Page 33 of Hunted Omega: Part Two

The truth settles between us. We failed Aria once, but we won’t make the same mistakes again.

“And Logan?” Quinn asks, concern clear in his voice.

“I’ll handle Logan,” I say, resolve hardening my tone. “But our priority is Aria. She needs to know Logan’s sniffing around.”

As the meeting wraps up, my pack files out, their scents a complex blend of determination and unease. Alone in my office, I pull out my phone and send a quick message to Willow at Omega Guardians.

Aria’s safety is our top priority.

Even if we failed her in the past, we won’t fail her in the future.

Me: Urgent matter regarding Aria’s safety. Need to meet ASAP.

I hit send then lean back, staring out at the darkening sky. The path ahead is riddled with challenges, more than we ever anticipated, but we’ll face it together for Aria, the future we want to build, and the pack we’re striving to become.

I grip my phone, Logan’s parting words still echoing in my mind. A thought creeps in, unbidden. What if he’s right? What if our window of opportunity is closing faster than we think?

As the night deepens, so does my resolve. We’ll fight for Aria, not because of the bond, but because she deserves better than the hand she’s been dealt. We owe her that much.

We’ll be damned if we’ll let Logan—or anyone else—take that chance from us.

17

ARIA

The rich aromaof freshly ground coffee beans envelops me as I push open the door to the café. The gentle hum of conversation mingles with the hiss of steam wands and the clinking of ceramic mugs, creating a soothing backdrop.

I scan the room, finally locating Quinn. He’s hunched over his phone in a corner booth, his brow furrowed in concentration. It’s a look I’ve come to associate with his genius mode.

As I approach, Quinn glances up, his face lighting up with a smile that causes an unexpected flutter in my chest.

“Hey,” I say, sliding into the seat across from him. The leather cushion is cool against my thighs.

“Hey yourself,” he replies, his voice warm and slightly breathless. “I got you a cappuccino. Hope that’s okay. I figured you’d need a pick-me-up after dealing with the daily grind. Get it? Grind?” He winks, clearly pleased with his coffee pun.

I can’t help but chuckle, rolling my eyes good-naturedly. “Wow, Quinn. That was truly espresso-nal.” I wrap my hands around the warm mug, inhaling the rich aroma. “It’s perfect, thanks.” The first sip is heavenly, the silky foam melting on my tongue and leaving a lingering sweetness. “So, how’s the salon coming along?”

Quinn’s eyes sparkle with excitement. He leans in, his enthusiasm palpable. “It’s coming together faster than expected. I signed the lease, and I’ve been working on the design. I’ve actually been dying to show you.”

He pulls out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen. “Check this out,” he says, angling it toward me.

I lean closer, catching a whiff of his warm, woodsy scent—a mix of sandalwood and something uniquely Quinn. The images on the screen show bare walls and open floors, a blank canvas full of potential.

“Wow,” I murmur, a smile tugging at my lips. “You have quite the space to work with.”

Quinn grins, his voice taking on that playful tone I’ve grown fond of. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet. Picture this—sleek stations here, cozy seating over there, maybe some soft lighting that makes everyone look like a million bucks. ThinkCheers, but with less beer and more beauty products.”

I glance up at him, suddenly aware of how close we are. “You’ve really thought this through,” I say, genuinely impressed by the passion radiating from him.

He shrugs, a sly smile curling the corner of his mouth. “Well, you know me. Once I get an idea in my head, it’s like a hamster on a wheel, except this hamster is building a salon empire.”

“Hard to stop, huh?” I tease, nudging him lightly with my shoulder. The brief contact sends a spark through me, and I have to resist the urge to lean closer.

“Especially when I have someone inspiring me,” he retorts, his gaze lingering on me a moment too long to be casual.

I feel a flush creeping up my neck, and I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly self-conscious. “Guess I better stick around then,” I say, my tone light but laced with suggestion.

“Guess you better,” he replies, his smile turning downright mischievous. “After all, who else is going to appreciate my hair-larious puns?”

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