Page 29 of Generation Omega: Claimed (Originverse #3)

ETHAN

Someone has a case of the surlies , and I think it might be me. After all that glowy wonder at our first pack meal—especially with my stunning lack of humility regarding my omega-approved, bacon cheesy bread aroma—I expected the high to last more than ten minutes or so. But here we are.

I’m seated beside Kaz as he drives the yacht around the ocean, feeling my murkiness index spiking.

I mean, I don’t need to be here. My presence definitely isn’t required, considering my esteemed alpha is refusing to use any of his words, either directly into my brain or out of his attractive mouth.

I asked a dozen questions and received a dozen silences , which is annoying as fuck.

Without any available explanation, I don’t know what this is.

Did I do something wrong? Fuck that—I know I didn’t do a damn thing wrong, at least not intentionally, and a good alpha knows that intentions matter.

A good alpha wouldn’t allow me to sit here stewing, while using my worsening mood as a cheap form of entertainment.

Hold on… I can’t stop Kaz from listening to my thoughts, but I can control this station’s programming.

Since he’s apparently enjoying my displeasure, it’s only fair to share the wealth.

I sigh audibly and begin singing 99 Bottles of Beer in my head, just for my alpha’s pleasure.

What’s striking is that I’m just as horrendous a singer even when I don’t open my mouth.

Unfortunately, by the time I reach 88 Bottles of Beer , I’m ready to grab an anchor and head for the depths.

Who would have thought assassins had this kind of patience? But sadists gotta sadist , and if he’s been cut off by the violence bartender, shouldn’t I expect him to find new, less bloody ways to get his evil jollies? My shoulders dip, and I study my hands, the letdown dragging me deeper.

Is this a lesson in submission? An official rubbing the beta’s nose in the more exacting side of surrendering to an alpha?

Is he expecting me to tap out and just sit here like an obedient beta, adoringly awaiting my alpha’s attention when he finally condescends to notice me? No, really—is that what this is?

Fucking crickets.

What do I want from him? What do I want for myself?

Answers—that’s what I want. He fucking collapsed, and I need to understand why and whether it will happen again. Is he okay now, or is he going to drop dead and…

I stop that thought before it reaches its selfish conclusion.

Kaz, you should be resting.

I hate crickets.

Fine. Here it is. Someone else could pilot the damn boat —yeah, I called it a boat . Don’t you want to punish me for my incorrect nautical terminology?

Nothing —no response at all.

Okay then, asshole .

There’s one thing I haven’t attempted, and I’m not sure why I didn’t start there. I begin to stand and find myself shoved back into my seat by an intense bark from my huffy alpha.

Just tell me what you want from me, Kaz. Or what I did to deserve the silent treatment. If you already regret bonding me…

That elicits a response in the form of an impressive rumbling inner growl.

Kaz did warn me. A guy who’s never even had a goldfish can’t exactly be expected to suddenly win Responsible Alpha Points .

I’m lucky I’m not floating belly-up in a little glass bowl already.

My alpha is not a man of the people. He’s fantastic in a crisis though—he proved that.

So, maybe I should just sit here and allow for some quiet reflection on the nature of the universe.

That lasts roughly three seconds before I remember that abject obedience doesn’t suit an MMA fighter.

Go figure. While Kaz isn’t much of a goldfish tamer, I’m not much of a domesticated goldfish.

When I enter a cage, it’s to fight. But since I can’t pummel anyone, I’ll have to try something else.

Testing my boundaries like a bratty child who was told to stay in his room, but who steps one inch into the hall just to see what happens, I pivot in my chair with my ass still on the seat.

Not going anywhere, my liege … if that’s okay with you, of course.

Even the crickets’ cousins are silent now.

Well, at the very least, I gained a different view, and it’s not a bad one.

Gideon’s a gorgeous man, charming, kind, strong, able to not only remember lines, but carry on full conversations.

I wonder what would happen if I asked him to be my alpha.

Oh, he does first alpha tremendously well—maybe I should ask him…

I release an embarrassing squeak when my nuts abruptly find themselves in an invisible vice that’s compressing more by the second. My cock is rigidly erect and pulsing painfully.

Okay… fine —I get it. You are my one and only alpha… for now .

My harsh gasp draws Gideon’s amused glance.

Even from the kitchen where he’s doing dishes, our first alpha is aware of the complicated dance of newly bonded mates, where one-half of the pair is a psychopath and the other is downright surly.

Fabulous. We’re the pack’s freaking sideshow. Next, we’ll be wearing clown makeup.

Without moving—without even touching me—it feels like Kaz’s hot, calloused hand is around my cock. He wouldn’t get me off like this, just using his power over me… in front of the other alphas. Right? That wouldn’t be appropriate, would it?

For fifteen of the longest seconds of my life, I think he might actually do it, and it fries all my brain cells. But then the extreme pressure vanishes, along with the perception of his touch, and I deflate in more ways than one.

Please, just say something. We could be downstairs together, talking, fucking, connecting. We made it through the heat. I want to know what comes next for us.

I think Kaz sprayed poison on the last remaining imaginary crickets, stealing even their last desperate echoes.

I can’t decide how to process this unexpected situation.

Am I angry? Am I being a jerk? Am I expecting more from him than I should?

Am I too needy? Or am I just a bored brat who misses the fervor of the heat now that it’s over?

The fact that my pulse stirs over that last option is more uncomfortable than I want to admit.

Since I don’t dare look at Gideon again, I turn my attention toward the two men I would never want to bite me, even if their bonds were the only hope of saving myself or the entire freaking universe.

Thatcher and Jameson are seated on the couches in the back.

Jameson is about a hundred questions into his game of twenty questions about the omegaverse, and Thatcher is rattling off answer after answer, seeming almost content for the first time since joining this yacht party.

It’s too bad they can’t be forced to bond each other and elope a million miles from here.

Personally, I don’t mind Jameson, but he’s way too attractive—to Tillie, not to me, I quickly add to prevent another cock torture session.

“Oh, fuck—not again ,” Kaz grumbles, staring down at his crotch, his flag flying high. Oh, looky here… the omegaverse’s brand of instant karma. My cock isn’t the only cock that can be controlled remotely—well, how about that, alpha ?

Kaz utters a string of severe-sounding words in Russian, likely about the omegaverse, but who knows?

He could be listing the ingredients in his favorite dessert for all I know.

Damn, I thought it, and now he knows just how irritating it would be for him to finally speak to me, but in a language I don’t know. The dickhead would totally do that.

I feel his probing awareness in my mind and heart, like he’s searching for something.

It’s easy to guess. He’s interested in my reaction to what inspired his abruptly flying flag.

“I’m fine ,” I mutter. But am I? It’s like hitting a ramp with my old dirt bike and sailing into the air, awaiting the landing to determine whether there’s a crash in my future.

So, what’s the truth? Am I really fine with the source of Kaz’s unconsenting erection?

I am—I have to be. Tillie needs to connect with her alphas, and that’s what is happening above us right now.

A bowl clanks behind me, and I spin, watching Gideon hunch over and grip the counter. Beside me, Kaz groans hostilely.

“What now?”

Gideon grimaces, his normally suave face truly out of sorts. “Mackenzie just bonded Tillie.” He rolls his neck, massaging it ruthlessly. “Oh, wow…”

“Really?” Thatcher asks, rising and moving toward Gideon. “That’s good. But why are you… what are you feeling?”

Gideon’s teeth lock together, and he appears to be fiercely straining to reopen them.

He might need a crowbar, though I doubt that’s handy on a fancy boat.

Eventually, he manages to say, “It feels like someone’s moving in on my territory, claiming part of what belongs to me.

It’s not fluffy or fun, this omegaverse of yours. ”

“Damn,” Jameson blurts, “what just changed? It’s worse now.”

Gideon clears his throat twice, and his words are so constricted they’re barely understandable. “It’s not Tillie and Mackenzie now—it’s Ory and the omega. It feels like a heat’s about to begin again .” Gideon grunts through some serious discomfort.

“What the fuck?!” Jameson’s gawking at his tented pants. “It’s my dick. Down, dick— down .”

“Trust me, Jameson,” Gideon ruefully murmurs, “it’s much worse once you have a knot.”

“Speaking of…” Ignoring his rogue cock, Jameson launches the next round of questions, now about knots, but only makes it through one before Kaz snarls wildly, and Gideon snaps his teeth together so loudly it sends a chill through me.

“What?” I’m going to keep repeating that word every five seconds until I don’t feel so excluded from our pack’s current events.

Gideon hisses. “Oh, that fucker just bit her—Ory this time, on her breast, and she’s keening inside, calling us all to her like she’ll die if she doesn’t get all our knots in the next few seconds.”