Page 190 of Fallen Omega

Just like deep dive hidden nuggets that turn out to be keys are Knight’s.

Big question is, who’s on the right path here? Especially when they overlap.

Because the sooner we work out who’s after Liz and trying to take us down with it, then the sooner we can try to rid her of the mark and let her go.

I need to.

She’s a liability.

She just is.

“It’s some kind of coincidence he seemed to turn up when she did,” Julien says.

I send him a sharp look. “You think she’s involved?”

The irritation is so like his girlfriend’s, I almost laugh. “No. I mean… It’s odd and you never look away from odd. She turns up, the Council starts sniffing and there are raids and sightings of Ghost.”

I start to pace. “Raids that are pure theatrics. They would have gotten a warrant if they thought they’d get anything. They were looking for her.” I pause. “So how the fuck does Ghost play into that? What possible reason has he got for such low ball stakes? It’s not the Trinity. Fuck.”

I smell gardenias mixed with leather and honey. A touch of lavender.

Turning, it’s not Angel. It’s the ugly mug of Knight.

I turn back. “Go away, I’m busy.”

Giggling, happy sex sounds and now him smelling like he had her sit on his face and come until she squirted? I need none of that. And it really doesn’t matter—I pushed her to him, ejecting her from my room.

“If you want her to be with you, stop fucking pushing her away. She wants all of us, but,” Knight says, hissing the words low, “she’s better off without you. Liz deserves better.”

“I just don’t need you shoving your happiness at me.”

“You know, Dante, I look up to you. If there’s one person who I can truly call family, it’s you?—”

“Not Reap?”

“He’s a sibling, I guess, but I look up to you. Like I said. You fucking saved me. I’ll never forget it. I love you, man. But fuck. When I say you’re a grade A fuckwit with a hard on for stupidity, I say it from a place of caring. You don’t deserve her. There’s kink and playing at edging and denial, and then there’s straight up holes in the sand you like to bury your head in.”

He stops, then he shakes his head, curls bouncing. “I love her,” he says. “And I’m betting that Reaper does, too. She fits. She belongs and she’s part of us. In ways that havenothing to do with the bite. And you? You push her the fuck away.”

The muscle in my jaw ticks hard.

I want her.

With a desperation I’ve never felt. I’ve fucking knotted in her. A big, fucking mistake, and one I’m obsessing over. Because I want to do it again. I want to knot her, and in the most depraved of my fantasies, have her catch my seed, grow my babies. I want to see her glow and grow big. I want her to fucking waddle and need her feet rubbed.

I don’t even like fucking kids.

And the only pregnant woman I remember knowing was a full-on drug user who birthed out a poor addicted kid.

But this fucked up fantasy that’s so utterly depraved it even disturbs me is there, in my head, like I want to try and knock her up. I want to bite and mark her over and over. I want to fuck her from behind while her swollen stomach sways, I want her to cry over anything and everything and crave weird shit. And I don’t even know where this comes from. TV? Movies? My twisted mind?

Fuck.

“She’s not mine.” I keep my tone hard. “Desire is just that. Desire. And, I don’t fucking like her.”

It’s a lie. Somewhere along the line I went from dislike to like, to something big and uncomfortable and what the fuck am I meant to do with that? It’s as twisted and depraved as the rutting fantasy, the pregnancy fantasy.

I’m losing my fucking mind.

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