Page 59 of Generation Omega: Claimed (Originverse #3)

KAZIMIR

What the fuck am I doing? Strike that. I know exactly what I’m doing.

I’m pacing maniacally, and I can’t make myself stop.

We arrived at this stupid mansion with its stupidly large doors.

Do giants come for tea, because these ridiculous doors would accommodate them?

But all the other furnishings are designed for humans, which makes me wonder why rich assholes need such pointlessly ginormous doors.

Notwithstanding the offending entry, the estate is massive, completely deserted, and possesses numerous egress routes.

But it isn’t truly defensible, though nowhere is with drones in the air and all life forms eventually requiring sustenance.

It’s so much easier—and more enjoyable—to be the hunter than the prey.

All things being equal, this was an unwise change of occupation.

But all things aren’t equal, and as I observe the strategically banal box truck moving up the drive, my fluttery heart agrees that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

It really is a perilous undertaking, awakening one’s heart after a lifelong slumber.

A sane man would never attempt such a thing, but sanity itself seems like a cage I outgrew without even realizing it.

Logic. Control. Indifference. All are assets to an assassin, but now, with this beating heart summoning a vibrant palette of pleasantly frenetic emotions, I see those assets for what they actually were—the rusty bars of my old prison.

Damn, that’s a poetically mature way to view the absolute upheaval in my inner world.

In truth, I feel like a teenager who asked the most amazing boy in school to go with him to the dance, and instead of getting an answer, that boy—that incredible soul who is better than I will be if I live and learn for a thousand years—said he had to think about it.

I’m sixteen again, but this isn’t an adolescence I ever knew.

There were no dances. No enjoyable activities between the mundanely brutal war to survive another day.

My heart wasn’t safe to exist then, and it certainly isn’t now, not with so much to lose.

The concept of fear, the power of concern, the enormity of uncertainty—all are viscerally awful. If only I could give myself a dose of coma and take a break from all this ruminating that’s about as distasteful as gargling battery acid. Fuck … I’m worried about everything .

With Ethan, I’m about to confront the possibility that he’s not just declined my invitation to let me love him all his life, but that I’m going to have to set him free. Anguish … that’s a new one for me.

With Tillie, the countdown to our bond is nearing its end. How will I maintain any of my barriers under the onslaught of a connection to my fated omega, if I’m believing the hype? She can’t know—anymore than Ethan—who I am, what I serve, and how I live.

With the pack, I’m facing an unimaginable dilemma—what I’m going to do if they’re cruel to Thatcher.

I want to brush it off. I don’t want to care about Dr. Pretentious Shitbag, but with excruciating revulsion, I have to own that I wouldn’t be obsessing about the pack’s potential misbehavior if I didn’t care.

The idea that they might use their power over this powerless wretch—even in jest—makes me physically sick.

Surely, Gideon won’t allow it, even if I did. But Gideon wasn’t on Team Save Thatcher . What if he’s decided to end Thatcher, or he wants me to do it? No, he won’t. Moreover, I wouldn’t let him.

Fucking really??? Thatcher Heap is the hill I’m finally willing to die on? Oof , that’s pure ugly right there.

I keep waiting for the omega legacy to mock me, but it’s suspiciously silent as the truck stops outside the monster-friendly doors that might be twice Mackenzie’s size—stupid fucking doors.

I’m still pacing across the beige-infested wasteland of excessive wealth in the hands of vapid people.

Beige tile is beneath my boots as I stomp to the sunken living room’s beige carpet, and then to the far wall with its beige brick hearth.

I spin and march back, but only make it to the enormous beige doors.

I have to stop. I must stand and face them when they enter.

I need to get a handle on myself and gather enough fury to keep me standing if Ethan has elected to…

Fuck this. Fuck waiting. Fuck just standing here like an assassin loitering before his former prey, asking him to get over that whole gunshot wound and history of violence, and incredibly unwisely embrace and cherish a newly ensouled, malevolent monster.

Damn, that would make a horrible movie but an excellent MM shifter romance—so, at least, there’s that.

I lunge at the doors, throwing them open…

or, more accurately, shoving them because they’re as pointlessly heavy as they are tall.

Old me would have waited, glare at the ready, viper venom topped off in the tank.

New me… well, he’s racing down the petite steps five at a time, rushing toward the truck that contains all the answers.

Only one glance informs me that Ethan is in the back with Tillie and Gideon.

I’m to that sliding door within a choppy breath, grabbing the latch and yanking it upward.

When I catch sight of Ethan, he’s all I can see. I’m inspecting him for any injuries, pushing into his inner realm for a status report on his physical wellness.

“I’m fine, Kaz.” He’s smiling at me and is so fucking beautiful I can’t breathe. “And I’m yours, if you still want me.”

I leap into the back of the truck like my feet spouted springs and seize him, kissing him with everything I am…

all that I never thought I could ever be.

He’s transforming this worthless monster into a man, and it may get us killed because monsters are clearly more useful, but I would never choose to go back, not for anything.

“I love you,” I stammer. “And, fuck, I need you, but are you sure?” I press the rest into his mind. Speak now or forever hold your fucking peace. Seriously.

I’m sure, Kaz. I know where I belong and also what was troubling me. I don’t have all the answers, and I have work to do to be right with myself and my life, but I’m yours and Tillie’s forever.

Fuck, I can breathe again, and my lungs feel larger somehow.

Ethan’s nerves hitch, sending shock waves at me as he starts to babble. “But, just FYI, I was… sort of, kind of, a little concerned that you might be betraying us, and I…”

I jerk away from him and glare at Gideon, who’s grinning like a proud father.

“ You judged me for not murdering Thatcher and…” I point my indignant gaze at Ethan, “… and you assumed that I’m a traitor.

What the fuck?” But I can’t even maintain my aura of justified resentment, because I begin chuckling like Santa got into a different kind of snow than his reindeer.

What’s happening to me? Oh, crap, I think this might be what joy feels like, or maybe I’m experiencing a completely debilitating break with reality, certainly misery. Is there really a life for me that includes such undeserved grace?

But then I realize Ethan is truly agitated about my reaction, his guilt bubbling up like a stopped drain.

My hands are instantly on his shoulders.

“Hey, I’m impressed with your doubts. I haven’t earned your trust yet, but I will, even if I have to kill every single person on this planet.

” I manage to keep a straight face for three seconds longer than I thought I would.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… I know, no more wiping out large swaths of humanity, but the bad guys aren’t that human, so I’ve still got the chance to spill buckets of blood before all’s said and done. ”

Ethan leans into me, resting his head on my shoulder, while my arms surround him. His sigh is soul deep, and our hearts align in a perfect rhythm.

“Truthfully, I would have been the best traitor ever , but once you see what I did to keep Thatcher alive, you’ll understand why my loyalty should never be doubted again.” I pull away, forcing him to look at me. “I got poncy professor cooties on me, and I’ll never be the same.”

Ethan tilts his head as he assesses my face and then my body. “You don’t look any poncier —is that even a word?”

“I don’t know, but I know who could provide the etymology of every snootorific word in English or Latin.

” Glumness hits me like it was fired from a cannon.

I turn, directing my words at the three of them.

“We need to talk before you see him. I need to explain what happened, why I did what I did, and what it means. I also will be sharing some ground rules. Our pack is in uncharted territory, with two anomalies now. I don’t know what this is going to look like, but I’m committed to making it work. ”

I flinch— dammit —when Tillie releases Gideon and takes a step toward us, extending her hand to me . I stare at her puny offering like it’s made of lava and might eat my shiny, new soul.

The little minx is battling a laugh as she says, “ Big ol’ assassin afraid of little ol’ me ? Humph .”

I’m suddenly awkward and a source of amusement to everyone in the back of this truck.

Soon, Ory and Jameson will appear at the opening, and I’ll become a running pack joke for the rest of my life, possibly with an embarrassing nickname.

To smother the life out of that possibility, I gently touch Tillie’s delicate finger, waiting to see if I get zapped, before consenting to hold her hand.

The power in our contact sets off a bomb of rightness that explodes like confetti in me, but it doesn’t stop there.

Ethan moans when he feels it and grasps my free hand so that the three of us are linked.

Tillie’s practically glowing, her eyes bright and a little unfocused. “Now, was that really so hard?” Her words are slurred, and she sways toward me. No, that was me— I’m swaying toward her.

I’m swoony . What the actual fuck? I rip my hand away from her, hopefully preventing this infection of giddiness from running completely amok.

Her wicked smile and sinister happiness reveal that she’s not even slightly upset that I’m repelled by her.

She’s gazing at me like I’m a future source of foot massages, enormous bowls of obscenely buttered popcorn, and even…

no, poetry . And this is before she’s in my head and fully squatting in my heart.

I might need to go kill someone, just to clear my head.

Ethan’s arm supports me as I experience this meltdown fueled by the sheer heinousness of becoming approachable . “I doubted you, Kaz,” Ethan croons. “But your omega didn’t. She’s the one who made the decision to trust you.”

Her smugness reaches new levels, and I can’t look away from her, because it’s starkly clear that I’ve never met this version of Tillie.

She’s standing taller. She’s more empowered.

She’s daring me to doubt her. It’s certainly not a stretch to see the fierce child she was in the woman standing before me, but this is more than that.

Tillie is owning her place in the omegaverse, in this pack, in all our lives, declaring her right to survive.

She’s not a queen yet, but I would have to be a fool not to observe the shades of power just waiting to bloom in her.

My omega is going to take this fucking world by storm, and I’m more than happy to be a lightning bolt in her arsenal.

Yeah, I’m one sappy monster, but that’s on a need-to-know basis, and no one needs to know.

But who the fuck do I think I’m fooling?

Ethan is as drunk on possibility as she is, as I am, and fuck, it feels good to be building something instead of always tearing everything apart.

“Awe, how sweet ,” Jameson pronounces in a sickeningly sugary tone that makes me think his mouth would look better filled with wet concrete. To Gideon, he adds, “Why, pappy , I think they’re courting now.”

I can’t stop my snarl at him, before I grumble to Tillie, “I can thin the herd whenever you like.”

“Nope, I’m keeping all of you, even the sassy one.” The spell broken, she returns to Gideon, who leads her to the back.

Jameson steps forward to help her down, but he gets shoved out of the way by Ory, whose beefy hands immediately take hold of Tillie and lower her to the driveway.

When I turn back to Ethan, his eyes are a bit too cunning and his mind inconveniently blank. “What?”

Oh, my, he’s squaring up like we’re about to fight or…

“You said if I was yours, you’d never deny me again. Is that a promise you intend to keep?”

My cock answers before I do, rising to a state of readiness.

I crowd my beta, grabbing Ethan’s ample package and watching his eyes reveal the right amount of pain, desire, and desperation for carnal oblivion.

Into his ear, I growl, “After we deal with things here and reach our next destination, I’m going to fuck you all night and into tomorrow.

They’re going to need a fucking crowbar to get my dick out of you, and if you’re very good, I might just let you meet my knot. It’s huge .”

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, releasing a groan I want to taste for myself.

So I kiss him again, while torturing his cock with uselessly gentle caresses.

When I finally manage to create some distance between us, I realize only one person is witnessing this scene, and she’s as red as a tomato, panting shallow breaths, and snaring my attention to her teeth compressing her lower lip.

I want to see those lips stretched around Ethan’s cock, while I slowly, torturingly penetrate his ass.

I can’t read her thoughts yet, but she’s picking up what I’m putting down—no doubt.

To confirm the reality of her interests, Ethan plants an image in my head that has me almost climaxing in my damn pants. I gape at him and then at her.

“You naughty, naughty minx,” I murmur, my voice a husky gravel that inspires her perfume to reach us in a wave of perfection.

“Does that mean you’d consider it?” she whispers.

“We’ll see, angel, after I master my beta.”

My omega’s blue-grey eyes spark, lust a living, breathing, demanding force within her. “Yes, you should definitely do that. He needs mastering, and then, just maybe, you’ll be ready for me.”