Page 14 of Carmichael's Omega

"Hey," Teague pulls me in for a hug. "You need anything, let me know, yeah?" His phone pings with another message. It's the fifth he's gotten since we walked through the door ten minutes ago. That's not including the dozens he got during the car ride here.

I keep my mouth shut. Am I really complaining about this place?

"I guess I was just surprised. You said it was a studio," I explain.

Teague nods, pulling away with a shrug. "Yeah, it is. The bedroom doesn't have a complete wall. At least that's what those fuckers down in management told me."

Another ping on his phone, and Teague heaves a sigh before rechecking it. "These fucking wolves have their balls in a twist, Mattie," he mumbles. "All pissed and shit."

I just nod, my hands shoved deep in my pockets. ClearHowl has become a powerhouse pack in the midwest. There's no other pack that competes until you go at least a few hundred miles away. It's one reason I decided to go to State. It was far enough away that I could be 'normal.'

This apartment just killed my 'normal' like a stake to the heart, but I can't tell Teague that.

He swears colorfully at his phone before shoving it back into his pocket. "Alright, Mattie. You get settled in. Call me if there are any problems at all, yeah? Anything, Mattie. Promise me."

"I promise," I mutter.

He grins and chucks me under the chin. "I love you, kid. This will all work out, yeah?"

I nod and smile at him. "Love you, too. Kiss the pups for me."

He hugs me again before leaving, phone glued to his ear. Sighing, I decide just to take a nap. Sleeping outside in a hole in the ground doesn't make for a good night's rest.

The bed envelopes me like a cloud. It's incredible. I feel like a dwarf.

---

Cassie

Some people, wolves, and humans and witches and everyone, will look up when they walk. They bounce or strut, or just plain 'ole walk along with their noses pointed straight ahead or even to the sky. Not me. I walk with my head down.

Not because I'm shy or scared. That's not it. It's because I'm terrified of tripping over a rock or stepping in dog poo. I'm that clumsy. Murphy wrote his law for me.

Of course, the problem with looking down is that all you see is your feet and the sidewalk. You don't see the hulking brute of a male just ahead of you until it's too late.

I hit his chest and bounce, only registering black biker boots and a rose tattooed over the hand that catches my backpack. His other hand wraps around my waist to steady me. It burns... deliciously.

I look up and up, the apology already falling from my lips, into those gorgeous eyes. Ice-blue, the lightest I've ever seen. In the bright sunlight, his pupils are dilated, and those irises almost look white-grey. Against the backdrop of his dark, swarthy brown skin and black hair, the result is even more startlingly perfect.

"Careful, Cassidy," Carmichael says in a harsh growl. A rumble from his chest, his wolf agreeing with what the feet is saying.

I don't know if I've ever felt this clumsy in my life. Ironic when I consider that I tripped and face-planted into our quarterback's lap the first day of my senior year in high school. Face-planted right into his general pant-area. In the middle of lunch. In the middle of the cafeteria. Everyone saw it. No one laughed. They were terrified that Teague would go bonkers on them if they did. I smashed the quarterback's delicate area and made him spill his drink all over his brand-new t-shirt. I may have cried from the embarrassment. And...heapologized tome. Profusely.

"I trip a lot," I explain to the angry alpha-wolf, inanely. "So I watch my feet. I should look up, but I'm so clumsy..." my voice trails off when I realize that I'm babbling.

He just stares at me; those ice-blue eyes narrowed on me. "You're a wolf," he finally points out.

"I know. No one ever said a wolf couldn't be clumsy," I defend myself.

"They did, actually. Wolves aren't clumsy." He hasn't let go of my waist or my backpack. My wolf is shyly creeping forward, licking the air, trying to gauge how friendly this monster is.

I want to just stay in his arms and bask in that icy-blue stare, but any second now, Carmichael is going to remember that I'm an omegaandomegas aren't like other wolvesandthat omegas are clumsyandthat he rejected me.

Tears start to prick my eyelashes.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" he snarls at me in a dangerously guttural voice.

If I wasn't used to alpha males asking those same questions in that same tone, I might be upset. Instead, warmth blooms in my chest. I try to smack it down. He doesn't want me. But hope unfurls like a flower, anyway. My she-wolf is wagging her tail now. Stupid, hopeful, optimism that never dies.

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