Page 7 of Pack Favero

I don’t know what it is about seeing a woman barefoot and tippy-toeing around, like she’s scared to press her whole foot to the floor, but it just does something to me. I have to fight the urge to go over to her and carry her once more, remembering the feel of her in my arms. The light weight of her slender body pressed against mine, the feel of her chilled skin warming beneath my palms, the way she cuddled into me before falling soundly to sleep before I even got her into the car.

Fucking A.

I only know her name and I’m already obsessed with the little omega, the sleepy look on her pale face which highlights every single freckle that smatters her beautifully-carved face, the wild mane of copper hair that reaches just shy of her lower back, and the way my hoodie hangs on her small frame. And then it’s her scent. If my mouth wasn’t watering before at the smell of cinnamon rolls, then there’s a whole pool party happening right now at the first hints of creamy-and-sweet banana split with faint hints of caramel.

Okay. Fine. I guess I’m not so surprised why Barnes decided to keep her to himself for as long as he did. I’m damn near ready to vault over the couch to reach her, to press my nose into her neck and inhale that maddening aroma straight from the source instead of catching hints when Barnes passes afterspending time with her at school.

The librarian for North Five University carefully takes the stairs until she reaches the bottom, rubbing at her beautiful eyes with a sleepy yawn that I find ridiculously adorable, before she comes to a stop and inhales. Frowning, she drops her hand and blinks rapidly before those gorgeous, pale eyes dart from Laz, where he lounges in an armchair, to Barnes, where he’s plating the cinnamon buns, and to me, where I’m gawking at her without an ounce of shame.

Flashing her a wide grin, I greet, “Well, there’s the little lady. Good morning. Or afternoon, really. Mornoon, shall we say? How did you sleep?”

A puzzled expression paints itself prettily across her face and she crosses her arms over her small chest, likely hiding the fact that she isn’t wearing anything beneath my hoodie. Fuck me dead, I don’t need to be thinking about that. Not right now, when the house is smelling really effing good and I’m seeing a beautiful omega in my hoodie with my own two eyes.

“Is this considered kidnapping? I’m not entirely sure what to tell the police when I finally call them after I’ve located my cell phone,” she counters, and my mouth falls open in shock before I burst out laughing. I can’t even tell if she’s being serious, the delivery of her words is so dry that it gives the Sahara desert a run for its money.

“You haven’t been kidnapped,” Barnes declares from the kitchen, right before he throws his oven mitts onto the counter and rounds the marble-topped furniture that separates the living room and kitchen. With the cinnamon buns cooling on the plate, he heads over to the little lady standing awkwardly near the stairs and pauses a foot away from her. “Do you remember me telling you that your mom called?”

She nods.

“And you remember me wanting to take you to your nest,and you saying no?” he questions.

She pauses and squints before nodding once more, slower this time.

I’m grinning like a madman, Lazarus is silently observing, and I’m sure Barnes is fighting the urge to pull her into a hug that I know he wants to offer the omega. Thankfully, her scent hasn’t grown tart or sour with stress, so at least she isn’t actually worried she’s been kidnapped. Or, at least, I hope not.

“And you remember my decision to bring you here? Because you needed rest and we found you trying to sleep on your bathroom floor?” Barnes pushes gently, crossing his arms over his lean chest as he peers down at Zira.

The omega frowns before muttering, “Pretty sure it was the Viking over there that decided to turn into the human equivalent of a claw machine and air lift me from my bathroom floor. But yes, I vaguely remember the decision to abduct me from my home.”

“It’s not an abduction if you didn’t protest the idea of coming with us,” Lazarus quips, his English accent thick and fancy.

Zira turns a narrow-eyed glare on the man, and I actually wonder if Barnes was right about her being cautious of men. This one seems to be all fire and fight and I absolutely love it. “I’m not talking to you.”

“Of course. Apologies, sweetheart. I forgot I was still in the doghouse for doing a good deed,” he patiently croons in return and I frown.

“Wait, what? What does that mean?” I ask, and am instantly ignored.

“Why am I here and where are my clothes? And phone? I need to make a report of an abduction,” she repeats, crossing her arms tighter as she eyes the three of us with very little trust.

Ah. There it is. The caution. Adorable.

“Again, it’s not an—” Laz starts, before biting his lower lip to hide a smile when Zira glares harder.

“It’s considered an abduction if one is unlawfully retained against their will or consent. I don’t recall the words, ‘ah, yes, please take me from my home in nothing but a threadbare towel and leave me with nothing to wear when I arouse from slumber in a bed I don’t recognize, in a home I’ve never been to, with men I don’t know,” she counters, her words rushed and growing louder, a fiery spirit coming out in her that matches her pretty hair. I’m not sure what the attitude is about, but I find it rather appeal—

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

It just hit me. I get it now.

Standing from my seat, I leave her to her ranting for a moment longer, seeking out the goods that will calm her faster than any word Lazarus or Barnes could offer. Gathering a plate, I fill it with two warm cinnamon buns, drizzle icing over the top, and add two glacé cherries on top of each one. I leave the kitchen as soon as I’m done, and I don’t stop walking until I practically have the plate pressed under the crabby omega’s nose, cutting off her impressive rant sharply.

I hear her inhale, followed quickly by a loud rumble of a hungry belly, and I grin widely at the now blushing omega as she bites her lip with a softly muttered, “Oh.”

“‘Oh.’ Yeah. Come eat and then you can decide whether or not to press charges against Barnes and me for coming to your rescue,” I tease, luring her from the stairs with the plate that she adorably follows, her full lower lip still tucked between her teeth.

Gesturing to the couch, I watch intently as she sits demurely, and I’m battling a shit-eating grin as I place the plate into her bare lap and take a seat beside her.

When Zira doesn’t make a move to eat straight away,nibbling instead on her lower lip, I nudge her shoulder and coax, “Go ahead. They’re good cold, but even better warm. Don’t be shy on our account.”

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