Page 120 of Juliet & Her Romeos

“Alpha,” I whisper, stretching out my hand toward Ambrose.

I don’t know if he’ll take my hand.

But all of a sudden, I need Ambrose with an aching desperation.

I’ve always needed him.

And I can feel it in my soul that he needs me just as much. Why else did he ask Laurent for a photograph of Swan and me to put above their nest?

Ambrose must have strong self-control to be holding himself back from falling into rut. Although, by the way that his hands are shaking, he’s close.

Ambrose launches himself out of the chair, kneeling by the side of the nest.

He clasps my hand, clutching it to his heart. “I’m here.”

I relax under the wave of intense pheromones that he puts out. I lean into Benedict’s hold.

The two men exchange a glance.

But then, the wind howls, shaking the dome above me, as if a giant is shaking a snow globe, and I tremble.

Ambrose cusses, pushing a strand of hair tenderly behind my ear. “Snow, wind, or fire. I won’t allow anything to hurt my Omega.”

“I’m not your Omega.” I duck my head.

Hurt flashes across Ambrose’s face. “You are, if you want to be.”

“I do.” I tighten my hold on his hand. I never want to let go. “For such a smart man, you can be really dumb. There’s no power imbalance between us. Swan and I are in love with you. We wanted you to select us. Whatever is making you feel like the villain CEO who snatched the poor Omega, at the same time as falling in love with his employee,that’sthe illusion. The real story is two dancers who entranced their Alpha childhood sweetheart into saving them, along with a brave man who’s undercover.”

“And their Omega,” Benedict adds.

“Their talented,beautifulOmega,” I clarify, pleased when Benedict glows, purring in response to the praise. “This could be your pack, Amby. We’re here willingly.”

Ambrose doesn’t answer, stroking the back of my hand. He looks lost in thought.

When the wind howls again, I curl into myself in fear.

Swan has his phobia of bugs. Mine is of storms.

Everybody is scared of something.

Not everybody admits it.

Benedict kisses me hurriedly, before diving around in the nest and rummaging to find something.

Then he appears with a phone, while torn pages stick to his curls like a crown. “There are precisely ten hours, thirty four minutes, and seven seconds of my new piano recordings on here. I composed them, and Ambrose set up a channel for me. I only have one thousand and eighty-two subscribers right now but that’s a lot because I never thought anyone would listen to an Omega pianist. Most of them are other Omegas. I hope that I inspire them to play. I would love to be able to play in cafes, parks, train stations…just somewhere that everybody can listen for free. Then Omegas — everybody — can see that Rejs can play too.”

He crawls back up the nest to me, unwinding earbuds from around the phone.

Then he offers them to me.

I stare at them. “Do you want me to listen?”

Benedict runs his fingers through his hair to knock the paper out of it. “It’s what I do, when I’m overloaded or need to escape the world.”

I nod, and Benedict smiles as he places the earbuds in my ears.

“When I was in England for all those years, I played songs in my head like this.” Benedict strokes my cheek. “I was scared then but not of storms. I was scared that I’d always be alone in the dark. The music helped me to see the sun.”

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