Page 12 of The Omega Lesson

There’s just enough of a growl in my voice to make his pupils pop, but I’m surprised by the lick of arousal I scent in the air. It’s as sweet as syrup and takes my dick from hard to the edge of hurting.What the fuck?

As if sensing my confusion, Jack’s liquid black eyes lift to mine. “I stopped the suppressants,” he tells me quietly. “Before I left London. I just… wanted to see you raw for a change. Your alpha to my omega.”

My heart actually aches like it’s been punched. Because he’s looking at me like he expects me to say it’s a bad idea. And that insecurity – that goddamn fear – is all down to his arsehole of a father.

Gordon Lyall was never what you’d call a family man. He controlled every aspect of his sons’ lives, and that influence fucked them up in different ways. They all rebelled, but Christian, his second eldest son, took it to fatal levels, dying in a brutal motorbike accident when he was barely out of his teens. By that time, Jack had already been packed off to a conversion camp in the States – all because he’d presented as an omega. He came back for Christian’s funeral, but then I didn’t see him again for two years. It was the bleakest time of my life, but I eventually tracked him down to London. And every day between now and then has been geared towards making him my mate.

“Sweetheart, I’m so proud of you.” I entwine our fingers, dragging them back over my heart. Which is now beating a little easier, knowing he’s no longer at risk from the dangerous meds. It's one of the things I hated about Gordon Lyall the most. That he’d put his son’s health at risk, just so the world would think there were only alphas in his bloodline. “I know it’s a big step, but it’s the right one. You deserve this, Jack.”

“Even if it all goes tits up?” I smirk at the expression, and he runs a finger over my lips, his syrupy scent now taking on a burnt edge. “I’ve only been off them a handful of times, and never for very long. I have zero clue about being an omega, Ben. What if my next heat is a nightmare?”

I’m pretty sure my dick is trying to bust through my trousers and scream ‘I volunteer as tribute!’ “I’ll be there to help. We’ll do it together. Remember that heat at the Rock en Seine?”

I’d flown to Paris to surprise him at the music festival, and he’d promptly gone into his first ever heat. Cheap bloody suppressors, and probably denying his omega nature for too long. We’d abandoned his little two-man tent and ended up fucking for three days straight on silk sheets at Le Royal Monceau. The best seventy-two hours of my life, and the backdrop to pretty much every dirty dream I’ve had since.

“And what about the switch part? I still don’t have a handle on it. What if I go full-throttle alpha tonight and rugby tackle you in the middle of the dining hall?”

Jesus, if that isn’t my new favourite fantasy. Jack and me in our tuxedos, fucking ripping into each other while the old farts choke on their whiskies. He’s only switched once in my presence, in the middle of an international rugby match. I’d been hollering at the ref about a bad call when he’d suddenly hustled me out of our VIP seats like his pants were on fire. And I guess they were, because we’d only made it as far as the bathroom before he was topping me over the sink. I fucking loved it, but he was devastated. He thought his designation was broken, after all those years of forced meds and suppressed heats. It took a lot of digging by some very expensive private investigators to work out what the hell happened.

Jack’s not just an omega, he’s an honest-to-God switch. According to the few reports we could dig up, now he’s off the suppressants, he should settle into his omega nature. But if he’s triggered – by stress, danger, or arousal – his biological switch might flip to a more dominant designation. And lucky me, I’m the guy who gets to take him in all his changing moods. “Do your worst, baby. I’m here for it all.”

His face softens, some of the tension easing from his scent. He still smells faintly of syrup, but the burnt edge is less noticeable. “Then let’s get through tonight and we can talk to my brothers about forming a pack.”

“Why not over dinner? I thought you were asking them to join our table?”

Jack shrugs, fiddling with the buttons on my shirt. “We haven’t talked much since dad’s funeral.” That was one event Jack didn’t come home for, but it was months ago. “We keep in contact,” he says carefully, since this is a sore spot for me, “but you know how they are. They’re both caught up in their own stuff.”

Idoknow how they are. After Jack, there aren’t two guys in this world I know better than Travis and Noah Lyall. Once upon a time, a Lyall-Cliff pack was all we talked about. But now just the whisper of the word ‘pack’ sends them both into a tailspin. Travis, because as the eldest in the family, he feels like the lack of one is his greatest failing. And Noah because he’s a headcase. A quick glance at the gossip rags, and it’s clear he’s the poster child for one and done – and how much bullshit you can get away with when you’re hot, conceited, and rich as sin.

The prince and the playboy. That’s what they were called by the media up until their dad died. Now Travis is the CEO of the Lyall Corporation and Noah is usually too off his nut to play at anything. But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna sit around while they work their heads out of their arses.

“Your brothers can wait,” I tell him, my voice close to a growl. “ButIcan’t. I need you, Jack. And I want a proper home for Matthew. A real pack.”

He nods, because he’s the first one I called when I found my brother living in that stinking hovel, bruises all over him and more bone than flesh.

“We’ll make it work,” he promises, a black fire in his beautiful eyes. But then he nods at the door. “Mattie’s on his way back, so remember your manners. Growling at the teacher is only going to get you put in the naughty corner.”

“I’ll behave,” I vow, just as Matthew pulls the door open and a wave of sweet honey and vanilla wafts inside. But when I look past him for his teacher, he shakes his head, looking almost as frustrated as I feel. “She must have headed over early,” he says with a glare in my direction. “You better not have freaked her out, numbnuts.”

Jack swallows a laugh at my expression and pats my hand. “Well, no one ever said getting to know people was easy, did they?”

Lexi

I should have bought a new dress.

Something that becomes very obvious as I enter the Dining Hall and every head turns in my direction. It’s a cavernous room carved out of dark wood that always smells like port gravy and sweaty gym socks. The boarders take all their meals here, but staff are required to attend Friday lunch, so it’s not completely unfamiliar to me. Although, tonight, the scent of teenage alpha has been replaced with expensive cologne and even more expensive liquor. The round tables have been transformed with crisp white linen and sparkling silverware, and the boys in uniform have been replaced by older versions of themselves in fancy tuxedos.

There are a few women scattered about, but they’re either serving drinks or leaning on the arms of their alpha husbands. Miller’s comment about dressing appropriately might sting a little, but I’m pretty much invisible next to these women in their silk and taffeta. And even if I’d wanted to dress up, I didn’t have the wriggle room in my budget for a new outfit.

There’s nothing wrong with the way you look. This is a work function, not a party. Just get through tonight and you’re one step closer to a permanent job.

Still, I can’t help fiddling with the scratchy neckline of my dress as I take up position at the side of the double entry doors. I try to leave it alone, but my skin itches, and the truth is, everything is irritating me tonight. I woke up with a pounding head and churning stomach that only got worse as the day went on. I’m not sure if I’m coming down with something or if it’s just exhaustion from the long week, but getting through my weekend chores was more of a slog than usual.

But I force down my discomfort, squaring my shoulders as I head towards the nearest Old Boys.

As a reporter for the university newspaper, I learned that the important thing about functions like this is to gather as many quotes as possible. Not everyone is articulate, so sometimes you really need to massage their words. Unfortunately, a lot of Old Boys assume I want to massage more than just their boring backstory, so I also have to be quick on my feet.

I try not to dwell on the occasional roving hand, until my alpha senses pick up a powerful scent, and the forced smile dies on my face. I turn to find the Master of Discipline behind me. Drummond is wearing a military uniform instead of a tuxedo, and looks like he’s about to charge into battle. But instead, he puts a heavy hand on my arm, leading me away from the circle and down the passageway to the kitchens. It’s quiet back here, since the focus at the moment is getting as many drinks as possible into the guests. My steps get stiffer the further we move away from the crowd until I finally come to an abrupt stop. “What’s this about, Mr. Drummond?”

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