Page 8 of Let It Snow (Eden’s Omegaverse #7)

I stare, blink, then keep staring, trying to process, swallowing hard.

A mafia bride?

Is that really me?

Kidnapped and forced.

The moment my eyes land on this line, I stop scrolling. I sway left, then right, fighting to stay upright for a second.

The information just doesn’t register. The blog outright suggests I was there not of my own free will, but nobody cared. Well, that much I know; I feel it just under my skin. Forced.

I was brought there by the capo himself, in place of my older brother, who escaped the fortress.

The hell…

No, no more!

I don’t want any details!

As I raise the mouse pointer to close the page, one more picture catches my attention.

It shows Anzo and me and one more guy at some charity event.

I’m dressed in gray, in an elegant suit, my hair in a bun, my face looks pale in the glare of the flash. However, that is not the focal point of this picture.

It’s the man with a diagonal scar across his cheek. He stands next to me, towering over me and Anzo.

Rocco Ferro.

Immediately I close the browser and jump back to my bed.

Funny, I blocked out Snow’s music, which offered me a small, safe glimpse into my past, and now I’ve stumbled upon a bombshell on my own, poisoning my mind and making me shiver like a birch tree.

Desperate to claw my way out of all these problems that are swarming me, I decide to go swimming again. I pick a time when nobody is in the garden and sneak through it unseen and just… plunge into the lake’s cool water.

I think I swim for a good hour before my agitated state dissipates. For exactly…the same time!

Then it’s back with a vengeance.

That night I crawl into bed wearing one of Lake’s old T-shirts, but the anxiety has settled back into me and seems ready to stay. So I toss and turn, restless.

I need something.

I need a nest.

Yes. NEST.

A place to hide, to soothe myself. Layers of comfort, walls to wrap around me.

But it isn’t there: no pillows, no extra blankets, no ribbons. No clothes. Just my comforter, which falls short.

In the end I can’t take it anymore; an important part of me is absent. Wrapping myself in one piece of… anything just isn’t enough. There’s no trace of my energy woven in, no scent of mine, no structure. I need to build my own safe zone.

So, in a sudden rush of need, I drag myself out of bed.

I put on one of the turquoise T-shirts Lake gave me and his dark green sweatpants, braid my hair into a long plait.

Then, I dig through the closet for one of Nathaniel’s old baseball caps, pull it over my hair and tug it low over my face.

Finally, I climb down the balcony ladder into the garden, once again avoiding the stairs inside the house.

The air smells of flowers.

It’s dark, but not completely. I slip through the garden, where only a few round, colorful solar lamps glow, and head toward the small citrus grove by the wall of the house, right where the entrance to the basement is. Glancing around, I take the steps down to Snow’s door.

I linger for a moment, wondering if I should knock. Who is he to me, anyway? The son of the people who took me in? Should I really be hanging around him?

Ah, whatever. Almost frantically, I turn the handle and the door swings open.

I step inside slowly. The lights are out, except for a thin strip of neon along the wall where the instruments hang.

For a moment, my eyes catch the piano, its dark shape barely visible in the shadows.

I remember the way Snow looked when he sat there, white strands of hair falling across his cheeks, fingers flying over the keys.

I’d love to hear more of his music, not just the pieces he wrote to help me with my memory.

Slowly, I look around.

He lives here, spends his days here, works here, plays here. It could be nice to have such a hideout from the madness of the world.

I sigh, taking in the atmosphere of the place.

It’s just a basement, Summer… The guy lives underground, in what’s basically a lair.

Why doesn’t it bother me at all? Instead, I find myself strangely craving this… seclusiveness. However weird that sounds, I could belong in such an intimate, small world, in a safe bubble.

Somehow I just know which room is his. Even though there are several, I walk straight to the right one and press the handle quietly.

But the bedroom isn’t what I imagined.

There’s only a large bed, a wardrobe, and a nightstand.

It’s one of the most enchanting places I’ve ever seen.

Sheer muslin drapes cascade from the ceiling, hanging around the bed like a gossamer canopy.

Maybe it’s a mosquito net, but it looks magical.

With tiny lights scattered across the ceiling like stars, the soft glow makes the whole room feel like a dream.

But there’s another source of light beyond the diodes, and it comes from something completely unexpected.

It’s not a lamp or a strip of LEDs.

It’s… Snow himself!

Yes, a human being. Under a thin cashmere blanket, I see his outline glowing faintly.

I stare, unable to believe what I’m seeing. What’s going on?

Slowly, I inch closer. He’s covered to the waist with a pale blue blanket, wearing a white long-sleeve shirt. His broad chest rises and falls with calm breaths. But under the fabric, a soft light spills out, as if his skin itself was glowing.

Fascinating. I’ve never seen anything like it. But it begs the question: does Snow have some extraordinary secret, perhaps the same kind I carry?

Magical talent?

I swallow hard and watch the luminescence for a while, my mind going blank from the overload of question marks floating inside.

Who is he really?

Nobody glows in the dark, c’mon.

Right then, Snow stirs in his sleep and sighs quietly. He turns his head slightly toward me and opens his eyes.

I actually stumble back half a step.

His eyes blaze with intense light!

It’s as if a tiny sun burns inside him. Only a little escapes through his skin, but his eyes pour it out completely, shining like two blazing beams aimed right at me.

Fuck. This is insane.

I want to run, but somehow I stay. And blatantly stare.

He stares back at me, or maybe the light does?

Then he blinks, and just like that, the illumination fades.

The room plunges into near-total darkness.

There is a minute of complete silence, where only our breaths can be heard. Then Snow pushes himself up on his elbows. Even in the dark, I know he’s still looking straight at me.

I open my mouth, wanting to ask about the light, but the awful tightness in my throat stops me. It’s even stronger now, probably from the shock.

"Everything okay, Summer?" His deep voice resonates in the room, sending a shiver along my spine.

I can scent him: his shampoo, his hard body, the healthy, manly alpha, the warmth of his skin. Could I just jump into bed and have passionate sex with him? Summer, get a grip, get a grip! Back to the topic, the light.

So, instead of bouncing on his dick, I shake my head slowly. Nothing is okay. What I just saw defies reason.

Then again, so do the things I can do!

Maybe I shouldn’t make a big deal out of it. Asking him, "Hey, why do you glow at night?" would sound way too absurd.

And vaguely dangerous.

Anyway, this is where I came for help with my nesting problem; instead of knocking on Lake’s door, I visited a luminous alpha hottie.

Now I need to figure out how to get him to help me, because I don’t even have a car. How do I say it? I want so badly to tell him, to force the words out, but I can’t. The emotions are too strong, my nerves too strained.

He was glowing in the dark, dammit!

Snow sits on the edge of the bed, brushing aside the mosquito net with a smooth gesture. He reaches for the nightstand, moving as if he can see in the dimly lit room, and hands me his phone.

At first, I don’t understand. Then I see he’s opened a blank note in the reminder app.

Smart.

Writing has to be easier than speaking.

So I type:

Sorry for showing up like this, but there’s something keeping me from sleeping. I need to take care of it, only I don’t have a car. I know it’s the middle of the night, but there are twenty-four-hour stores downtown where you can buy this kind of thing.

I don’t write what I actually mean. No way.

Nesting is wrapped in cultural taboo. Omegas don’t talk about their nests with anyone, especially not alphas.

The only exception is with a partner, when there’s intimacy and space for it.

But since the process is so deeply personal, super private, no one really wants to broadcast it.

Snow studies the screen for a moment, then looks up at me.

"I’ll take you wherever you need to go."

Then, without another word, he gets up, walks past me, and leaves the room, switching on the lights as he goes.

Brightness floods the room, and I feel awkward standing there by his bed. The pleasant scent of heather wafts around.

Dear Fate, I barged in without knocking again, and now I’m demanding he drive me to some vague destination. And yet… something tells me he doesn’t mind.

I listen. Is he changing in the bathroom?

Taking advantage of having his phone in my hand, I search for a twenty-four-hour nesting supply store. A few pop up across the city. One of them is about thirty-five minutes away, inside a round-the-clock supermarket.

The idea of being around so many people is unpleasant, but I'm pushing through, hoping that it won't be that bad at night.

I set the route, and when Snow comes back from the bathroom dressed in jeans and a dark purple hoodie, looking hot because why not, I hand him the phone.

His eyes flick up to the search bar still showing the words: nesting supplies 24h.

Then he looks at me. Our eyes meet.

Absentmindedly, he lifts his hand and ties his pale hair into a loose ponytail, leaving a small bun formed by the band not pulled all the way through. A few strands slip free.

We’re standing so close, and I’m drowning in his scent, his eyes fixed on my face, my pulse spiking again.