Page 6 of A Promise of Forever
But this stranger, this dangerous Valla who just claimed me in front of a cop, is apologizing for trying to comfort me.
I watch through my fingers as Forrest starts to stand, probably planning to give me space, and fresh panic floods through me. I don't want to be left alone. What if Wilson comes back? What if he finds another way in? What if this was all some cruel game and now that the entertainment is over, I'll be abandoned again?
"Please," I whisper, the word barely audible. "Please don't leave me."
Forrest freezes, half-risen from his crouch. His expression softens as he looks down at me, understanding flickering in his dark eyes.
"I need to finish up some work," he says carefully, gesturing toward the papers scattered across his desk. "And then I'll take you home so we can figure out what happens next, okay? But I'llbe sitting right here." He points to his chair. "And if you need something, just tap my thigh. Can you do that?"
The suggestion is simple enough that I find myself nodding before I've fully processed it. Physical contact that I can control, that I can initiate if I need reassurance, is good. It's more consideration than anyone has shown me in years.
"Good," Forrest says, settling back into his chair. He scoots it back under the desk, giving me plenty of space while remaining close enough that I can reach him if needed.
I stay curled up in my corner for a long time, watching him work through an odd angle from beneath the desk. Just slivers of moving papers and his pen scratching along the surface with his intense focus. But every few minutes, his gaze flicks down to check on me, making sure I'm still okay. The attention should feel suffocating, but instead, it's comforting. Someone is watching over me, making sure I'm safe, and they're not asking for anything in return.
Gradually, the safety of his presence starts to chip away at my terror. My muscles begin to unclench, my breathing becoming less ragged. The scent of coconut rum and leather grows more familiar, more comforting, until it feels like coming home to something I never knew I was missing.
Without fully realizing I'm doing it, I start scooting closer to his leg. Just an inch at first, then another, drawn by the warmth radiating from his body and the steady, reassuring presence he represents. By the time I realize what I'm doing, I'm close enough to see the fine wool of his suit pants, close enough to catch the full strength of his protective scent. Before I can talk myself out of it, I rest against Forrest's thigh. The muscle beneath the expensive fabric is solid and warm, and the moment my cheek touches him, I sigh in relief. It feels like the best pillow in the world, soft and firm and absolutely safe.
Forrest goes very still above me, and for a moment I'm afraid I've overstepped, that I've made him uncomfortable with my neediness. But then a low rumble starts in his chest, a sound I've never heard before but that my Omega instincts recognize immediately. He's purring. This dangerous, powerful Valla is purring because I'm resting against him. For the first time in months, I'm touching another person without fear of what they might do to me in return.
"You're going to be a good Omega, aren't you?" His murmurs.
"No one's ever called me that," I whisper through my tears.
Wilson always called me defiant, broken,worthless. My mother called me a burden, a mistake, damaged goods that no respectable Alpha would want. But no one has ever called me good. No one has ever looked at my Omega nature as something positive, something worth celebrating.
"Well," Forrest says, his hand hovering near my hair but not quite touching, "you're going to be my good Omega, aren't you, Sterling?"
Hisgood Omega. Not just claimed, not just protected, but valued. Wanted.
"Yes, sir," I sob against his thigh, my voice thick with tears. "Yes, I promise. I'll do anything."
Forrest
Sterling's weight against my leg is barely noticeable, but his presence fills every corner of my awareness. He fell asleep maybe twenty minutes ago, his breathing finally evening out into something that resembles actual rest. However, everything in here is now drenched in apricot and vanilla, that sweet combination cutting through the leather and expensive cologne of the office.
I shift a little, trying to bring feeling back to my leg, but it’s useless. I don’t dare really move, though. This is probably the first real sleep he's gotten in weeks, maybe months, by thefew glances I got of him, and I'm not about to wake him just because I'm uncomfortable. The protective instincts that roared to life when Wilson threatened him haven't calmed down at all. If anything, they've gotten stronger, until every part of my brain is focused on keeping this broken Omega safe.
Every notion I had about those weak Valla falling for their mates has already started to shift. It isn’t about weakness at all, is it? It’s about protection. Nurturing. Creating a family, a pack,a home.
It's like biology flipped a switch inside me that I didn't even know existed, turning me from a focused businessman into something a bit more primal and possessive. I blow out a heavy sigh and refocus on the list of fighters set up for this week, both from Dorian and Hawk’s Venue, a few cities over. I’m not a big fan of that Beta, but his Alphas bring in a pretty penny and I’m not going to say no to free cash.
The door opens without a knock, and only one person in the world would dare enter my private space uninvited. Caelan steps inside, takes one look at the scene in front of him, and his eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline.
"Damn," my brother muses, his voice much softer than usual. He’s one of the few Alphas who work with me who actually understands the idea of tact. "I heard that the big scary Valla took an Omega, but I had no idea." Caelan's scent shifts to something amused and slightly impressed, like he's seeing a side of me he never expected to witness.
I don’t blame him. I didn’t think I’d be bringing anyone home either. "I have no idea what to do with him," I admit, keeping my voice low so I don't wake Sterling. The confession feels strange coming from someone who's built a reputation on always knowing the right move, always being three steps ahead of everyone else. "I tried touching him and he freaked out. Helooks like he's been through absolute hell, too. I'll take him to the house and make sure he stays comfortable, but beyond that..."
I trail off, staring down at Sterling's tear-stained face. Even in sleep, there are lines of tension around his eyes, like he's braced for the worst. The sight makes something violent twist in my chest.
"That's not really a life for an Omega," Caelan points out as he moves closer to me. He stops inches from the desk before plopping into one of the armchairs. "They need touch, affection, pack bonds. You can't just keep him like a traumatized houseguest forever. Bryn tried that with Astra a few times when Astra ran off and it nearly tore us apart."
I just glare at my brother, hating that he’s right. If anyone understands this situation, it’d be Caelan. The poor Alpha suffered when he first met his Omega and even more when he met their Valla, the three of them pushing and pulling each other in all sorts of directions before it worked out. They’re like puzzle pieces now, but it wasn’t always like that.
"I'll figure it out," I say, more to convince myself than Caelan. "He chose me over whatever Wilson was threatening him with. That has to mean something."
Caelan nods, though his expression remains concerned. "What do you need me to do?"
