Page 35 of Hunting Their Omega

“How about we do this again on the weekend when we can force Wynn out of his cave?” Bishop ventured.

My nerves sparked at the thought. “Do you think he’d come?”

“Of course he would—especially if you guilt him with that cute little pout. He’s bound to break.” Alaric brushed his calloused hand along my arm, and I shivered.

My blood heated at the image of Alaric and Bishop in their boxer briefs, which did little to hide the steel they carried between their legs. My mouth went dry, and I licked my lips. My wolf preened beneath my skin, ready to present herself to her mates.

Mentally tossing a bucket of ice on my raging hormones, I said, “Then I’ll be sure to be extra pouty.”

Bishop chuffed, the fading sunlight casting an ethereal glow over his warm brown skin. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“Is that doubt I hear?” I joked.

“When it comes to trying to convince Wynn to do anything he doesn’t want to? Always.”

I huffed in mock offense, still amazed at how relaxed I was with them.

We’re home, my wolf said.

I knew she didn’t mean the house before me—she was referring to our mates.

Alaric opened the front door, and the words I’d been about to speak fell away at the sight of Wynn standing in the doorway.

Was he waiting for us?

Why did that thought make me giddy?

His gaze slid between the three of us, and he raised a white-blond brow as he shot a pointed look at the sky. “Doesn’t look like it was raining.”

Alaric pushed past him. “Did you miss us? We were swimming.”

“Swimming?” he repeated.

Bishop and I followed Alaric inside.

“They were teaching me how to swim,” I said, meeting Wynn’s eyes.

He nodded. If he had any thoughts about what I’d said, I couldn’t tell.

“Dinner is ready after you three wash up,” he said, giving me a final once-over before heading for the kitchen.

“You cooked?” Alaric called from the top of the stairs, his words tinged with humor. “Better get the Pepto Bismol ready.”

I snickered, earning a glare from Wynn that had me running up the stairs behind Alaric.

“Very funny,” Wynn shouted after us.

***

“You know, for someone who claims he’s better at desserts, your cooking is impressive,” I said, sinking my teeth into a meaty, cheesy bite of lasagna.

Wynn’s eyes flickered with embarrassment, and he cleared his throat. “It’s just lasagna, and you’d have to be an imbecile to mess up pasta.”

“Then I’ve met a lot of imbeciles,” I said casually.

Wynn met my gaze but quickly looked away. The Alpha was harder to read than my other mates. It wasn’t that he was quiet—it was his uncertainty.

He wasn’t sure what to do with himself when I was near.

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