Page 21 of Knot As It Seems

Thirteen

If I stare at my dick long enough, will it get the memo that the smells hovering around my packmate aren’t for me?

I’m feeling a bit extra moody today, so I’m fully decked out in my gothy vampire regalia, using it like a shield. If I stay behind the persona, I don’t have to think too hard. At least, that’s what I’m hoping happens.

They may be silent as they head towards the kitchen, of which I am currently the only resident of, but I know they’re coming. I could probably close my eyes and imagine exactly where they are in the house with the way my alpha is tuned into this omega, and it’s frankly terrifying.

I try to give off a picture of nonchalance when Calloway and Fable finally enter my temporary domain, hands propped behind my head and feet crossed in my shit kickers on top of our hella old rustic wood table, but I know this omega isn’t at all impressed with nonchalance. Moon played into it a bit hard yesterday, and since I don’t really know what I want to do with this omega yet, Ibetter play it a bit safer.

No, that’s a lie. I knowexactlywhat I’d like to do with this omega, but whether or not that’s a good idea is a whole separate issue.

“Hey, man,” Calloway greets me, looking nervous as hell.

I nod at him, all my intrigue melting away my misgivings in the face of a well-rested omega that smells like filthy sex and the sweetest berries. “Morning, Omega. Sleep well?”

Oops. I forgot she doesn’t like being called Omega.

She doesn’t correct me though.

She simply stands in front of me, hands on her hips, looking me over from head to toe with her head at an angle. “I did, thank you…”

Calloway is ruffling through the fridge and pulling out pans and shit to presumably cook something for the woman, but I can do her one better.

I flip up the cloche next to me and slide the plate of oversized blueberry muffins her way, a peace offering I was keeping in my back pocket. I pull my feet off the table, deciding my caveman act has run its course, and use my newly freed limbs to push a chair out for her to sit in.

She eyes it warily, then the muffins, her eyes growing huge at the sight. They’re topped with a perfectly buttery crumble topping and sanding sugar, so I know they’re pretty. Since I made them, I also happen to know they taste incredible.

When she sits, Calloway produces a plate for the muffin she reaches for, then goes about pulling fresh fruit out of the fridge to slice up. My alpha is happy to see her touchingthe food we made.

I lean forward to watch her eat the first bite, not at all disappointed when she lets out a low groan. It barely fits in her hands, and she looks like she’s practicing a lot of constraint to appear dainty while eating it.

“You’re not going to offend me if you bite into that properly, you know.”

She pauses with a mouth full of pastry, swallows, and then absolutely goes for it. Teeth digging in, mouth wide open, she shoves that fucking thing in the way I’d love to shove something else in her mouth, and she seems to enjoy it as much as I’m sure I would, too.

“This…is incredible,” she finally says when she pauses to drink a sip of coffee that Calloway has placed down for her.

And…that’s enough of that for now. She’s making my insides squiggly, and I don’t really like it. I’ve got a sculpture to work on anyway.

Without another word I head to my workshop at the back of the property and blast my music that’s more drums than anything else, cranked loud enough to drown out the rest of the world. I have a commission for a sparrow the size of a small car for a botanical garden a few towns over, and I’m ahead of schedule but my hands tend to get itchy if I go too long without progress.

The afternoon slips away in a blur of curling metal feathers and soldering them to a giant wing, my welder’s garb keeping me from being burned by the heat. It doesn’t matter how much molten metal I create and let cool, or how many fine details I etch in places that likely won’t ever be seen, or even how my skull is practically rattlingaround from the music, I can never get my thoughts too far from the omega in my house.

Her scent seems to follow me around. I shouldn’t be able to smell anything but the sharpness of metal I’m beating into submission, but even through all that I’m getting phantom whisps of berries ripe from the summer sun and invasive wisteria that climbs and covers everything it can reach. I have a feeling that’s a relatable phenomenon.

Eventually I get to a place where the creativity spent leaves me exhausted, wilted, and in need of sitting somewhere dark and soft, so I get my tools cleaned up and put all my things in their homes, admiring my work for a few minutes before I know I’ve postponed it long enough. It’s time to head inside and see what the omega is up to.

I stretch my arms and shut off the insanely loud music that’s going to be reverberating around in my blood for a little bit longer, then pause before crossing the threshold of my workshop.

There’s something trying to catch my attention, something…

A whimper, muffled by a door or a wall maybe, but there. Again.

Instantly on alert, I head towards my storage room I’ve hardly touched today, where I keep my extra supplies or bits and bobs left over from old projects, the smell of my omega even sharper.

No, notmyomega.Theomega.

It’s clear she’s trying to mute herself. I lock the door behind me so nothing will frighten her away, my alpha wrestling with me internally for control. He wants me topull her into our arms and fix whatever’s bothering her, and for once, we are in agreement.