Page 130 of Knot Like Other Girls

The last bit of chocolate mousse vanishes from my spoon as I watch Bella's face. Her eyes half-close in contentment, that little sigh she gives when something pleases her sending a shot of satisfaction straight through me.

It's a powerful thing, alphas providing for an omega.

Our omega.

"You know what?" Troy says, stretching his arms overhead. "I think that's the best thing I've made all month."

"It's good," I agree. "Though everything you make is."

Troy points his spoon at me. "Damn right."

The dinner dishes are scattered across the table, evidence of Troy's culinary skills and our collective appetite. Roman leans back in his chair, his usual intensity softened for the moment. Cole watches Bella with a protectiveness that's written into every line of his scarred face. Savva examines the dregs of wine in his glass with his typical careful scrutiny, as if even relaxation requires his full analytical powers.

And me?

I'm just trying not to think about what comes next.

About five alphas and one omega in the same bed.

Just sleeping, sure, but it's the most intimate thing I've done in years, and it has nothing to do with sex. And I've never been that close to the rest of the Vanguard Pack. Will Cole stab me with that knife he keeps hidden if I accidentally touch him?

Seems like a valid concern to me.

"We should clean up before bed," Roman says, already standing to collect plates. I notice the slight emphasis he puts on the word "bed" and the way it causes a ripple of tension through everyone at the table.

"I can help," Bella offers immediately, but five voices overlap in refusing her help.

"You're our guest," Roman says.

"Not your job, little dove," adds Savva smoothly.

"Fuck that," is Troy's contribution, which earns him an elbow in the side from me.

"Language," I mutter, though it's more habit than genuine censure. God knows my own vocabulary turns colorful enough when I'm wound up. Which is constantly, lately.

"Right, because you're so bloody refined," Troy shoots back with a grin. "Didn't we establish in Spain that you've got the filthiest mouth of all when you're pissed?"

"In my defense, getting shot at brings out the worst in me," I mutter, stacking dinner plates with a bit more force than necessary.

We fall into a practiced rhythm cleaning up, like we've done after countless meals in countless safehouses across the globe. Only this time, there's an electric undercurrent coursing through the cabin. An awareness of what comes next that's making even my steady hands fumble with the silverware.

We're going to sleep with our omega tonight.

Just sleep, of course.

But even the thought of it sends my pulse racing.

Bella helps Troy with the dessert bowls despite our protests. She bumps his hip with hers when he tries to shoo her away, and the casual intimacy of the gesture makes my chest twist up. It's been a long time since I've seen easy affection like that.

"I've got this, lass," I say, taking the stack of bowls from her hands. "You've had a long day."

Her green eyes meet mine, sparkling with a challenge that makes my blood heat up. "I've been sitting on a plane or in a car most of the day, Liam. I think I can handle a few dishes."

I open my mouth to argue, but Savva's quiet chuckle makes me reconsider. "Our fierce little dove," he says, his cultured voice warm with amusement. "Brave enough to challenge Liam Rourke over dish duty."

"I'm not challenging anyone," she protests, but there's a laugh in her voice. "I just want to help."

"You are helping," Cole says gruffly from where he's wiping down the counter. "Being here. Safe."

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