Page 35 of Omega on Fire

I nod, understanding perfectly. "It's control in a world where we often have none."

Something passes between us then, a moment of silent recognition. For all our differences, there's common ground here. I find myself wanting to explore it further.

"So," I say, standing up and stretching my arms above my head, "what are we baking? Please say something with chocolate. I've been craving it since I woke up."

Josiah's eyes track my movement for a fleeting second before snapping back to my face. He springs to his feet with an energy that makes me envious.

"Double chocolate chunk cookies with sea salt," he announces. "Moses claims they're better than sex, though I maintain he just hasn't had good sex."

I laugh, actually laugh—the kind that bubbles up from your belly and takes you by surprise. "Bold statement. I'll have to be the judge."

"Of the cookies or Moses' sex life?" Josiah quips, holding the door open for me.

"Let's start with the cookies and see where the evening takes us," I tease back, surprised at how easily the banter flows between us.

As we walk down the hallway, I feel lighter. There's something healing about normal conversation, about plans to bake cookies instead of plans to take down corrupt senators. Not that I'm abandoning the latter—far from it. But maybe, just maybe, I can have both.

"Fair warning," Josiah says as we approach the kitchen, "I'm territorial about my baking space. Even Moses and Beaux know not to mess with my system."

"I'll follow your lead, chef." I make a show of miming a salute. "As long as you don't mind me asking a million questions about those documents while we work."

His smile turns sharp, reminding me that beneath the playful exterior is a mind as strategic as any I've encountered. "I was counting on it. Nothing complements cookie dough like conspiracy theories and political takedowns."

The kitchen, when we enter, is as ridiculously luxurious as the rest of the penthouse—all gleaming surfaces and high-end appliances. But somehow, with Josiah pulling ingredients from cabinets and explaining his theories about who else might be connected to Aegis, it feels almost normal.

As I wash my hands at the sink, I catch my reflection in the window—a woman I recognize but alsodon't, standing in an Alpha's kitchen, plotting revolution while preparing to bake cookies. It's surreal. It's not the life I planned.

But with every piece of evidence Josiah uncovers, with every step we take together, I'm closer to my end goal. Justice for the Omegas who've been taken. Protection for the ones who remain vulnerable. A world where we don't need safe cities because every city is safe.

And maybe, just maybe, tons of baked goods along the way.

CHAPTER 14

JOKER

Every time I see her, I swear my Beta brain short circuits like I’m back in eighth grade with sweaty palms and an awkward boner. It’s been exactly seven days, thirteen hours, and twenty-six minutes since our little Omega bombshell crashed into our lives, and I’m counting every goddamn second like it’s precious.

Charlotte Matthews, Omega Rights Activist, professional pain in the ass, and the walking embodiment of everything I didn’t know I wanted until she showed up smelling like honey, cinnamon, and trouble.

“This is cruel and unusual punishment!” Her voice carries down the hall as Beaux drags her toward the gym at 4:13 AM. Like clockwork. “Nofunctioning human being should be conscious at this hour!”

I snicker behind my coffee mug, watching her trudge behind Motley in shorts that hug every delicious curve. My fingers itch to trace them. To memorize them. To worship them. I’m not an Alpha—I don’t have the primal instinct to claim and mark—but fuck if I don’t feel something primal stir when she’s near.

“The government didn’t care what time it was when they were training commodities like us,” Beaux reminds her with that twisted grin that means he’s enjoying her suffering. “Evil doesn’t sleep in, princess.”

“I’m not training to fight evil,” she huffs. “Okay, maybe I am training to fight evil, but also you’re all paranoid control freaks.”

Moses appears from the kitchen, silent as always, pressing a protein shake into her hands. “Drink. You’ll feel better.”

She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously but takes it anyway. That’s progress. A week ago, she wouldn’t have accepted anything without sniffing it first. Trust is building, brick by stubborn brick.

“I hate all of you,” she mutters.

“Liar,” I call out. Her eyes find mine, and there itis—that spark that makes my stomach flip. “Your scent gets sweeter when you’re around us. Dead giveaway, Charlotte.”

Her cheeks flush dark against her brown skin. “That’s, that’s a biological response. Doesn’t mean I like you.”

She sticks her tongue out at me, and I melt a little more.

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