Page 7 of That Defining Moment

The kitchen was small and cluttered. Cookbooks were stacked horizontally on a shelf above the kettle, their spines cracked and pages flagged with Post-it notes. A corkboard on the wall held a mess of receipts and random Polaroids.

Lysander’s head drooped over his coffee as he sat in the warmth of this room, with Hamish close by and radiating his alpha scent. The jet lag was pressing him down into the stool and weighing down his eyelids. They were just beginning to slide shut when the yelling started.

“I WELCOME THE BLESSINGS OF THIS LIGHT-FILLED DAY.”

Lysander’s head snapped up so fast he nearly fell off his stool.

“I OPEN MY HEART TO THE DIVINE ABUNDANCE OF THE UNIVERSE.”

The voice was coming from the back garden, carrying clear and bright through the open window, projected at the Melbourne sky with the conviction of someone who fully expected the Universe to talk back to him.

Lysander turned to face Hamish, his eyes gone wide.

Hamish took a sip of his coffee, looking completely unbothered. “He does this every morning.”

“I RELEASE ALL DARKNESS AND MAKE SPACE WITHIN MY BODY FOR THE SACRED GIFTS OF CREATION.”

“Every morning?” Lysander repeated.

Hamish nodded. “Sometimes he does a bit about channelling the earth’s magnetic field through his reproductive organs. Sometimes it’s just: I remain receptive to the divine rod of creation. That one really gets the neighbour’s Jack Russells going.”

The back door swung open, and Cassian swept into the room. He was completely naked. His skin was flushed pink from the cold, and he moved through the kitchen without a trace of self-consciousness, his cock swinging with each stride. He stopped at the island, placed both hands flat on the counter, and announced, “I’m hungry.”

Lysander looked at him flatly over the rim of his coffee mug. “Okay?”

Cassian locked eyes with him, apparently waiting for something more substantial to happen as a result of this announcement.

There it was again. The wide eyes and the expectant pause. Then that gorgeous body deployed to its best advantage. Cassian performed vulnerability perfectly and aimed it directly at the nearest alpha. Lysander recognised the routine because he’d spent the better part of a decade weaponising it himself.

Hamish was already on his feet and reaching for the bread. “Toast, Cass?”

“Yes please, alpha.”

Cassian’s eyes tracked Hamish from the bread bin to the toaster to the cutlery drawer.

“What the fuck were you doing out there?” Lysander asked.

Hamish slotted two slices into the toaster while Cassian chattered away behind him, each sentence running into the next without pause.

“You swear a lot. That’s not how a male omega Calyx should be conducting himself.” Cassian leaned forward on his elbows, chin propped in both hands. “Maybe you should join me in my morning practice. It might make you less cranky.”

“I’m not cranky. I’m jet-lagged.”

Cassian ignored this entirely. “You ground yourself with the earth, right? Press your feet or your palms into the ground and really feel the connection.” His pale eyes were shining. “Then you declare your availability for the Universe’s offerings. You open yourself to abundance. You make space for blessings within your heart, and drive all that dark sarcasm and bad attitude out of yourself.” He beamed at Lysander. “That’s how I met Hamish! He asked me to show him the ways of our practice at the Family of Light’s compound.”

The toast popped up. Hamish pulled out a jar of marmalade, the good stuff, made from Seville oranges, and spread it across both slices. Edge to edge, the knife smoothing it carefully so there were no gaps and no thin spots. He slid the plate across the counter to Cassian, who looked at it as though Hamish had just served him a dead mouse on a doily.

“What’s that?”

“Marmalade.”

Cassian leaned in closer, examining the orange spread with suspicion. Then he stuck out his tongue and touched just the very tip of it to the surface of the toast. His face scrunched up immediately, his mouth twisting into an expression of pure betrayal.

“No,” Cassian said, pushing the plate away with both hands. “Absolutely not.”

Hamish exhaled slowly through his nose. “It’s marmalade, Cass. Not poison.”

“It’s bitter and weird.”