Page 17 of Generation Omega: Claimed (Originverse #3)

ETHAN

Five fucking days and, by five fucking days, I mean five fucking days.

I’m officially a porn god, one whose dick may actually fall off any minute.

I’d certainly miss it, but it’s not like I can grouse that I never got to participate in an orgy or fuck more than any beta in the history of the world.

Rock stars would envy the past five steamy, sweaty days of my life, and that’s a reality I never imagined could be true, but it is.

I know when the endorphins, testosterone, dopamine, and whatever erotic fairy dust omegas produce finally fade, I’ll have a chance to find my balance again, and also my clothes.

I’ve been naked for five days straight. Everyone other than Kaz and Mr. Kilt has been buck-ass naked this whole time.

After things get back to normal—whatever that means—I’ll probably be able to remember something other than the sex, but right now, my mind is a nonstop slideshow of everything I’ve seen and done in the nest.

For a while there, I didn’t know whether we were hosting a slick wrestling meet, a contortionist convention, or an all-male grunting choir—possibly all three at the same time.

One thing is unquestionably certain. If Kaz weren’t minding my body’s affairs, I would be one heap of pulled muscles and serious chafing.

But with my alpha’s support, I’m magically immune to the consequences of being a beta in an alpha rut.

Even my gunshot wounds, burns, and bruises are healing nicely.

During the past five days, I’m the only one who’s left the nest, because the alphas physically can’t leave their omega.

The bathroom is attached to the nest, thank goodness, but none of them are eating anything, other than their omega, and she’s devouring what they’re giving her.

Kaz, nanny that he is, won’t let me go without food and water, so I get banished every so often to seek carbs and more carbs.

I also sleep a lot because I’m not wired like everyone else, and Kaz knows exactly when to turn me off like I’m a toy that needs charging.

When I’m in the nest, spectator or participant, I can see what’s happening, the pack forming through the connection forced by biology.

But when I leave and I’m standing naked in the kitchen, like I am now, I get tripped up by the potential costs of this required course in all things carnal.

For the pack to truly form, individual needs and desires must be abandoned—that’s what I’m guessing—and I don’t know what that looks like after the heat ends.

The other thing that keeps dive-bombing my scattered thoughts is what Mr. Kilt said, that no one in the pack is meant to remember anything that happens during a heat.

Kaz is still holding onto his control, but he’s looking haggard from the effort.

I don’t know how much longer he can endure, and he gets super surly any time I doubt him.

But, at least for this heat, he’ll remember most of it, just as I will.

What impacts me like a swarm of wasps is the awareness that, in the future, I’ll be the only one who carries our pack’s full history.

I don’t know why that bothers me so much, but it does.

It reminds me of the feeling I had before the heat commenced, that some part of me was a can squashed under a boot.

I still don’t understand it—this mysterious wound that’s surfacing—but, one day, I’ll figure it out and work through it, with the support of my alpha and my Tillie.

The longer I’m away from the nest, the more obvious and agonizing my longing is, to have my Tillie back.

It seems like a dream, when Kaz reached through me to connect with her, which saved us.

The man who came to kill this iteration of the omega lineage saved it again, and so did Tillie.

She honored her part, surrendering to the care of her alphas.

And Kaz honored his promise, because I’m safe and alive, and, to everyone but Thatcher, I’m pack.

Thatcher’s primal side is a real jackass, and he only got worse after losing his pussy privileges.

He’s never stopped snarling at me or attempting to bite Tillie, but Kaz took care of that by muzzling him.

Jameson is more easygoing, just happy to fuck with abandon whenever and wherever he’s allowed, but I have a feeling that might be due to his healthy fear of Kaz.

Kaz is managing the pack like a drill sergeant—he’s definitely the true pack guardian, most valuable alpha, and den mother all in one.

Only one member of the pack has denied every effort to be subdued, and that’s our omega.

She just won’t stop biting Mr. Kilt—she’s bitten him like twelve times.

After each fierce bite, he just purrs at her like she couldn’t be more adorable, and never once did he bite her back.

The omega legacy wasn’t wrong about him.

It still scrambles my soul that Tillie’s going to have to tend all those bites, especially the one in a sensitive area. But that’s not a problem we need to face yet.

While chugging a sports drink, I flinch as Kaz sends a fierce tug that practically drags me back to the nest. I leap down the stairs and barrel toward the door. Once inside, I find Tillie seated in the middle of the mattress, naked, her eyes open, her confusion and uneasiness radiating at me.

“Ethan?” she whispers, fighting a sob.