Page 44 of Storm
"And Frankie's supposed to help with that? Turn me into some perfect little omega for your family's approval?" Her voice drips with disdain.
"No," I reply honestly. "He's here to make sure you don't feel completely alone in this mess."
She blinks, clearly not expecting that answer. Before she can respond, I turn to leave. I've spent enough time managing Storm for one day. I have other problems to solve—preparing for Alex's return and figuring out how to handle my fathers' expectations.
"Jonathan," she calls after me, her voice uncharacteristically uncertain. "I know there are rules about betas and omegas. But Frankie and I..." She trails off, not needing to finish the thought.
I pause, turning back to face her. Her scent has shifted, concern threading through the dark chocolate notes. She's afraid—not for herself, but for Frankie. It's the most genuine emotion I've seen from her since Choosing Day.
"There are," I agree, my voice level. "And breaking them would have serious consequences. For both of you, but especially for him." I hold her gaze, making sure she understands the gravity of what I'm saying. "My fathers would not be lenient about such a transgression. Neither would the authorities."
The color drains from her face as the implication sinks in. She doesn't need me to spell it out more clearly. We both know what happens to betas who cross that line with omegas—especially omegas claimed by elite alphas.
"Three days," I remind her, my voice softening fractionally. "Make them count."
I leave her standing in the hallway. Her scent is a complex mix of emotions I don't care to analyze. One problem temporarily solved. A dozen more to go.
As I walk away, I can still feel the heat of her gaze on my back, still taste her scent on the back of my tongue. Dark chocolate and defiance, a combination that's becoming increasingly and dangerously addictive. I'd never admit it, not even to myself, but there's something about Storm that gets under my skin in ways no omega ever has before.
Maybe it's the way she refuses to submit, the way she meets my gaze directly when most omegas would lower their eyes. Maybe it's the fire that burns in her, undiminished despite four years in the Omega House. Or maybe it's simply the forbidden nature of it all—she's meant for Holloway, bound to him by something deeper than young love or a ceremony.
Whatever it is, I need to get it under control. Storm is a means to an end, a complication to be managed, nothing more. I have a plan to execute, a pack to protect, a reputation to salvage.
I step into my study, closing the door firmly behind me, shutting out Storm's intoxicating scent as best I can. Alex returns tomorrow.
Then the real work begins.
Chapter14
Frankie
My hands won't stop shaking.
I've been in the Kingsley penthouse for exactly six hours and seventeen minutes, and I'm already certain I've made the biggest mistake of my life.
The bedroom they've given me is larger than the entire guard quarters at the Omega House. It has a private bathroom with heated floors, a walk-in closet that would fit my entire wardrobe ten times over, and a bed so soft I'm afraid I might drown in it. It tells me one thing. I don't belong here.
I run my fingers through my hair for what must be the hundredth time, trying to calm myself. The reflection in the mirror looks like a stranger—pale, wide-eyed, terrified. This isn't me. I'm not supposed to be here, in an elite alpha pack, pretending to be something I'm not.
But she's here. Storm. The wild, fierce omega who's occupied my thoughts for four years.
I press my palms against my eyes, my heart racing at just the thought of her. What am I doing here? I can barely look at her without blushing, and now I'm supposed to be her pack beta? I remember the shock on her face when Jonathan brought me in. Was she happy to see me? Worried? Angry? I couldn't tell. Everything’s happened so fast—Reed's territorial circling, Jonathan's cryptic explanations, Storm's unreadable expression.
"You look, but don't touch the omega." Reed's warning echoes in my mind, the threat in his voice unmistakable. He leaned in close as he showed me to my room, his scent like a storm about to break. "Touch her, and I'll tear your throat out myself."
I believe him. The look in his eyes wasn't just alpha posturing. It was a promise that makes my knees weak just remembering it.
A soft knock on my door makes me jump, nearly knocking over the lamp on the bedside table as I scramble to straighten my shirt. My fingers fumble with the buttons, making sure they're all properly aligned before running my hands down the front to smooth non-existent wrinkles. I take a deep breath, then another, before opening the door.
Storm.
She stands there, arms crossed, wild curls framing her face, gray eyes locked on mine with an intensity that makes my heart stutter and my words catch in my throat. Her dark chocolate scent washes over me, and I have to grip the doorframe to steady myself, my cheeks instantly heating.
"So," she says, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips, "you're one of the big, bad alphas now, huh?"
I try to respond, but all that comes out is an awkward chuckle. I clear my throat, looking down at my feet. "I, um, I think the 'big' and 'bad' qualifications are reserved for the actual alphas in this place."
Her smirk widens into something resembling a real smile. "Good answer, beta boy." She glances over her shoulder, then back at me. "Can I come in? Or are you afraid the scary alphas will disapprove?"
