Page 30 of The Dragon's Omega

Which didn’t bother me. We weren’t here on a date. I stayed by his side, snacking, taking in the sights, while he scrutinized every little detail. From the outrageous prices to the social media photo op hot spots, to the shirtless alphas prowling omega-heavy areas, the cooling stations and medical tents and beefy security bros—Vidar missed nothing.

Just like I couldn’t miss the conflict brewing in his eyes, the firm set of his jaw.

Or the fact that he was a total attention-grab everywhere we went. He may have parted the seas without saying a word, but my alpha—mine—was a brilliant flame luring in all the moths. No one seemed brave enough to talk or touch, mind you, but he had a gravitational pull unlike any alpha I’d met, and it was all eyes on him.

I mean, rightfully so. My alpha was a god.

A tattooed god dressed in pale gray Bermuda shorts, belted low on his hips, and a faded yellow tee that I had picked from his clothing hoard to help him blend in. I realized now, however, that he would never completely disappear in a crowd. Hair long and luscious, the brown waves healthy and happy, gold streaks highlighted the afternoon sunshine. With the neatened beard, the overall mouthwatering physique—he was magnificent.

Magnificent. Vidar had said as much to me when I finally settled on a creamy Grecian dress, plucked straight from his collection. A slit cut up my thigh, not high enough to expose my lack of underwear, but just enough to keep the long skirt ventilated in the summer heat. A thin braided belt nipped the fabric at my waist, and, braless, I had crisscrossed the strappy bodice as tight as I could to support the girls. The thicker fabric made sure my nipples—which tightened to little pearls every time Vidar and I so much as brushed each other, followed by a blast of my perfume—weren’t the center of attention.

It was a flowy, princess-y look. Not my usual style at all.

But Vidar made me feel soft and safe, small and protected. Just this once, I was happy to look like an alpha’s princess.

He had gifted me the rest of the wardrobe too, even if I had nowhere to store it. Apparently, he had been saving pieces that caught his eye through the centuries, knowing, in his heart, that one day his fated mate would wear them. Most of it belonged in a museum, but I’d wear it all first, for him, even if it was just in private.

Because it was the thought that counted. He had been waiting for me, expecting me—building his omega a nest of luxury garments she could never afford.

The one part of this outfit I could do without, however, were the strappy leather sandals with zero arch support. They fit the look, but if we kept this pace, ambling between the dirt and gravel and wood walkways, I’d need to take a break.

Maybe file a request for another of my mate’s massages.

He eventually steered us down to the beach, where the coastline was cordoned off for miles except one area teeming with lifeguards. With mostly families in the water, it seemed adult swimmers had to pass a breath test before they were approved for swimming, which I appreciated. Nothing wrecked a festival reputation more than some drunk drowning in the shallows.

After slipping out of my sandals, sore feet wiggling in the hot sand, I dumped my empty funnel cake plate in a nearby trash can, then drifted over to Vidar. Back to me, hands in his pockets, he surveyed the horizon with a furrowed brow—one that lifted slightly when I looped an arm around his and snuggled in, my sandals abandoned in the sand for now.

“Hey.” I squeezed him, adding another arm around his and hugging tight, and then waited until he blinked down at me. “What are you thinking?”

His long, heavy sigh spoke volumes, and as he lifted his gaze again, I followed it to the?—

Oh.

To the saddest fire wall known to man.

I’d swiped through plenty of photos from past solstice festivals, and big names just loved posing in front of the fifty-foot-tall wall of—dragon—fire.

This year, it maybe topped out at eight feet, and the only ones around it were festival staff armed with kindling.

Which went against everything written about the Synn fire wall. This was supposed to be a pyrotechnic wonder.

“It is not my vision of the solstice anymore,” Vidar admitted. His gaze snagged on a couple of kids running by, dripping wet with Mom and a pair of forgotten towels hot on their heels. “It has become… another beast entirely.”

“Are you okay with that?”

With another heavy sigh, Vidar extracted his arm from my chokehold, then slung it around my back, drawing me in. He kissed my forehead with a soft rumble, his hand eventually settling on the nape of my neck.

“Deathless Gods are not stagnant.” He tipped his head and openly winced when the far, far end of the fire wall started to die out. Staff in black shorts and polos raced to feed it. “I am not bound to Cedar Cove… It’s simply where my heart brought me.”

He glanced down with a grin, then unstuck my lower lip from between my teeth with his thumb.

“I now realize,” he murmured, “that my heart, my real heart, knew my fated mate would be here… one day.”

All the butterflies took flight. My heart thumped, painfully full, utterly whole, wonderfully complete. Misty-eyed, I pushed up for a kiss, gripping his shirt for leverage and balance. It was a sweet, chaste touch of my lips to his, a stolen intimacy that made me feel like we were the only ones in the world surrounded by all these people. Vidar’s hand went from my neck to the back of my head, cradling it, drawing me closer with a gruff insistence that I?—

“Lianna?”

I jolted back at that awful voice—and spotted Dewey Synn standing some ten feet away, gawking, wildly gesturing what the fuck? with his hands. Shirtless, shoeless, sporting a pair of navy-blue board shorts, his platinum hair slick from a recent dip in the Pacific, he looked every bit the ripped, sculpted alpha he portrayed on his socials.

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