Page 16 of Citius

“Now, let’s look at the pantry. I’ve never lived somewhere with a pantry before!”

A text from Owen arrived. It was a screenshot of flight details and a request for me to pick up Wyatt next week because Owen had yet another budget meeting about his pet project, PheroPass.

Thanks to the new money-grubbing chief finance officer, it was more like an abused pet at this point.

Wyatt was Owen’s younger brother—never little brother. And never, ever, baby brother. At least not if you wanted to avoid getting decked. The boy was jacked. But he’d never be as tall as Owen, not even close, and he hated it.

His stay was supposed to be temporary, but Owen had other ideas. I wasn’t getting my hopes up. He’d been brushing us off for years. Too busy with gymnastics training, too young to commit. There was a girl he wanted to ask out. Maybe after the Olympics. Endless bullshit.

Commitment-phobia was my least favorite Redmond family quirk.

Not that it mattered anymore. I didn’t care if our pack stayed at three or grew to thirteen. Our paperwork had been approved, and Alijah had the security he deserved, a bonded mate and an official pack. That’s what was important.

Alijah’s voice echoed through the cavernous space as he showed off the soaring ceilings and custom curtains we’d inherited. As sweet as the video was, and as much as my two mothers would appreciate the tour, it was unnecessary.

The place was too big and too lavish, full stop.

What were we supposed to do with a full-on, fancy-ass omega suite? No sane omega, especially not a classy lady like Morgan Van Daal, would want a fledgling pack of loft-poorworkaholics in their mid-thirties.

No, wait—early thirties. Adding Wyatt to the mix lowered our average age to thirty-two and a half.

My, what a selling point.

One thing at a time. Finish the move, then set small, achievable goals. Find the box of kitchen gadgets and unpack the coffee machine.Determine the best corner for my at-home design station. Make sure Alijah had everything he needed for work on Monday.

Then we could resume our regularly scheduled arguments about who ate the leftovers Owen was saving for lunch or who’d left their laundry in the dryer for four days.

Spoiler alert—it was me. It was always me.

At least we wouldn’t have to fight over who gets the shower first anymore. Maybe we could even pick out a couch. A real one, made of authentic wood from actual trees that you don’t have to build with an Allen wrench.

The non-omega bedrooms downstairs did nothing for me. One was a sprawling primary suite for a head alpha or communal pack use. It would go to Owen. I would insist on that.

The other was a smaller room tucked behind the kitchen that seemed better suited for guests. It might not be a bad home office or a gym for Wyatt—ifhe stayed.

Upstairs, a secondary living area surrounded by glass walls offered an even better view of the city skyline. A walkway led to a pair of bedroom suites on the opposite side of the unit. Wyatt got to take his pick.

We’d chosen the long studio-like space behind the upstairs living area, with multiple north-facing skylights and an almost utilitarian bathroom surrounded by a wall of glass bricks. The random specks of colorful paint on the floorboards only added to its appeal—for me, at least. Alijah was a tidy soul, through and through, and was doing his best to redefine my style as distressed or vintage rather than grubby cheapskate.

Alijah joined me in the studio, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, and kissed my shoulder. “So, do you approve of loft living yet?”

“It’s a bit late for my opinion,” I said with a gruff laugh, tracing my thumb along his wrist. “You like it. That’s what counts.”

“The alpha doth protest too much.” He gave my ear a playful nip.

I reached around to pinch his ass. “Did the bond give me away?”

“No.” He squirmed away from my hand, pressing his chest even tighter against my back. “You’ve been in here for at least ten minutes. If you stop stalking around like a tomcat, it means something has snagged your interest. I speak from experience.”

“Oh, is that right?” I watched my mate out of the corner of my eye and teased him with a slow smirk.

“Yes. I’m an authority on your prowling behavior.”

Careful not to break his hold on me, I turned in his arms and placed a hand on his lower back. The other cradled Alijah’s head as I savoredhis plush lips with long, lazy kisses. The orange zest of his scent turned sweet as my tongue stroked his. It only made me crave him even more. My hand slid down to cup his backside.

“Wanna try out our new shower?”

Alijah laughed between a few more indulgent kisses. “Having shower sex in an empty apartment without towels or fresh clothes is a terrible idea. What if the movers showed up in the middle of things?”

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