Page 24 of They Love Me Knot (Starsfalls Omegaverse #2)

Alister

S terling and Kieran are still behaving strangely.

I’ve had to reel myself in multiple times over the last few days, not giving in to the urge to question them until they tell me what’s going on.

I never intended to be an authority figure in this pack, but our dynamics sometimes shift in that direction. Even when I make very sure not to order my packmates around, they tend to listen to my opinions and do what I suggest anyway, especially Sterling.

Kieran’s tells are more subtle, but even without Sterling’s obvious avoiding eye-contact to seem like he’s not hiding anything move, it’s clear Kieran is part of whatever is going on.

I loosen my cuffs as I walk back to my office.

I will not follow Ciro to question him about why he’s home at this time, and in such a snit. He’s been extra moody ever since Pack Leof’s bonding ceremony, but that doesn’t explain why he’s home in the middle of a workday.

The only one who isn’t acting strangely is Feliks. Maybe I’ll ask him if he knows what Kieran and Sterling are up to. Although I don’t want to be tempted into giving them my opinion on something they’re trying to hide from me.

I flex my fingers before logging into my email. I can channel my instincts into my work rather than my pack.

A door slams, and I pause, my fingers hovering over the keys. I refocus on the email from Darcy, my assistant, suggesting we celebrate the completion of our latest project with a small get-together for our team and partnering companies.

If Darcy weren’t so good at his job, I would have transferred him to another department years ago.

I don’t care for all the company parties he suggests, standing around making small talk and praising everyone’s hard work, looking like a jackass when I know they’d rather have a bonus than have their boss throw a silly party where they have to stand around and schmooze.

Of course I still give them a monetary bonus, but I’d rather skip the unnecessary socializing.

And Darcy keeps suggesting them, so I keep providing.

Since he’s closer to the workers than I am, I assume he knows that at least some of them like the gatherings.

Our partnering companies enjoy being schmoozed, or at least their managers do, so overall I suppose it’s a good idea.

With a flick of my wrist, I reply in the affirmative, telling Darcy he has free rein to plan it without my input.

Party planning does not soothe my controlling instincts.

I read through the rest of my emails, tensing every so often when a door or cabinet slams in the distance.

I move on to reviewing other work documents when I run out of emails. Another loud bang has me out of my chair and halfway across the room before I realize it.

I can’t hold back any longer. All this knocking around is sure to damage something. Ciro can have a fit all he wants if he won’t accept our help, but I draw the line at creating a mess.

I walk swiftly down the hall, angling toward where I heard the last thump.

I find Ciro in the upper lounge, tossing cushions off the couch. I grab his forearm to stop him from rumpling the next cushion he’s aiming for.

“Do you need help finding something?” I ask mildly.

“No. I just need my arm back,” Ciro says tightly, jaw clenched.

When I don’t let go, Ciro pulls the pillow off with his free hand. I sigh and release him, watching him rifle through the rest of the furniture in the room.

When he’s done, he walks to the door but stops short. I know Ciro feels the weight of my stare, but I’m not sure if it’s enough to compel him to explain why he’s on a tear. I can’t feel anything from him in the bond except for surface-level irritation, all deeper thought blocked from prying senses.

“Have you seen a clipboard with my order sheets from Seedy Company?” he asks tersely.

I resist the urge to raise an eyebrow. “No, but I’ll help you look. Where have you checked?”

I help him search the other common rooms, hoping that if we look long enough, he’ll eventually reveal what’s really upsetting him.

Except Ciro gets more tense the longer we look, and he hasn’t divulged anything despite my subtle prompts.

I lean against the kitchen counter as he sorts through the mail stack for the third time.

“Walk me through your day up to the last time you had it,” I say .

Ciro snorts. “I already retraced my steps, thanks,” he says sarcastically.

After flipping through the mail again , he drops it, letters scattering across the table, and hangs his head.

“I brought the order sheets home last night. I worked on them in my room before going to bed and looked over the seed catalogue this morning while I got ready. I know I had the clipboard at breakfast because I almost spilled my coffee on it. I cleaned up my dishes and drove to work. I checked emails in my office for about half an hour before going to place the order, which is when I realized the paperwork wasn’t at my desk,” Ciro says.

“Is there something else on your mind?”

He glares at me. “I can’t misplace something without it being a midlife crisis? I just set something down and don’t remember where.”

“Mid-life?” I inquire.

“You know what I mean,” he grumbles.

“I don’t think I do. Do you mean you’ve been in such a bad mood recently that you’re worried it’s prematurely aging you, and you’re catching up to me in age?”

“You’re an asshole,” Ciro says before storming out.

I consider following him and pushing a bit more to see if we can get out whatever’s festering inside him.

The garage door opens before I make up my mind, and I let Ciro leave without chase.

I slowly walk back to my office to see if anything has come up to distract me from my packmates’ secrets.

When the garage door sounds again a short time later, I take my time getting up to check on Ciro, not wanting to seem like I’ve been waiting to ambush him (even though I kind of am) .

I don’t find him when I venture out, and checking in the bond I realize it’s Feliks that’s nearby, not Ciro.

I turn toward his room so I can have a normal conversation with a packmate for the first time today.

I follow the faint scent trail of vanilla bean custard to Feliks’s room. He must have stopped by Flourist while he was out.

His door is closed, so I knock once before saying, “Feliks, do you want some steak? I’m about to make an early lunch if you want to come down.”

“Uh, sure. I’ll be there in a bit,” he says through the door.

I frown, surprised he didn’t open it to reply. Actually, he rarely closes it during the day.

I take a deep breath and let it out. I’m just on edge because of the others. There’s no reason to analyze Feliks too, looking for things to involve myself in.

“See you down there,” I say, leaving him to whatever he’s doing.

I pull out a cast-iron skillet and start heating it.

I don’t mind being in the kitchen, but unlike Sterling, I almost abhor baking. It relies heavily on formulas, which results in me spending a great deal of time measuring ingredients exactly and checking temperatures frequently while things bake.

Sterling says there’s still room for variation in baking, but that doesn’t work for my mind. If a recipe will fail because I didn’t weigh the flour exactly or have the correct proofing temperature for the dough, I’ll get too focused on following each step precisely and won’t enjoy the process.

Cooking allows for more variation, and I don’t feel the need to control it as strictly to ensure it turns out well .

Once the steak is seared to perfection, I plate it and add some leftover tabbouleh from the fridge.

Feliks comes in just as I take out the silverware, and I hand his plate over.

He thanks me, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes, and digs in.

I join him at the counter, and we eat silently. I watch him shovel the food into his mouth, barely finishing chewing before he takes another bite.

“Rough ride?” I ask after he’s cleared his plate.

I cut another slice of steak, barely halfway through my meal.

“It was a hot ride.” Feliks clears his throat. “But amazing. Just felt like I could go for a refreshing shower,” he says, scrubbing a hand through his damp hair.

Unfortunately, I spoke too soon about Feliks being the only one acting normally.

Somehow I refrain from commenting anything beyond that I’m glad he had a good time.

Being left out of my packmates’ lives makes my control issues worse, but they aren’t obligated to tell me everything. As long as their secrets aren’t going to hurt the pack or themselves, it’s their right to have privacy.

It’s up to me to find another way to get some stress relief.

Feliks fidgets while he waits for me to finish eating and quickly helps me clean up before dashing off to work.

I wring out the dishtowel, twisting tight. I let go when I feel the fabric straining, shaking it out and neatly arranging it on the towel rod.

If I’m going to manhandle something, I might as well go for a workout. I change out of my casual suit into gray sweatpants and an old t-shirt, and go down to our basement gym.

After lifting weights until I can barely feel my limbs, my mind still hasn’t quieted.

My alpha keeps going over all the ways to get our packmates to open up and how we could solve their problems if we took the reins.

I push through a shower with foal-like legs, and my alpha still hasn’t worn out his mantra of fix, fix, fix .

Maybe there’s an upcoming work project I can get a jump on so I don’t nip at the heels of my packmates.

After changing into a fresh suit, I log in and see a new message from Darcy. He’s rushing to plan the celebration for this project on Friday since our partners will be returning to their offices in other cities.

I offer to help, despite my distaste for the actual event. Darcy tries to brush me off, but I wrest a few tasks from him.

After reading through what he sent me, I close my laptop, pleased that one of them can be done in person and there will be plenty of options for me to carefully consider.

I might as well get started now. I grab my car keys and get in the SUV.

I should be able to stretch this errand to the end of the day and hopefully wear out my alpha before returning home.