Page 14 of Your Wild Omega (The Feral Actress #2)

Chapter eleven

Red

Rickon’s keeping something from me. I mull over this truth as I gently slide my mug of coffee back and forth between my hands on the kitchen countertop, listening to the sounds of my first alpha moving around upstairs.

He says he’s fine, but whenever he’s not occupied, he stares out the windows and picks at his cuticles.

I saw this kind of behavior in the movie Mad Over Her —although unlike the main character, I don’t have to worry about cheating.

No, Rickon’s simply too sweet for his own good and feels like anything he has going on would burden me. In one sense, he’s right, because Zack is a lot. In four days we’ve progressed to where I can pee alone, but the feral alpha still refuses to let me leave his line of sight.

The wooden staircase creaks faintly as Rickon descends. “I’m going out to grab those things on our list,” he says, dropping a kiss on my hair.

I look up, catching his eye as he straightens and his troubled gaze slides away guiltily.

Even if Zack requires all my attention, that doesn’t mean I’ll let my first alpha fend for himself.

“Let’s go together,” I say, pushing my half-finished drink away.

Zack, part way through a bowl of cereal, stiffens as I flick my thumb in his direction.

“It can be Zack’s first outing.” Yesterday we stepped out onto the sidewalk with no incidents, which felt like an absolute triumph. We’re ready for more.

Rickon shakes his head, a little too quickly. “No, it’s too soon.” He smooths his hands over his dove gray corset-vest and turns away. “We can’t rush him.”

“Even if we only have four days left?” I ask softly, letting my brows pop. Not even Rickon needs a boned vest, lace-up boots, and pearlescent eyeshadow for a trip to the grocery store.

His hands dart to his pockets. Then he picks up his phone and keys, fidgeting them back and forth on the bench. “How about we try an in-between activity this afternoon, instead? Like a car trip.”

My heart twinges as I recognize he’s begging me to let it go. Let him suffer alone.

I pinch my bottom lip between my thumb and index finger, considering my options. “I suppose he needs to get used to the car.”

Rickon nods firmly and deposits his phone and keys in his pockets. “All right, it’s a date. See you later.” He turns away.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I ask.

Rickon spins around, eyes wide.

I point to the cupboard under the sink. “Shopping bags.”

“Right.” He chuckles, shoulders sloping with relief. “Can’t go shopping without shopping bags.”

I narrow my eyes, homing in on his nervous tics.

I’ve seen Rickon lie, and it came pretty smoothly—at least the times he mixed in partial truth.

He hides behind a mask as much as I do. I frown and press my fingers together to force myself to calm down.

This isn’t just a lie; it’s nerves. My alpha’s scared.

I fucking need a bond with him to know what he’s feeling.

Damn the Omega Center and their oppressive rules.

I don’t think they’d force me to go back now, but that’s one risk I’m not willing to take.

Well, if I can’t have a bond, and Rickon won’t tell me, then I need to figure this problem out for myself.

“Have a good time,” I coo, a devilish sensation rising inside me.

Rickon says goodbye to Zack, carefully explaining that he’ll be back in a couple of hours, and then blows me a kiss on his way out. He’s so considerate, despite Zack not being able to understand what he’s saying. Yet.

I blow out a frustrated breath. I won’t let this go, and if he doesn’t want to share, it’s time to do some digging.

Which is a tough ask because I’m exhausted.

Zack consumes every waking hour, and even some of the sleeping ones, since I’ve woken with his cock questing between my legs several times.

The constant touch is awesome and strangely comforting, but also means I’m not sleeping nearly enough.

Whenever I’m not actively teaching my new alpha or learning how to cook, I have my headphones on, memorizing my lines from the script Rickon recorded for me. But my gut says I need to make time for Rickon.

“Come on, Zack,” I mutter, dragging myself off the barstool and heading to our bedroom. I grab Rickon’s laptop and settle against Zack on the bed. He cradles his knees around me and hugs my waist, tugging me closer to his chest.

“Let’s see what our naughty Rickon is up to, shall we?” The indistinct murmur of my first alpha’s voice hums in my mind, telling me he’s left the building. I don’t get that anymore with Zack. Now his presence sits as an awareness in my chest, locked there via our bond.

The browser pops up, full of our behavior research.

I minimize it, open another window, and click on Rickon’s email, which is conveniently bookmarked in his favorites.

Nestled among bills, sales newsletters, and information from Callisto about the charges against his ex-boyfriend, I find a recently opened and starred email from some place called Sorentito’s.

Dear Rickon,

Since you aren’t answering my calls, I can only surmise that you’re experiencing a family emergency, because I’m sure you wouldn’t dare ignore me for anything less than a life-threatening crisis.

As you recall, we had an agreement regarding the spring preview dress, but I could swear Lyra Gray wore Alexis Panquin instead. Please explain, posthaste.

“Passive-aggressive much?” I mutter, looking at the name down at the bottom, complete with a fancy digital signature that slashes across the screen.

Zack nuzzles my ear, making me chuckle. I click across to the calendar, and sure enough, an entry for a meeting today blazes there in blue glory. A quick Omoogle brings me back plenty of results for Hannah Sorentito, and it turns out she’s kinda a big deal.

An image flashes into my mind of the first day I met Rickon and he took me to his apartment. In that crowded sewing room was a thick dress bag with the same calligraphy “H” logo on it. A mistake, he called it. My excitement at finding my scent match prevented me from asking further questions.

I close the laptop lid and shove it across the bed. Zack peels my shirt collar aside and presses his mouth to my bond mark. Heat flushes through me, heady and tempting, but I press his forehead to move him away.

“Not now, tiger,” I murmur huskily. “Rickon needs us.”

“Ri.”

“Yes, well done,” I praise. Every new word he attempts fills me with hot pride. “Rickon. But I’m sure he won’t mind if you call him Ri.”

Zack tugs me back against him. “Mine,” he says proudly, nuzzling against my ear and breathing deep.

“I am,” I agree, stroking his hair. I don’t correct him. To Zack, my name is Mine , and that’s all there is to it.

He purrs happily, and dives his nose through my hair, tickling.

The way he breathes me in, tasting even without his tongue touching my skin, is so sensual and special. Like my scent is his favorite brand of oxygen. Like he wants to possess everything, even the traces of haze that escape my skin.

As much as I want to turn and merge our bodies together, we don’t have time. I unwind his arms from around me. “We can do that later, Zack. For now, let’s go see what secrets we can find.”

In the small storage closet at the end of the hall, I climb over boxes full of Callisto’s books to the more jumbled collection of Rickon’s things. The big dress bag lies over it all at head height, presiding in the cramped space like a reclining Renaissance model.

“There you are, Dame Big Mistake,” I mutter, dragging it down. “Take this,” I tell Zack, passing him the bag. He takes it but doesn’t know what to do with it, so I have to climb past him and drag the garment case out. “Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”

The fuss is fucking beautiful.

A scalloped bodice glows with a pearly quality, shimmering whenever it catches the light. The paler skirt froths out like a wave just below the hips. And the side’s completely open down past the underwear line.

“Oh, honey, that’s not a mistake,” I murmur, holding the gown up.

An embossed Sorentito’s tag catches on my fingers and I turn it over.

I choke and re-count the zeroes, but it definitely reads thirty grand.

“Shit!” No wonder Rickon’s stressed, and it doesn’t sound like this designer’s offering to refund the dress either.

But I have money now.

Zack trails me as I rush to the bed and dive onto my stomach to find out when Lyra Gray wore a dress by this Alexis whoever.

According to the celebrity gossip, the film gala happened not long before I met Rickon.

I flash my rude finger at the pretty actress sticking her uppity nose out for the cameras at the red-carpet entrance.

“You’re an idiot for letting him go, but thanks. ”

I glance over at the gown hanging on the door. This designer lady wanted her clothes seen on someone famous. I’m not famous—yet.

I glance over at my feral alpha, who’s investigating the zip on the discarded dress bag, ticking the mechanism up and down repeatedly. What would the spy Red Hawk do? Hmm, no, maybe I need a different reference. Either way, it needs to be flashy.

I pop my head out into the hallway. “Hey, Agent Josef? Get ready, we’re going out.”

The agent appears out of his room, alarm spreading across his features. “With Zack?”

I grin. “Yep. He’s coming too.” After all, he’s the most important part of my plan.