Page 54 of The Omega Project

“I’m glad.” His fingers feather over my cheek, his eyes soft as they search mine. “Creed told me your meeting with your dad didn’t go well.”

“Yeah, it was even worse than I expected.” I bite my lip, residual anger at my father burning through my blood. “Did he tell you that he threatened you? I want you to know that he willneverget his hands on you, Soren. My sister and I broke into his office so many times, we could probably bury him under all the dirt we found.”

Not that he really needs my help, since Finn could do a lot more damage to my father’s reputation than the stuff Dee and I dug up as kids, but it makes me physically sick to think that Soren could be in danger because of me.

I already rang Dee and told her what happened, including dad’s bombshell about paying mum a monthly allowance ever since he left us. She got really quiet after I shared that revelation, and I could almost feel her seething down the other end of the phone. Do I regret tossing mum under the bus for lying to us all these years? Not after she’s accused Dee of being a penny-pinching miser when she wouldn’t buy fresh flowers or an expensive bottle of perfume. In some ways, our mother’s hypocrisy has damaged our family even more than our father’s betrayal.

One good thing that came out of the phone call was Dee agreeing to bring Jacob out to the beach house for a visit. I’m nervous how she’ll react – both to my new living arrangements and to the mating bite on my neck – but I figure Biscuits might be the ace up my sleeve. Growing up, Dee wanted a pet as badly as I did, and at the very least I’ll be able to offer her a pocketful of cat hair to take home to mum.

“Yeah, Creed mentioned it,” Soren says as he flips Biscuit onto her back and kisses her belly, setting off another avalanche of purrs. “But I’m not worried about your dad or Vast Horizons.”

“Nor should you be,” Finn says as he walks into the room, his gaze so fierce it makes my pulse throb in my ears. “I’ll take care of it. You just enjoy your latest courting gift.”

I look down at Biscuit with wide eyes, and Soren gives a cackle of laughter. “I think Finn means the surprise he’s cooked up for you down in the kitchen.”

I peer up at the alpha, feeling suddenly shy. “You cooked for me?”

“Lang’s making a lasagne, but if you look in the larder, there’s something waiting for you.”

I raise my brows at Finn, but when he doesn’t say any more, I scoop Biscuit up and spring off the bed. My excitement is at boiling point as we hurry downstairs, but I still stop every few paces to steal another kiss from Soren’s lips. He groans on more than one occasion, backing me into the wall until Biscuit sinks her tiny claws into his chest and gives a hiss of protest. It’s so adorable, we’re both breathless with laughter as we finally stumble into the kitchen, Lang’s honey scent perfectly blending with the delicious aromas coming from the oven.

“A hot guy who makes pasta from scratch,” Soren muses, giving Lang’s cheek a pinch as he peers in the oven. “My nonna would adopt you in a heartbeat.”

Lang chuckles as he presses steaming garlic bread into our hands, but my attention is on Soren. “You’re Italian? No wonder you’re so drop-dead gorgeous.”

“Grazie, bella.” His accent is atrocious, and he drops me a cheeky wink. “I’m three-quarters bitser, though. Bits o' this, bits o' that.”

“And one hundred percent delicious,” I tell him, slipping past Lang to the pantry. There’s an impressive selection of honey on the shelves, but beyond that’s another door I haven’t got around to exploring yet. “Is this the larder?”

Lang shoots a grin over his shoulder that makes my toes curl. “Why don’t you go inside and find out?”

There’s no mistaking the heat in his voice and I push the door open, my eyes widening as I look around the surprisingly largeroom. It probably once served as cold storage for the original owners of the house, and while the shelving units are still there, a stove and workbench has been added, along with a round picture window that looks out onto the lavender bushes. The walls are clad in a pale gold stone and the floors are a glossy wood that glows like molten honey under the downlights. Vases of dried herbs and bottles of fragrance oils line the shelves, along with rows of glass jars, bags of wax beads, and all the paraphernalia you need to make candles. “Finn did all this?” I ask in a breathless whisper.

“Wow.” Soren’s hand curls around my ponytail as he steps up close behind me. “It smells amazing in here.”

“Lavender and beeswax,” I murmur as I pop Biscuit down on the floor, letting her scurry back into the kitchen to her food bowls. “I used to make candles in the basement. There’s nothing like carrying jugs of hot wax down three flights of stairs to give you a cardio workout.”

“Lang told me you like to make candles for Christmas,” Finn says from the doorway, and I turn to face him with flushed cheeks. “We have a shed near the apiary to harvest the honey, but I thought you might like something closer to home for your candles.”

“It’s perfect,” I reply, “And I’m happy to leave the honey-making to the professionals.”

It’s a fun but labour-intensive business, while candle-making is something that soothes me, even in the crummy basement of Dee’s apartment block.

“Is that what I think it is?” I drift over to the framed oil painting next to the window, my eyes growing round with shock. It’s a swarm of honeybees seen through a glimmering raindrop and the image immediately ignites a warm glow in my chest. “That’s a Viktor Rees,” I choke out. “It’s called The Honey Drop.”

“Is it?” Soren peers at the picture. “It sort of looks like a Vegemite smear to me.”

I can’t stop the strangled sound that climbs my throat. “I thought it was bought by the National Gallery. The rumour is they paid over a million dollars for it.”

“I like to support the arts,” Finn says quietly behind me, “but I like that look on your face more.”

I don’t know what to say other than to thank him, my mind whirling as I study the exquisite piece. I’ve seen it featured in countless art reviews over the years, but it’s even more mesmerising in person. Like looking into the heart of a hive and seeing that perfect balance of wild nature and industrious symmetry. Next to the mating mark on my throat, The Honey Drop is the most extreme symbol of the change that’s happened in my life, but it also says something about the man who gave it to me. If this is a courting gift, Finn Visser has reached deep into my soul, just as Lang has done with the golden origami bee on my bedside table.

“Do you have everything you need?” he asks when I finally come out of my trance. “There are wicks and measuring jugs in the cupboards.”

I approach the workbench, running a hand over the counter with its cute bee-embossed tiles. A quick inventory shows me I have more than I need to get started and the quiver of excitement starts buzzing under my skin again. “Do you want to help me?”

I include both men in the offer, but I’m still surprised when Finn crosses to the workbench, his eyes alight with curiosity. “I watched some YouTube tutorials, but I’ve never tried it before.”

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