Page 49 of The Omega Project

I suppress a shudder. “No, but slackers will be on a sex ban.” Their faces both fall, and I jump to my feet, tossing my things into my backpack. “Come on. Let’s go pry Lang away from his freshmen groupies so you two can get down to business.”

Emily

I grin at the way they scramble to follow me, but the wind goes out of my sails when we reach the Anthropology building and find a line of students at Lang’s office door. Soren is still a little wary about being around so many strangers, but when Creed suggests we head home, I decide to wait. There’s a row of chairs along the wall, and I slip into one while his students shuffle closer to the inner sanctum, their voices pitched low as they discuss everything from his clothing choices to his love life. Some of it’s amusing, but a few of the more brazen students have my teeth on edge by the time Lang opens the door and peers out at me. His double-take would be amusing if I wasn’t feeling so possessive.

“You should have told me you were out here, sweetheart,” he says, ushering me into his office. “I would’ve told those last few to come back another time.”

“And get my eyes scratched out?” I stalk towards him, twirling a curl in an exaggerated fashion. When I reach his desk I turn and pop a hip, gazing up at him with sultry eyes. “Oh, Professor Fall. Could you please go over your key points on mating habits with me again? I’m especially interested in the bit about how big strong alphas choose their mates…”

Lang swoops on me before I can flutter my lashes, his mouth fierce as it claims mine. “Why lecture when you can demonstrate?”

My insides melt on cue, but I wiggle free, slipping around his desk to lower myself into his seat. It smells like him – all sugar and musk – and I lick my lips as I pat my lap. “Take a seat, Professor Fall. I have some questions for my mentor.”

He studies me for a moment, then moves around to perch on the desk right in front of me, his booted foot hooked around the leg of my chair to pull me closer. It puts me in tantalising proximity to the growing bulge in his jeans, but I tip my head back, focusing on his face. “What do you know about switches and soulmates?” The hesitation I’m watching for is there, and I huff out a breath. “I heard you and Derek talking on the beach. And then you send the author of the Soulmate Phenomenon my way, so are you really surprised I’m asking?”

His lips twist in a wry smile. “No. Your observation skills have always been top-notch.”

“Then give me your insights. I told you I thought compatibility had something to do with switching, but soulmates? How does your scientific mind explain that?”

“I’m not sure it can, but my alpha likes it.”

“Your alpha? Are we talking about Finn here?”

His lips twitch, but I see that flash of hesitation in his eyes again, like he’s not sure how much he should say. “Yes and no. Finn’s a firm believer in soulmates, but I’m referring to the part of me that works off instinct, not reason.”

I’m pretty sure I know what he’s getting at, since I’ve felt a similar primal force inside me ever since I switched. I’ve decided that it’s another part of the biological system in charge of our most basic responses, also known as the six Fs: fight, flight, feeding, fear, freezing up, and fornication. “You mean your lizard brain?”

He chuckles and shrugs at the same time. “Sure. It might not have a long Latin name, but it’s just as real as the spark I feel in my chest now we’re bonded. I don’t know if that’s my soul’senergy or a simple chemical reaction, but I believe we’re a lot more than just compatible, sweetheart. I think we were destined to meet, mate, and make a home together.”

My heart thuds so loudly, I’m surprised it doesn’t knock me out of my chair.

“Are we talking about fated mates?” I’ve heard the term used in werewolf folklore, but never in a million years would I have applied it to myself. “Seriously?”

He takes my hand, peeling my fingers open so he can press a kiss to my palm. It’s a sweetly romantic gesture that’s matched by the adoration in his soft blue eyes. “What is fate except the meaning of life we find in each other?”

I blink at him. “What ancient destiny cult did you pull that line from?”

He turns my hand over and brushes my knuckles with his lips, which curve up into a full-blown smile. “That’s just me speaking from my soul, sweetheart.”

“Hmm.” I’m not sure if that’s true – he’s an anthropological expert, after all – but my toes are tingling too much to argue with him. “Okay. So we were meant to find each other. Then why did you run away when we first kissed?”

The soft affection fades from his face and is replaced by lashings of guilt. “Because I’m a dumb arse.”

I can’t help but snort. “Is that your official diagnosis?”

“I’m thinking about putting it on my business cards.” He sighs and runs his finger over the bite scar on my wrist. Instead of flinching away, like I usually do, it just reminds me of how right his mating mark feels on my throat. “I just wanted you to have a choice, which is ironic, I know. But it was just happening so quickly, and you didn’t have all the facts…”

He’s right. If they told me we were fated mates before my heat, I would have probably run away, too. Lang and I have debated pre-determinism, entangled systems, and dark matterin the past – the subtext of which is just dawning on me – but there’s a big difference between scientific theory and the plot of a raunchy romance novel.

He touches my chin, turning my face up to his so I can see the resolve gleaming in his eyes. “If you can forgive me for the biggest lapse of judgement in my life, I promise I’ll never leave like that again.”

Instead of answering, I reach up and pull him down into the chair, changing positions so I’m sitting sideways in his lap. It’s not quite straddling him, but I cherish the closeness, and the omega living in my lizard brain seems to like it, too. “But how does fate work in a pack?” I ask when we’re settled, and his arms are firmly around me. “We’re all different people, right? We can’t all be destined for each other, can we?”

“Why not? Our bonding bites link us, don’t they? And maybe you’re the piece that makes us fit in the best possible way.”

I hum as I consider that. “Like we’re honeycomb.” When he cocks a brow, I take a stab at a theory. “Bees secrete wax from their abdomens to produce round, tubular cells. When those cells get forced together, they flatten out into hexagons because that’s the most efficient arrangement. You can align them into any frame, like a shoebox, but if you press against the edges, they will fall into a hexagonal grid. It’s just the most stable and effective use of space.”

Lang rubs his beard on my temple and makes a thoughtful sound. “I’ve been thinking we’re puzzle pieces, but I guess the thermodynamic stability principle applies, too.”

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