Page 57 of Omega Forged (Hartlock Omegas #2)

Tully

“You couldn’t stay away?” Clay called out from across the piano room. Puck was sitting on the bench of the broken piano. The whites of Clay’s eyes flared when he saw Pan follow behind me.

“I have some good news.” I opened the double doors to reveal the alpha moving team and the new upright piano on their trolley.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a gift. I promised the kid a new piano for his lessons, remember? I’ve got workbooks coming as well.” He held up a stack of music sheets and put them on the table.

Clay wrung his hands and shot me a look. “Excuse me?”

When Pan said he was delivering a piano to Clay’s studio, I tagged along. Being back in Baylark Pack’s house was suffocating, and the memories we created still held such a precious sheen. It made it hard to remember the reason I was there.

Not for love, but revenge.

I needed a distraction and a reminder of why I was doing all this. It was for the people who the council had forgotten in The Barracks. Darren, the real Darren, had also agreed to meet with me and Pan insisted on coming as bodyguard.

Puck let out a whistle. “This is fancy.”

“Courtesy of the Baylark Foundation. Do you mind if we get a few photos, or even interview you?”

“If I say no?” Clay frowned.

“You get to keep it, regardless. Do you have any use for keyboards? The Foundation wants to donate any other instruments you think might be useful.”

Clay shrugged, excitement made his expression bright.

This is what I’d been missing when I languished in Fenella’s apartment, thinking my life was over.

Being a part of something positive. Maybe I wasn’t the perfect Hartlock like my parents wanted.

But making a difference in one life was worth it.

The piano would help Clay keep his lessons up, and with more resources?

Even more children would have access to lessons.

I grabbed a piece of cloth and dusted down the piano while the two men chatted. The movement made my shoulder ache. I’d inspected the mark Chase left this morning with some trepidation. He hadn’t broken the skin, but he’d left a nasty bruise. The skin was tender to touch and radiated with heat.

I shook off the lingering memory of my ex and focused on Pan instead. It would heal, I just had to give it time.

Pan was dressed in sparkly black, high-waisted pants and a tight white tank top. His tattoos peppered his skin and there was a new one I spotted. On his right shoulder, a pair of wings and a halo. I froze. Pan called me angel. Was that for me? It seemed too pointed to be a coincidence.

“Why are you here?” Puck asked, rifling through the music books Pan brought.

“Sorry?” Had I misheard him?

Puck flicked his dirty blond hair off his forehead and rolled his eyes. “Why would you come back here? You know this is The Barracks, right?”

My heart clenched in my chest. In his youth, I could see the shadow of Lloyd. Another young Designated who dreamed about leaving.

“Even with your new piano? Come on, I want to see if you’ve improved,” I joked.

“Let’s see what you can do.” Pan waved Puck over. “What did you choose?”

Puck waved a sheet, and Pan let out a plaintive noise.

“Tears of the Moon. How’d you know that’s my favorite?” Pan sat on the bench and Puck settled in next to him.

I’d never seen Pan play, and I was beyond curious. The curl in his spine straightened as his fingers kissed the keys. Reverence echoed in the way he lingered. A prayer-like silence settled over us. Puck looked at Pan with a mixture of awe and suspicion.

“I’ve seen videos of you playing,” Puck admitted, and his bony shoulders hugged his ears.

“Ah, well, I might disappoint you these days. This one is not for beginners. It’s a hard piece, one that took me a long time to master.”

“Won’t you play it?” I interrupted as Pan put it aside and something passed over his face.

It was a small death, a fleeting cut to the bone. He painted a sharp-toothed smile over the expression and his hands curled.

“I confess, I stalked you online, and would love a song if you feel up for it.” Clay joined me.

“I don’t play anymore.” Pan’s eyebrows clashed together like a shield, and I knew better than to press.

Pan extricated another sheet with a pleased gasp. “Now, this is good. Show me what you’ve got, Puck.”

I knew little about piano, but Puck seemed confident and the music sounded good to me.

Pan was more critical. He adjusted Puck’s hands. “You want to lead with your fingers, not your arm, and keep a curve.”

“I know that.” Puck pushed out his lip and Clay covered his mouth.

“He doesn’t like to be told what to do.”

“If he wants to learn, he will. You need to be practicing every day. Always choose a song you enjoy, though.”

Puck rolled his eyes and started playing again. “Easy for you to say. I bet you had a huge ass piano in your house growing up and as many lessons as you wanted.”

Pan looked down at the keys and then at his hands. His chin dropped to his chest.

“You’re not wrong. I was a spoiled brat growing up, and the only thing I ever wanted to do was play piano. My dad was a musician, and he only paid attention to me when I played well. It was an excellent motivator.”

My stomach twisted at the admission, but Puck let out a sharp laugh. “At least you’ve got a dad.”

“Alright, you’re going to one-up me every time, aren’t you?” Pan smiled and slipped off the bench.

He clapped Clay on the shoulder and gestured at the boy. “Whatever you need to help him improve, let me know. I’ll give you my number.”

Clay nodded. “Thank you for this. It will make a real difference. I’m not the best player. I mainly do it to give kids a creative outlet and I enjoy teaching.”

“I can help teach.” Pan set his jaw.

“What?” I gasped.

I couldn’t imagine Pan choosing to come to The Barracks for anything except partying.

“Gods know, I wasted more brain cells in The Barracks than I should have. I can’t do much, but I know piano.”

“Well, thank you.” Clay lifted his shoulder, a smidge of embarrassment creased his brow. “What do you say to Mr. Mythos, Puck?”

“You’re welcome.” Puck slid off the bench and took an exaggerated bow.

Clay let out a frustrated growl and chased after him, hollering at Puck to return and thank Pan properly.

I laughed long and hard until my belly hurt. Pan stared at me as I wiped tears from my eyes. He stacked the music sheets on the piano.

“You were good with him.”

“He’s a little shit. Reminds me of myself.” Pan shrugged, crossing his leg over his ankle.

His bubblegum scent was sugary sweet, and I took a deep breath despite myself. I’d never met an alpha who had such a honeyed scent. They were normally rugged, intense, and made my knees tremble.

“Did you mean it? Will you teach here?” Part of me was worried Pan had said it flippantly, without realizing what he was offering.

If he didn’t come back, it would hurt Puck and the other kids.

“I’ll do anything I can to make sure he keeps his love of piano.” He said it like a man who knew the absence of joy.

Maybe he did. Pan didn’t play anymore and going from piano prodigy to nothing didn’t make sense. Pan picked at his black nail polish, taking off chunks.

I waved at the piano. “Is that the reason you don’t play? Because you don’t enjoy it.”

Pan let out a gusting sigh, shifting a dust cloud in the corner. He was so difficult to look away from in this tired room. The prettiest thing here, and the most dangerous. Heat churned under my skin just being in his presence.

“Piano was the only thing I shared with my dad before he passed away. I gained his obsession. It was my place. My fingers fit on the keys and I made something beautiful, without really trying. I didn’t stop playing because I didn’t love it.”

So why?

I wanted to ask, but the conversation was done. Pan had bared more of himself than he was comfortable, and as his fingers scratched at his angel tattoo, I pointed it out.

“That’s new, isn’t it?”

Pan looked at me through slits. Heat burrowed in through my sternum, all the way down. Until my bones tingled with promises.

“My angel, yes. She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” The words caressed between my thighs and Pan captured my fingers. He traced each one with a featherlight touch. My breath became too hot to hold.

“Is it…?”

Pan crushed my fingers and drew me closer until his nose nudged against my throat.

“For you? Who else? My salvation, my light. I put you on my shoulder so you can whisper sweetness in my ear all day long.”

I let out a wordless puff. Our scents tangled like a storm, and I swayed into Pan’s chest. It was heaving and for a moment we traded breaths.

My heart pounded so hard I was dizzy. I might have fallen into Pan, so deep in his thrall I was, except that my phone pinged and I tore away. Pan let me go with a reluctant curse.

“Tully.” Pan said my name like an apology.

I fumbled my phone out of my pocket and ice crashed over me. It wasn’t a message, but a notification. One mention of my name in the news. My screen lit up as more notifications flooded in. Each one sliced like a paper cut.

“What is it?” Pan said as he pried the phone from my hands. “Fuck. Don’t look at it, angel.”

It was too late.

My twenty-four hours were up. Chase warned me and he was good on his word for once. He’d leaked every picture, and the headlines were bloated with smug judgment. I knew this would happen, but I wasn’t prepared for how I would feel.

Not broken.

Not beaten.

Each word was a punch, but I spat the blood out of my mouth and set my shoulders. Pan pulled me into his embrace and I let him, thankful to find I didn’t need it. My shoulder throbbed with the mark Chase left. But that was the last time I would let him touch me.

Physically or mentally.

“I will kill him,” Pan promised.

“I don’t want him dead. I want him ruined, and for him to watch me succeed despite this.”

Pan let out an uncertain laugh, not recognizing the coldness in my tone. “I thought you were meant to convince me to do good deeds, angel.”

“Tattoo a devil on the other shoulder, Pan. This angel is feeling the need to destroy.”