Page 69 of Sweet Omega
“What are you doing in here?” He asked as he shut the door with a sharp click.
Langley turned, and for the first time, Tarymn saw the man stripped of his usual sneer. His face was drawn, pallid, eyes rimmed with exhaustion and fear.
“Do you think Deltta will come back?” The question tumbled out of him, startling him.
Tarymn stilled, then arched a brow. “Why do you care?” He crossed the room, taking his seat behind the desk. “You hated him. Hated me. The second he became Alpha King, you made my life a living hell. Don’t pretend now. I’d bet you’re thrilled things turned out this way.”
“I’m not.” Langley’s hands twisted together, wringing with nervous energy. “This…this is the last thing I wanted. I may have despised you both for acting like you owned the planet. You were already born into power, born into wealth. Did you have to take the council too?”
Tarymn narrowed his eyes.So that was it? Petty resentment? Pathetic. “I don’t have time for your bullshit. Get out.”
But Langley didn’t leave. He pressed on. “What’s going to happen to Pharyi, Biwen, and Gyry?”
The words froze Tarymn mid-breath. His head lifted slowly. “What do you mean?”
“I might not be as brilliant as you, but I’m not blind.” Langley’s voice rose with every word. “The financial records don’t add up. And when Deltta refused to approve more payments, I knew something was wrong. And since Pharyi…"
“Shhh.” Tarymn shot to his feet and was in front of Langley in seconds. He cast a wary glance toward the door. “Keep it down.” He leaned in, close enough that his scent wrapped around Langley like a chokehold. “You will keep your mouth shut as you’ve been doing. You’ll act like you know nothing. Maxus and I will handle the rest.”
“I—”
“Not. A. Word.” Tarymn’s growl rumbled through the air, heavy with dominance.
Langley squealed. Only then did Tarymn notice his own scent flooding the room—dense, suffocating, dominant. Langley’s eyes darted to the door, wide and panicked.
“Okay,” he stammered, sidling away from Tarymn. “I won’t say a word.”
“Good,” Tarymn said. “Get back to work.”
Langley bobbed his head furiously before fleeing the room.
Tarymn stood still, pulse hammering in his ears, praying the fear he’d put into Langley’s would be enough to seal his lips. If not, he'd never catch Pharyi and his cronies.
He pulled out his connector and pressed in Pitra’s code. “Where the hell are you? We’ve got work to do,” he barked as soon as Pitra answered.
“I’m coming…I’m coming,” came the breathless reply. A moment later, the door slid open and Pitra stepped inside, a bag of food dangling from his hand. “I went to buy you lunch,” hesaid, a sheepish grin flickering across his face. “So… how did it go?”
“I think it went well. No one got hurt, so…” Tarymn trailed off, not ready to admit how close he’d come to losing control.
“That’s good,” Pitra said, setting the food down on the desk. “Now we can focus on what really matters.”
Tarymn gave a single, firm nod. “Let’s get to work.”
The chaos inside the council office was almost a relief. It left Tarymn with no space to think about anything else, just endless tasks and fires to put out until he collapsed into bed from sheer exhaustion. On most nights, even sleep was a luxury. He and the others stayed up buried in paperwork, trying to hold the planet together to bother with sleep.
Eventually, Tarymn stopped going home altogether. His office couch had become his bed. It was easier that way. Going home only reminded him of everything he was avoiding—Ludiin. He couldn’t juggle his work and the mess between them. He had to pick one battle to fight. Within the council walls, battles raged. Long, heated debates stretched into the night, everyone arguing over the best course of action. Sometimes it felt endless, like they were circling the same problem again and again.
And Tarymn often wondered if the first alphas, those who had built the council a hundred years ago, had felt this same exhaustion. Did they fight like this, too?
Maybe.
The door to his office creaked open, snapping him from his thoughts. Pitra stepped inside with neatly folded clothes draped over his arm. “I have your clothes and food,” he said, setting the clothes carefully on the couch and his food on the desk. “And I’ve made arrangements with Femi for your heat.”
Tarymn blinked, the words not quite sinking in. “What?”
“Your heat,” Pitra repeated, his brow furrowing in disbelief. “It’s coming in a few days. Did you forget?”
Shit.
