Page 152 of Pack Me Up
“Hunter, draw her a bath. Colton and Cody, go make her some food. Our omega needs some pampering after a long heat,” I say, pressing a kiss to her lips and making her smile.
Saint wraps his arms around our mate, pulling her into him. “You did so well, Brittney. How do you feel?”
She nuzzles into his neck. “Exhausted.”
I scoop her up and set her into the hot bath. “Then rest. We will take care of you now and for the rest of our lives.”
She sighs, leans back in the bath, and through the bond I know she believes every word.
Brittney
OMEGA BUZZ GOSSIP COLUMN
BRITTNEY RYAN AND TOMMY TURNER TOP THE CHARTS WHILE ON TOUR WITH THE HART’S EDGE
July 5th
Tommy and I finish our set like usual, leaving the stage while the crowd cheers, ready and warmed up for The Hart’s Edge.
But this time, the lights don’t change, and I can hear the questioning murmurs in the crowd spread.
Tommy and I come back, running on stage and to our microphones, smiling like nut cases.
“Hello, Miami!” I scream into the microphone. “Would you have time for one more song tonight?”
The crowd cheers, and I feed off the energy.
“We want to bring out a special friend for this next one,” Tommy adds.
“Welcome, Oli Hart, to the stage for our new song, ‘Omega Now!’” I say, and the crowd goes wild!
I take stage left, using my guitar as a shield. Tommy’s on my right, already waving his bass in the air. Oli’s in the center, striding up to her mic.
Tommy starts off the tempo, and I hit the opening chord.
The sound is huge, so much bigger than it was in practice, so much bigger than me. My voice trembles, but the words come anyway. The first verse is soft and nervous, but building. The song is about being an omega in a world that wants you pliable, pretty, and silent. I sing it like a confession.
Oli joins in the second verse. Her voice is gravel and honey. She leans into the lyrics, turning every line into a challenge. When our voices meet, they tangle, not fighting but daring each other to go harder.
Tommy’s harmony floats over the chorus, sweet and uncanny. His bass thumps in my bones and gives the whole thing a backbone I didn’t know it had.
The first chorus is a riot of sound. I’m shaking, but the words are louder than my fear. I see people in the front row dancing along even though they’ve never heard the song before.
For the third verse, I get bold. My hands stop shaking. I step forward, let my voice break on the high note because that’s how it’s supposed to sound. It’s broken, but still standing.
The lights flicker, the crowd pushes closer. I’m sweating like a marathoner, but I don’t care. I catch a flash of movement in the wings and see Saint, arms folded, flanked by the rest of my pack. Even at this distance, I know they’re watching every second, keeping me anchored.
Oli takes the bridge, her voice perfect. She grabs the mic off the stand, stalks the edge of the stage, and spits the line that used to scare me the most: “You can cut me down, but I’ll grow back twice as wild.” It lands like a grenade, and the crowd loses its mind.
Tommy grins, raises his bass, and jumps in with a scream harmony that shouldn’t work but absolutely does. I lean into my mic, eyes locked with Oli’s, and we hit the last chorus together, all three voices mashed into one.
It’s chaos. It’s perfect.
The last chord rings, and I let it hang, just for a second, before I kill the sound. For a heartbeat, everything is silent.
Then the crowd erupts. The roar is so loud it makes my teeth ache.
I can’t breathe. Tommy is laughing, tears streaking down his face. Oli grabs my wrist, holding my hand in the air like we just won the championship.
