Page 8 of That Defining Moment

“Right. What would you like instead, then?”

Cassian’s face cleared instantly, the revulsion replaced by wide eyes and a slow blink that bordered on simpering. “I’ll take whatever you’ll give me, alpha.”

Lysander snorted into his coffee, and was halfway to saying Oh, I bet when Hamish’s gaze landed on him. Lysander closed his mouth. Hamish held the look for one more second, turned and extracted a box of muesli from the pantry. He grabbed the Greek yoghurt from the fridge, mixed in three times the amount of honey that any reasonable person would consider acceptable, then shook muesli over the top of it all.

He slid the bowl across the counter. Cassian eyed it, then looked up at Hamish with those devastating eyes.

“Does that have raisins?”

Hamish’s hands clenched into fists on the counter. “Yes?”

Cassian’s face fell.

With a sigh that came from somewhere deep in his soul, Hamish pulled the bowl back across the counter, picked up a spoon, and began the absolutely ridiculous task of picking out raisins.

There were so many raisins. An unreasonable number of them, Lysander noted. Who had authorised this ratio? This was supposed to be a health food, not a raisin delivery system masquerading as breakfast. Hamish fished them out one by one with the spoon.

Cassian watched him work, that soft smile returning to his face. The little pile of rejected raisins on the counter beside the chopping board grew steadily, and so did the hot, tight knot of irritation in Lysander.

Finally, Hamish handed the raisin-free bowl back to Cassian.

Cassian picked up the spoon, scooped up a generous mound of honey-drenched muesli, and took a bite. His eyes closed as a pleased hum rose from the back of his throat, the sort of sound that Lysander himself usually reserved for very different contexts.

“Thank you,” Cassian said, looking directly at Hamish. “You’re a very good alpha.”

It was fortunate that Cassian chose that moment to drift towards the living room with his bowl, because Lysander was three seconds from hurling the marmalade toast into his perfect face. He glared at Hamish across the island. Hamish did not meet his eyes.

From the living room came Cassian’s voice. “Alpha? I can’t figure out the telly again.”

Hamish set down his coffee mug, pushed off from the counter, and trudged into the living room with his shoulders bowed in.

The telly came on at a volume that rattled the windows, then dropped to something more reasonable. A moment later Hamish reappeared in the doorway, retrieved his coffee, and took a long sip.

Lysander fixed him with a flat stare. “What the fuck was that about?”

“Don’t make a big deal of it, Sander.”

“The little shit was playing you.” Lysander set down his mug, folded his hands under his chin, and pitched his voice high and breathy, saccharine enough to rot teeth. “I’ll take whatever you’ll give me, alpha.” He snorted. “You handpicked the raisins out of your packaged muesli just because he made pretty sad eyes at you, Hamish. He’s conditioned you into that in less than a month! Dog trainers would kill for those results.”

“If I don’t sort his breakfast, he doesn’t eat.” Hamish set his mug down. “That’s not a figure of speech. He’ll sit there until lunchtime with an empty stomach and not say a word about it, because asking twice isn’t something he knows how to do. Or, and this is the option that scares me, he’ll wander out the front door, still in the nude, and find somebody else to arrange it for him.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“He got from a compound in the Dandenongs to my doorstep with no money, no mobile, and no idea what a Myki card was. Luckily, the man he asked for a lift was a decent bloke, and he got to my house safe. He absolutely would strike out on his own without thinking about what could happen to him.” Hamish leaned back against the counter. “He was raised to believe that omegas, male omegas especially, exist to be cherished and spoiled by the alphas around them. He has no instinct that any of it is a problem.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“He needs my help.” Hamish shrugged. “He could do with yours too, honestly. Maybe if he sees how a normal omega operates —”

“I’m hardly normal.”

“No, you’re extraordinary.” Hamish’s mouth curved. “Genuinely. And you’re handling all this far better than I thought you would. I expected at least one mug thrown at my head by now.”

“Don’t.” Lysander pointed at him. “I know when you’re trying to butter me up. I could have done with a warning about him, Hamish. Any warning during any one of our calls in the time he’s been staying with you. Just a simple: by the way, a naked cult survivor has taken over my spare room.”

“And what exactly would that have sounded like from your end?” Hamish spread his hands. “Think it through. Hi Sander, quick update: I’ve taken in a survivor from the high control group I was filming. He does his morning rituals starkers in my back garden, he can’t cross a road on his own because he’s never once left the compound unaccompanied, and until three weeks ago he was married off to a millionaire who kept him like a pet. Would you have kept taking my calls if I’d told you that with thousands of miles between us?”

In the living room, Cassian was sitting cross-legged on the floor with his muesli in his lap, watching a meerkat running across the screen with rapt attention.