bags outside my room and carry them inside, firmly closing, then locking the door behind me. A lock on the inside is new, and I intend to take full advantage of it until I decide on my next steps.

When I empty the bags out on the bed, I’m pretty sure I’m looking at thousands of dollars in designer clothing. There’s the basics: a set of pink silky pajamas, blue jeans, a couple of tees, underwear, and a white linen dress. Everything is simple, tasteful, and well made. When I spot the labels, well-made would have to be a requirement to demand stupid prices like that.

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