Page 120 of Carmichael's Omega

"Where is everyone?" she asks me when we walk down a silent, empty corridor.

"I don't know," I reply in a hushed voice.

"Teague's here, then. He's here, Mattie. Do you think he killed everyone?" Cassie starts crying. Then I start crying. We are near the front of the bar when the door bursts inward. Wild, insanely light blue eyes flash dangerously from a face drenched in blood.

"Carm?!" Cassie cries out next to me.

I stare at the male, who is practically frothing at the lips in rage. This is the second time I've seen Carmichael look like this, I think with detachment. I hope it's not a habit.

Poop. I am in shock. Cassie and I shouldn't even be awake right now.

"Mates. Stop crying," he commands gutturally. That icy gaze scans us both, up and down, finding each and every bruise. Satisfaction crosses his face as his eyes skim the Marks he left, exposed by the shirts we're wearing.

"Don't you fucking talk to them like that, Punk." Teague appears in the doorway behind Carmichael. He's covered in blood, too.

Carmichael ignores him and limps over to us, eyes still darting back and forth. "Good little mates," he croons. "Don't cry. Why did you leave the den?"

"I'm taking them home," Teague snarls. He walks in, holding his left thigh as it drips blood all over the floor. "Fucking look at them!"

Carmichael curls his lip in a silent snarl. His hands, covered in blood, come up to encircle us both, pulling us to his chest. "No," he growls towards our brother.

My omega-wolf wakes up when his mate touches him. Unlike me, he doesn't seem to care that our alpha-mate is covering us in blood and gore just minutes after we showered.

"They ain't living here, Punk."

More wolves crowd into the bar. No one else looks roughed-up like Carmichael and Teague do. In fact, I think I see a few glasses from the kitchen, maybe a coffee mug or two.

"You're hurt," I say softly, my gaze going back and forth between the two alphas.

"Nevermind that shit. You're going back to ClearHowl-" Several growls interrupt Teague.

"Teague," Cassie says gently, "we're not going back."

"Yes, you are. You can't stay in this shithole."

Carmichael turns to face Teague, leaving us behind his back. "They belong here," he snarls. "They are my mates."

"You..." Teague seems to swell, his features growing sharper, his canines protruding, glinting in the dim light of the bar. "You mated them, but are they your mates? Recognized? Fucking celebrated?"

My wolf curls into the tightest ball. No. We aren't recognized. It's why Carmichael stashed us here. He's hidden us away, and I seriously doubt that he plans on taking us anywhere just because he accidentally Marked us.

"Look around,Jefe," Carmichael sneers. "Thisis my pack. This istheirpack."

I can't help but glance around. Carmichael's wolves are young, our age, and they all have the look of desperados. Their clothing is ragged, faces unshaven. The females' hair is long, undyed, or treated, and their clothes are so cheap that I don't know what store they came from. I've noticed that the males from LoboGris seem to recycle through the same few pairs of jeans, the same t-shirts, over and over. I have a feeling if any of them saw my closet, they would be shaken. And the shoes...

Holy goddess... did any of them see my closet?

I look around furtively. I can't be known as the gay omega male with the closet filled with over thirty pairs of shoes. I know it's wasteful. Oh, goddess, I need to go back to the apartment and donate it all before anyone notices...

"Teague," Cassie is saying stubbornly, "these wolves are not just our pack. They are friends. Family."

"ClearHowl is your family."

"Always," she says quietly, "but so are these wolves."

Teague's eyes show his panic and sorrow. "They aren't worthy of having you," he spits. "He's not worth you, my pups." A sausage-sized finger points in Carmichael's face.

Our mate growls, "they're still mine,Jefe."

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