Page 52 of The Pregnant Wolf Omega Next Door

Zenith sighed. When Emre gave him a questioning look, the alpha explained, “Huxton and his brothers are obsessed with terrible pickup lines. It’s like a religion for them.”

Huxton whipped out a pink book. “699 Pickup Lines For Your Wriggly Heart Muffin, by Dicky Mems. We all have a shrine to Dicky Mems in our bedrooms. We pray to it every morning and night with fresh butt blessings.”

“What?” Emre said.

“The keyring, Hux,” Zenith said.

But Huxton was distracted, cradling the pink book to his chest. His eyes were glazed over and dreamy.

“Hux!” Zenith drew a breath, the inside of his mouth glowing orange. Then he shot Emre a sideways look and snapped his mouth shut.

“Ha. You can’t roast me,” Huxton said gleefully. “You should tell Scribbly Consort about the ones you wrote.”

“Scribbly Consort?” Emre squeaked.

“Keyring,” Zenith said, but he kept talking. “I once wrote some terrible pickup lines into a book, to see if they would make it through the editors. I thought the editors would throw them out at the first chance they got. Butno.The pickup lines remained. In fact, the editors fought to keep them.” Zenith groaned. “The book was published with those lines in them, and I was horrified.”

“They were the best pickup lines,” Huxton whispered to Emre. “All of us—my brothers and I—had to buy a copy of that book so we could display it proudly on our shelves.”

“The biggest embarrassment of my life,” Zenith said.

“Not really.” And now Huxton looked gleeful. “Your childhood stories are worse.”

Zenith cringed. He looked truly sorry that all of the above existed, so Emre placed a comforting paw on his belly. Zenith brightened.

“Aww, look at you.” Huxton was suddenly beside them, one arm deep in the leather backpack. Metal jangled.

He laid a set of keys in front of Emre. It was a full set, five silver and one bronze, with a short, beautifully-stitched leather strap attached to the keyring. On the other end of the strap was a flat stainless steel full moon, with all its craters etched in stunning detail.

“That’s for you,” Zenith said quietly.

Emre gaped. “The front door doesn’t have six locks.”

“The bronze key is for this apartment. The rest are for my lair.”

“Your—” Emre blinked rapidly. He had thought this apartment was all Zenith had; the alpha had said he couldn’t afford a full-time butler. But now the butler made sense, because no one needed a butler for an apartment this small.

“C’mon, let’s get going before that alpha comes back,” Zenith said. That was enough to kick Emre’s heart rate back up. “Hux and I will pack. Emre, tell us if there’s anything you need to retrieve from your apartment.”

“Just the rest of Abbie’s things,” Emre said. “And... Just in case it’s Ronald, it’ll be best to get rid of our scents, so he won’t try to break in.”

“Hux will do that after we get out. Good call.”

Emre blushed, his heart swelling at the praise.

Zenith shifted back into a human to gather up his things. Abbie stayed in her dragon shape though, flapping her wings and trying to gnaw on everything.

When Zenith placed her in Buttwheel’s cargo basket, Abbie stood up on her little clawed feet, clinging to the cart’s metal sides and flapping her wings as Buttwheel brought her on a tour through the entire apartment.

Zenith took a picture with his phone. “That’s the cutest thing ever.”

“Not me?” said Emre’s mouth. He groaned.

Zenith’s smile grew. “You’re on a different level of cute, sweetheart.”

It turned out that Zenith wasn’t bringing much along. He fitted his laptop and cables into his duffel bag, along with his wallet and phone. Then he stuffed a pile of notebooks and paper scraps in there, zipping it all up.

“That’s it?” Emre squawked, looking around. “But the food and clothes, the pots and pans...”