Page 33 of Claiming the Pack’s Omega (Riverwell Omegaverse #2)

Reyna

M y heart is pounding as I close myself in my new bedroom. I stumble into the bathroom, my knuckles white as I cling to the countertop like it’s the only thing that’s keeping me upright.

God, there’s just something about Theo that drives me crazy. It has since day one.

He was the first alpha I met who spoke to me like I was an actual person. Who made the effort to get to know me because he thought I was worth getting to know.

That’s scary as hell.

I glance up at myself in the mirror and wince.

Fuck, I look like shit. I can’t believe I let them see me like this.

The bags that have been under my eyes ever since this morning are revealed underneath the patchy, streaky areas where my tears have made my concealer fade. That, plus the mascara that started running too.

I look like a wild, rabid raccoon.

Makeup has been my shield, my armor, ever since I started this work when I first turned 18. It’s almost like it’s become a part of me. At home, I never wore any, because that was how I separated Reyna from Raine.

Now I’m balancing between this strange limbo because I’m living with four alphas.

Four alphas I’m very much attracted to.

Four alphas I want to look my best for.

I dig through my makeup bag and pull out a makeup wipe, furiously scrubbing at my face. It’s probably bad for my face, but I don’t give a shit right now.

When I’m done, there are still remnants of my dark eyeliner around my eyes and my skin is a little pink.

I want a shower. I need to cleanse myself of all these ridiculous fantasies that I’m capable of having something real with this pack.

I settle for splashing some cold water on my face to try and ground myself.

Dom’s last few text messages replay over and over through my brain.

I don’t know what game you’re fucking playing, but a Southside omega whore like you is only ever good for one thing. Just because you’re throwing your lot in with Northside alphas doesn’t mean they’re going to save you.

The Graylock Pack seems to be infatuated with me so far, but when they learn about my past, will they realize I have too much baggage to deal with and leave?

Even if they manage to stick around, once they’re done with me after this whole court case, once I no longer have any use to them, is that when they’ll leave?

I think the very fact I’m cataloging and mentally preparing myself for all the possible instances of when they’d leave is a bad sign. Maybe that’s what’ll get them to leave me eventually.

They’re good guys. Really good guys. Even if things don’t work out between us, they haven’t given me any indication that they’d jeopardize my family’s safety, or take away the things they’ve gifted us, in exchange for my help in the trial.

But that means the only thing left on the line is my heart.

I pat my face dry with the softest towel I’ve ever felt against my skin before looking at myself in the mirror again.

Am I willing to risk heartbreak all over again?

I swallow hard, digging through my makeup bag. I’ve survived heartache and betrayal once, I can do it again. I’ve never felt the way I do about this pack. Why ruin a possible good thing before it’s even started? It’s not like I have to bond with them, or anything.

I can’t go out, bare-faced, but I don’t think I need to do the heavier makeup I’m used to. I settle for a lip tint and a little more mascara. They’ll have the privilege of seeing my eye bags tonight, I guess.

I make my way downstairs to see Theo rummaging around the fridge, a whole spread of ingredients he’s already pulled out on the kitchen island.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight, Mr. Chef?” I ask, leaning against the entrance to the kitchen.

He smirks at me over my shoulder.

“Unfortunately, I’ve gotta appeal to the taste of the guys here, so there’s still going to be steak, but I was thinking shrimp scampi.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Seriously? That’s fancy as fuck.”

I don’t think I’ve ever had shrimp scampi. We never earned enough to afford going out to eat and the idea of paying for any sort of fish or seafood that doesn’t come out of a can is scary.

“I’ve got a beautiful omega to wow," he shrugs, taking out a few pieces of what I assume to be steak, wrapped in fancy butcher paper.

Damn, they must shop at the bougie grocery stores too, if their meat doesn’t come in a styrofoam container wrapped in plastic.

It takes me a second for his compliment to register, given how distracted I am by how differently we live.

I raise an eyebrow, and the corner of my lips tug up in a ghost of a smile.

“Really? Throwing out cheap compliments already?”

He stops in front of me, his expression instantly sobering.

“They’re true. You’re stunning.” He reaches up slowly, giving me enough time to push his hand away or take a step back, before he brushes some of my hair away from my face. “I like this new look.”

It’s all he says about my makeup—or lack thereof—before he starts fluttering around the kitchen.

“You ready to rumble, my little sous chef?” He asks me before tossing his suit jacket over the back of one of the barstools and rolling up the sleeves to his white dress shirt.

My eyes immediately gravitate to the sight and the flexing muscles of his forearms.

Fuck, he’s hot.

He knows it, too, if the self-satisfied expression I see on his face when I finally jerk my gaze away from his arms is any indication.

“My eyes are up here, Spitfire,” he chuckles. “I said, are you ready?” He pumps his arm in the air like some sort of sports coach.

I roll my eyes, fighting the grin that’ll only pump up his ego. “Yeah, yeah, I’m ready.”

“Great, I’ll have you prep the roasted asparagus while I get started on the pasta, sound good?”

“Sure,” I nod, moving over to where the asparagus is set out. After a quick tour in the kitchen, the two of us settle into a bit of a rhythm.

Cooking has always been a thing I’ve had to get done because my siblings needed to be fed, but I can tell by the way Theo moves around the kitchen and the ease and familiarity he does his thing, that it’s more than that to him.

“How’d you get into cooking? Doesn’t seem like the most dominant thing an alpha like you would be into,” I say, sprinkling some olive oil over the baking sheet of asparagus I’m prepping.

“I mean, it started ‘cause I wanted to make sure my mom would actually eat something, since she had a bad habit of not taking care of herself," he says, his back to me.

There’s a sadness that’s obvious in the set of his shoulders as he tosses up the contents of the pan with a practiced motion.

“Then I realized I liked it, the control aspect of it, you know?”

“So you’re saying you’re a control freak,” I say, popping the baking tray into the oven.

I feel his presence at my back freakishly fast.

I whirl around and look up at him, my pulse pounding at the base of my neck. For a couple of reasons. One? Because he scared the shit out of me, he was seriously halfway across the room and this kitchen isn’t small. Two? Because the look he’s giving me has my petrichor scent thickening.

God, there’s no hiding anything from him either. He knows exactly what I’m thinking.

I hate my omega scent sometimes. I’d much rather be a beta. Betas’ emotions are far harder to read.

Though, based on his scent matching my intensity, maybe we’re on the same page.

“Oh, I’m a big fan of control," he murmurs, his hands coming to rest at my hips.

His eyes dart between my eyes and down to my lips slowly, almost lazily, as if he has all the time in the world to take me in.

“Maybe that’s something I’ll get to show you," he whispers, leaning down and brushing his lips against the shell of my ear.

A shiver runs down my spine.

I swallow hard and clear my throat in an attempt to clear my head.

“Your fancy pasta’s burning,” I croak out.

His head jerks towards the stove and he curses under his breath.

“Fuck.” He turns back to me, that dark sparkle in his amber eyes leaving me rooted to the ground. “We’re not done with this conversation. Stay put.”

A minute later and he’s saved the pasta and put it in a large serving dish.

And I just stand there, leaning against the counter behind me, my feet planted to the ground.

There’s a part of me that wanted to move just to see what he’d do—that’s the normal, sane part of my brain that I’m used to using—but I don’t. Instead, I stand still, watching his every move through a new light.

A light that’s seriously leaving me hot and bothered.

He saunters back over to me, a cocky smirk on his lips.

“So you can listen to instructions," he says, returning his hands to my hips and giving them a subtle squeeze.

“And you can give them,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think you’ve shown me this side of you before.”

“I mean, the appeal for me is when someone gives up their control to me. That kind of trust is intoxicating ,” he says, leaning down to the crook of my neck and breathing in like he’s sniffing a line of me.

My eyes flutter shut, and my hands come up to grip the belt loops of his slacks. The omega part of my brain takes control of my body and tilts my neck to give him better access.

The little hussy.

She has the right idea, though, especially when I feel the near ghost-like brush of Theo’s lips against the base of my neck.

“I—I forgive you for lying to me, and I understand why you did it, but I need to know how much of what you shared with me was a lie,” I breathe out. Fuck, why the hell does my voice sound so breathy?

He stands straight, his chest expanding with a deep breath as he looks down at me. It seems to take him a second to ground himself back in reality, which definitely makes me feel a lot better about my body’s reaction to his.

“None of it, really,” he shrugs.

“Okay,” I say, nodding slowly. “I believe you.”

I look up into his amber eyes, which still carry the heavy intensity of his desire for me.