Page 38 of Daisy (Omega Chosen #3)

Hawk

A week since the pasta disaster.

That's how I'm measuring time now. Seven days since Daisy, August, and Cassian disappeared into that bedroom and came out looking like they'd discovered the meaning of life. Seven days of watching her glow with new confidence while I stand on the sidelines like some kind of monk.

I wake up hard as a fucking rock and ready to punch something.

Her scent hits me the second consciousness returns—thick and sweet and so goddamn intoxicating my cock jerks against my jeans like I've been shocked. Honeysuckle and vanilla, but deeper. Like liquid sex poured over everything I've ever craved.

The scent goes straight to my head, makes my mouth water and my hands shake with the need to touch. My knot threatens to swell just from breathing her in, and I have to bite back a groan that would wake the whole damn cabin.

Seven days of this. Seven days of her getting bolder, more affectionate, more comfortable with her own wants.

Seven days of watching her choose everyone but me.

Through the thin walls, I can hear movement in the bedroom. Soft voices. The rustle of sheets. August's gentle murmur—something about making coffee—and then...

Oh, fuck me.

A soft, sleepy moan. Followed by what I'm pretty sure is kissing. Not just a peck either. The real deal. Slow and thorough and intimate as hell.

My cock throbs against my jeans, and I bite back a curse.

"Morning, sunshine," I hear August say, his voice warm with affection.

"Mmm, good morning," she replies, her voice is all husky with sleep and satisfaction. "Sleep well?"

"Best sleep of my life. You?"

"Perfect." Another kissing sound, longer this time. "I love waking up next to you."

I love waking up next to you.

The words hit me like a physical blow. Not because I'm jealous of August—okay, fine, I'm a little jealous—but because I want that too. Want to know what it feels like to have her choose me. To have her curl up against me and tell me she loves waking up in my arms.

I want to stop being the one she hasn't chosen yet.

I force myself up off the couch, running hands through my hair. Coffee. I need coffee and maybe a cold shower before I do something stupid like march into that bedroom and demand my turn.

Twenty minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom feeling marginally more human and significantly less likely to do something I'll regret. The cold water helped, but it didn't erase the sound of her soft moans or the satisfied sighs that followed.

When I step into the kitchen, the torture continues.

Gunner's at the table reading something on his phone. Normal enough. What's not normal is Daisy perched sideways on his lap, tracing patterns on his chest through his t-shirt like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"Find anything interesting?" she asks, pressing a kiss to his temple.

My chest clenches. When did touching Gunner become as natural as breathing for her?

"Maybe," he murmurs, showing her the screen. "There's a town about fifty miles south. Off the beaten path. Might be worth checking out if we need to move again."

"Hopefully we won't need to." She shifts on his lap, and Gunner's hands automatically settle on her waist to steady her. The gesture is so unconsciously protective it makes my teeth ache. "I like it here. Feels safe."

"Good," Gunner says, and there's satisfaction in his voice. Pride. Like making her feel safe is his greatest accomplishment.

Maybe it is.

I start the coffee with more force than necessary, trying to ignore the way her scent keeps drifting over. Trying not to think about how she's never sat on my lap like that. Never traced patterns on my skin. Never kissed my temple like I'm something precious.

The coffee maker gurgles to life, and I lean against the counter, watching them. She's wearing one of Gunner's hoodies—soft navy blue cotton that swallows her whole—and her dark hair is messy from sleep. She looks relaxed like this. Happier. More herself than I've ever seen her.

It's beautiful.

It's also driving me slowly insane.

"Morning, Hawk," she says, finally noticing me. Her smile is warm but careful. Like she's not sure how to act around me anymore.

"Morning, princess." The endearment comes out rougher than I want. "Sleep well?"

"Really well." Pink creeps up her neck, and I catch a spike in her scent. Sweet and sharp and embarrassed. "You?"

"Like a baby," I lie with a grin. "A very large, very frustrated baby."

That gets a laugh out of her, and the sound goes straight to my chest. When's the last time I made her laugh like that?

I need to get my shit together. She's free to choose whoever she wants, and I should be happy for Gunner. He's my oldest friend, my pack brother. I should be grateful I even found my scent match at all, especially in someone so incredible. Hell, most beta-born alphas never get that lucky.

But her scent is getting stronger every day, more intoxicating, and it's making it impossible to keep being the good guy. I'm wound up so tight I might go into rut if I don't jerk off a hundred times a day. And even that's not helping anymore.

She nods, then turns back to Gunner's phone like I'm dismissed. The casual dismissal stings more than it should.

When Cassian emerges from the bathroom, hair damp from his shower, Daisy's whole demeanor shifts. She slides off Gunner's lap and moves toward Cassian like she's drawn by a magnet.

"Morning," she practically purrs, hands settling on his chest as she goes up on her toes to kiss his jaw. Not his cheek. His jaw, right where his pulse jumps.

My coffee mug cracks in my grip.

When we first brought her here, she was terrified of Cassian. Flinched every time he got too close. Now she can't seem to get enough of him. Of everyone except me, apparently.

"You smell good," she murmurs against his skin.

Cassian makes a sound low in his throat. "Stronger today," he says simply.

I grab my jacket from the hook by the door. "I'm going to check the perimeter," I announce to no one in particular.

"Want company?" Gunner asks, but he's already turning back to his phone, Daisy settling against his side again.

"Nah. Three's a crowd, and I'm clearly the odd man out in this love fest," I say with a grin that probably looks more forced than charming.

But Daisy's head snaps up, something guilty flickering across her face. The look hits me right in the chest—I hate that I made her feel bad.

I'm out the door before anyone can argue.

The morning air is crisp and clean, but it doesn't help. She's in my system now. Under my skin. In my blood.

There's a pile of logs near the back of the cabin that need splitting. I grab the axe and get to work, using my frustration to fuel each swing. Physical work. Something I can control.

I lose myself in the rhythm, working out the restless energy that's been eating at me all week. Sweat builds despite the cool air, and I strip off my jacket, then my shirt. Let the cold bite at my skin. Wake me up. Clear my head.

Doesn't work.

"You're going to hurt yourself swinging that hard."

I spin around, axe still raised, and nearly drop it when I see her standing at the edge of the clearing.

She's wearing black leggings and Gunner's hoodie and her dark hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail.

On her feet are the fluffy boots Dante picked up for her the last time he went out for supplies.

But it's the way she's looking at me that stops my heart.

Her eyes are locked on my bare chest, pupils dilating as she takes in every inch of exposed skin,the scruff I've been too distracted to shave properly.

I watch her tongue dart out to wet her lips, and her scent spikes so sharp and sweet it makes my knot threaten to swell right there.

"Princess." I lower the axe, hyperaware that I'm shirtless and sweating, that she's staring at me like she wants to lick every drop of moisture off my skin. "Didn't hear you come out."

Her scent is so embedded in my head that I didn't even catch it when she approached. How long has she been watching me?

"You were pretty focused." She moves closer, and I can actually smell her arousal now. Thick and musky and so fucking perfect my cock throbs against my jeans. Her eyes haven't left my torso, mapping every muscle, every line of ink. "Gunner sent me to check on you. Said you seemed... tense. "

Tense. That's one way to put it.

"I'm fine." I turn back to the logs, but I can feel her watching me. "Just working out some... tension. You know how it is."

"Hawk."

Something in her voice makes me look at her again. She's closer now, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her dark eyes. Close enough to smell the way her scent is shifting, growing sweeter by the second.

"Are you avoiding me?"

The direct question catches me off guard. "What? No. Why would I?—"

"Because you've been different lately." She crosses her arms, and it pushes her breasts up against the soft fabric of Gunner's hoodie. I try not to stare, but fuck, she's swimming in it. Sleeves pushed up to her elbows. "Distant. Like you don't want to be around me."

"That's not—" I stop, run a hand through my hair. How do I explain this without sounding like a jealous asshole? "It's complicated."

"Uncomplicate it."

The challenge in her voice makes my cock twitch. When did she get so bold? When did she stop being the terrified omega who flinched at shadows and start being this confident woman who demands answers?

"You want the truth?" The words come out rougher than I intend. "Watching you with them is killing me. And not in the fun way."

She blinks, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I mean watching you choose everyone but me. Watching you get comfortable with them while I'm still standing on the outside looking in." The admission tastes like failure. "It's torture. The good kind and the bad kind all rolled into one."

"You think I don't want you?"

The quiet question stops me cold.

"Do you?" I ask, and my voice comes out smaller than I want.