Page 31 of Omega on Fire

I find myself drawn toward Charlotte's room like a compass seeking north. Every step down the hallway feels purposeful, inevitable. The conversation with Teagan and Josiah still weighs heavy on my mind, but there's something else pulling me forward—something primal that I'm trying my damnedest to control.

When I round the corner, I'm not surprised to see Beaux's broad frame leaning against the wall outside her door. He's got that predatory stillness about him, the one that reminds me we were killers long before we were businessmen.

"She in there?" I keep my voice low, even though the walls in this house could probably withstand a bomb blast.

Beaux's lips curl into that dangerous smile of his. "She’s talked to her parents, then Mercy, Faith, and Freeya via video chat. Now, she’s talking to her friend, Brookes. Reassuring him she's safe, I assume. Then I overheard her talking about needing clothes." His lip ring catches the light as he speaks. "I offered to take her shopping, buy her whatever she wants." He shrugs. "She told me to fuck off, then slammed the door in my face. A woman after my own heart." He sighs dreamily.

I can't help the chuckle that escapes me. "You've got a real way with women, Motley."

"She's not just any woman." His eyes darken, and I catch the faint shift in his scent, whiskey and black pepper so sharp, my nose twitches. "She's my Harlequin."

The nickname again. I don't know exactly what it means to him, but with his love for comic books, I understand it's significant. Beaux doesn't get attached easily, a side effect of bouncing through the foster system, I suspect. But when he does let you in it's for life.

"We need to talk about her." I lean against the opposite wall, mirroring his stance. "Had a little powwow with Teagan and Joker while you were trailing after her."

Beaux's eyebrow arches. "Let me guess. Teaganwants to take it slow, Joker's calculating probabilities, and you're worried about her autonomy."

I stare at him. Sometimes I forget how perceptive he can be beneath all that chaos.

"Something like that," I admit. "Her heat’s coming, and when it does?—"

"When it does, she'll choose us. We will get her through it." The certainty in his voice borders on arrogance. "All of us."

I shake my head. "It's not that simple."

"Isn't it?" He pushes off the wall, stepping closer. The tattoos peeking out from his collar seem to shift with his movements, mythical creatures dancing across his skin. "You think it's a coincidence she's here? That she fits with us like she was made for this pack?"

"I think she's a woman who's been through hell and deserves the right to make her own choices without a bunch of Alphas deciding her fate for her." The words come out harsher than intended, memories of my sisters shadowing every syllable.

Beaux studies me for a moment, his expression softening just a fraction. "This isn't like your sisters, Deacon."

The fact that he's zeroed in on exactly what'seating at me is both irritating and comforting. "It feels like it."

"It's not and you know it." He taps his temple. "Call it instinct, call it fate, call it whatever the fuck you want. But that woman in there? She's ours. And we're hers. Have been since we saved her."

I want to argue, to remind him that people aren't possessions to be claimed, but there's something in his conviction that resonates with a part of me I try to keep buried. The part that recognized Charlotte the moment we carried her past the threshold of our home, like a puzzle piece I didn't know was missing.

"Her biology's going to make decisions for her soon." I keep my voice low, conscious of the closed door nearby. "I don't want her looking back with regret."

"Heat or no heat, Charlotte Matthews isn't the type of woman to do anything she doesn't want to do. I think she's made that clear in the one conversation we've had with her." Beaux's smile turns genuine, something rare for him. "That's why she's perfect for us."

I exhale slowly, letting his words sink in. "Teagan says we take it slow. One-on-one interactions, keep the pheromones manageable."

"Smart." He nods. "But ultimately futile."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means the universe has plans, brother." He gestures between us, then toward the door. "This thing? It's kismet."

I've never believed in fate the way Beaux does. My faith was beaten out of me early, replaced with pragmatism and a fierce protection of choice. But standing here, with Charlotte's honeyed scent faintly detectable even through the closed door, I find myself wanting to believe.

"She'll choose us," Beaux says again, softer this time. "Not because her heat demands it, but because it's right."

The conviction in his voice tugs at something deep within me. For all his wildness, all his unpredictability, Beaux has always had an uncanny ability to see truth where others see chaos.

I push off the wall, suddenly needing space to think. "I hope you're right."

"I am." His certainty is unshakeable. "And when I'm proven right, I expect a formal acknowledgment of my superiority."

---