Page 15 of Rome's Mate: Hunted Omegas

Far away and unbeknownst to the Hunters, another group heard the same loud, discordant noise. They sat in a circle around a black table in high-back chairs. They used no names when they entered this room.

“Do you think it’s starting?” Speaker one asked.

“Does it matter?” Speaker two asked.

“The hunter will end this before it begins,” Speaker Four said.

“The hunters have grown lazy over the years. Must we put our faith in them?” Speaker Six said.

Speaker one scoffed but kept quiet. None of them were going to don their black robes and go hunting for one wayward female who should have died years ago. They would command others to kill, but their hands were always clean.

“If not the hunters, then who?” Speaker five asked.

“Speaker six’s head dropped.” They would have to trust the Hunter to do what they were born to do.

“The abomination cannot—.”

Speaker one cut off speaker four. “We’re well aware of what the abomination cannot live long enough to do. Let’s not talk about that horror.” There was a grumble of consensus as theyreadied themselves to leave the room. When they left, it would be like this never happened.

Rome led Amelia through the pack house until they reached his private living quarters. He took her to the den, where he liked to relax after a long day.

“Have a seat. Would you like a glass of wine?” She tilted her head and looked at him with inquisitive eyes. His den was cozy, with an overstuffed couch and enough deep chairs to fit a small pack. The walls were painted a light blue, and the couches and chairs were a dark blue with threads of lighter blue through them. There was a bookcase on one wall and a bar on the other. If she wasn’t mistaken, it looked like he had a large television that looked like a picture when it wasn’t on.

“You’ve never had wine before?”

“No.” He wondered if Amelia was sheltered in her brief life. Who would allow a precious flower to roam around unsupervised? He went to the small bar he had in his den and pulled out a bottle of wine from the wine fridge and took out two flutes.

“Beautiful.” She was looking at the glasses. They were crystal cut to catch the light and refract it at different angles. The longer he lived, the more he was attracted to beautiful things that defied the norm. Like the woman sitting in front of him with her white hair that shined like moonlight and her silver eyes.

He poured her a half glass and handed it to her. “Take small sips. This is red wine, later, you can try white wine. Trying both is the only way to decide which you prefer, or maybe you’ll like both red and white wines.”

She took a small sip of the wine. Her eyes went wide. “I’ve never tried anything like this before. I think I like it.” She took another sip.

He lifted his glass and took a drink. Wine, like any alcohol, was an acquired taste. Some acquired it faster than others.

“I haven’t forgotten that we were going to talk.” She frowned and buried her face in her glass. Not drinking, using it to dodge the statement.

Rome’s wolf began beating at his insides before he could go any further. “I need to step out. I’ll be right back.”

He heard Amelia’s small sigh of relief as he walked out of the room. When he was far enough away not to be heard, he wrestled with his wolf. “What is wrong with you?” he growled.

His wolf didn’t talk to him in words. Pictures and emotions were his way of communicating. It was something Rome never thought about. His wolf was an animal he never expected to speak.

“Mate.” Rome lost his balance and ended up against the wall. His wolf had spoken through him in a deep, gravelly voice that didn’t belong to Rome. He wasn’t sure what shocked him more, his wolf talking or him saying that Amelia was his mate.

It answered the question of why he got hard the minute he laid eyes on her, and why that hardness was not going away. He was applying his considerable will to it, but it refused to acknowledge anything except the wonderful scent coming from Amelia.

“Mate?” He almost trembled. Had the goddess Luna given him his heart’s desire? The mate he waited centuries for? She was in his den, and he could no longer stand to be away from her.

His long legs ate up the distance between them. “If you scare her, we’ll lose her,” he cautioned his wolf before entering the den.

“You’re back.” She gave him a shaky smile and set the empty glass down. “You deserve an explanation to know why I can’ttake you up on your hospitality, as generous as it is.” Her hands were shaking, and she wrung them, hoping to get them to stop and get the courage needed to tell him why he should turn her away.

“Nothing you say is going to change the way I think about you.” Or feel, he added silently. She placed her hand on her chest as if she, too, was fighting with her wolf.

A mate. One he was going to have to go slow with. He wasn’t sure how, but he’d figure it out.

“I was born twenty-five years ago. My wolf never presented during adolescence the way my peers’ wolves did. My peers would whisper about me. The adults would scent me and turn away like they were scenting something rotten. As the years went on, they whispered the words omega and abomination behind my back and sometimes in my face.” Her arms went around her chest, comforting herself, and she jumped up, needing to pace.

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