Page 8 of Knot Our Mistake
A hand idly went up, twirling the locks of some strands that had fallen over her shoulder. "My hair is naturally brown."
"I know. It's gorgeous," I complimented.
"They do push to eliminate other colors though. Statistically speaking, the blonde and redhead omegas, which are a rarity as is, have lower selection rates, falling below five percent chosen during their first offerings." She covered her mouth, her eyes widened with shock. "I apologize, Delta. I hadn't meant?—"
"To what? Educate us?"
"An omega should never know more than her unit."
"Says who?" Bran put the knife down, his eyes locked on our omega.
"It's in the industries’ handbook."
"I like my women smart," Bran leaned against the counter. "And thick."
"I agree," I laced our fingers as I guided her toward a large table, where I pulled out a chair. "Your previous unit was foolish to impose such rules."
"They meant well."
"They didn't," I assured her, and when I dared to look at James, it was almost as if he was fuming... on her behalf? No, that wasn't possible. He hated the omega on principle. Made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with her or her existence on our farm. I ignored him, looked past his glare because he may be an alpha to everyone else, but to me, he was just broody, moody James. "Come have a seat, darling. Food's almost done."
Like a timid little mouse, the omega stepped forward, her fingers knotting into the cotton dress she had changed into, pulling the material away from her body, making it a challenge to see the delectable curve of her hip. She had swapped her heels for a pair of ballet flats, and without that height, it was easy to see how tiny she was. A good few inches shorter than the standard omega that the industry boasts in their advertisements. Not like I've read their advertisements, or dreamed of this day, or memorized all an omega had to offer...
"There's a perfect spot waiting for you here." Bran stood behind the chair, waiting to push it in the moment our omega sat down. She kept her eyes low until the very last second, before meeting his gaze for a second and offering him a tiny smile.
I was jealous.
I wanted that smile to be just for me, with a secret shared between us. Not watch the cutest crook of her lips be offered to my beta. James was delusional if he thought we weren't keeping this omega. The way Bran was looking at her, he was already in love.
"Omega," James barked, and our sweet girl jumped.
"Alpha," she nodded once before dipping her head.
"Please remember that this arrangement is temporary," James stormed over, pulling out a chair opposite of her. "You are a guest, and we'll treat you as such, but..."
She cut him off. "Don't worry, Alpha. I'll only unpack what is needed."
She spoke clearly, getting across the point that he needn't say more. He was not permitting her to stay. But even as her shoulders were held back, strong and confident, her eyes told a different story. His words hurt her, but she wouldn't admit it. She was an omega used to putting her feelings aside, and if it was the last thing I did, I refused to let her continue on with her life thinking how she felt was useless.
"Omega," I glared at James. "You unpack any and everything. If you ever need to put it away, I'm more than willing to help with that task."
"Thank you."
A low rumble traveled from James's side of the table, his annoyance at my interaction clear as I brought over the salad I mixed and placed it in front of her. "This is all home grown. Bran is amazing at making our personal garden flourish."
Bran's face heated up, turning a shade of red as he finally let go of the chair and grabbed a potholder. He pulled open the oven and reached in, taking out the casserole. "I hope you're hungry. Not only can I grow a cucumber, I can cook too."
"He's bragging to earn your affection, I fear," I laughed as I grabbed a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge. "But you should know, out of the two of us, I've got more to offer."
"Oh?" Her cheeks were pink, and I knew she was wondering all of the ways I could offer her more than full-grown cucumbers and casseroles.
"Yes," I sat the pitcher down and wiggled my fingers. "I'm a professional baby deliverer. Delivered a goat just this morning."
I thought she would ask how that was beneficial to her, giving myself the opening of being perfect with my hands. But instead, her eyes grew wide. "Can I see it?"
"The goat?" Or...
"Yes. I adore babies." Her eyes found mine, holding our gaze long enough to beg me.
