Page 110 of Your Wild Omega

Fuck, where’s Zack and Rickon? What if he hurts them?

“Who, them? I killed them. You’re mine,’Lev. You know that, right?”

I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. Hissing with effort, I clench my fist and swing hard.

The jolt jerks me awake and I gasp. Zack snores as he belly-sleeps, one arm across my ribs and the other lying over Rickon. My heart races as I reach out to touch both my alphas. Their chests rise and fall softly with deep, peaceful breaths.

Just a nightmare. Fuck. It felt like I was dying for real.

I shuck Zack’s heavy arm off me and slide my legs over the bed. No wonder I couldn’t breathe with his arm on my chest. My clothing clings to me, limp with sweat, and the darkness in the room writhes as if containing a living thing.

I can’t go back to sleep with these nightmare-shadows haunting me, so I swallow down a sob and count my breathing, pretending I’m cycling something through my body. Chi or some shit that makes me powerful. That’s what all the characters in martial arts movies do while meditating.

My gaze drifts back to the sleeping men beside me. A part of me wants to wake them, but they must be truly exhausted, especially for Zack to sleep in the middle of the bed instead of on the edge. With a sigh, I lever myself upright. Pain throbs up my leg, jerking me to a halt—real pain, not the phantom sensations of my dream. Once I ease myself off the bed, I grab my phone and headphones, thinking I might look for something to watch or listen to the film script for a bit.

Running my fingers along the drywall, I make my way through the hall and downstairs. A bit of light always shines here, thanks to the expansive glass windows overlooking the city, plus the kitchen gadgets. I pour some orange juice from the fridge; then for good measure I top the glass up with one of Callisto’s hard liquors from a tall glass bottle. No idea what it is, but hopefully it helps.

I sip the resulting concoction and grimace.

My gaze slides from the collection of liquors to the couch. We used to find Callisto here late at night, his gray suit jacket draped over a chair. Or his light would be shining under the office door. The clock on the microwave oven ticks over from 12:40 to 12:41 a.m.

He’s probably still awake.

The restless murmur in my brain sure is.

I open my phone contacts and stare at Callisto’s name for several minutes. I don’t have a profile picture for him like I do for Rickon, so the circle just displays a large C. It’s a bad idea, terrible even, but better than enduring alone with the skeleton that just emerged from my subconscious closet. It feels like Ray might step out of the apartment’s shadowy corners any second.

I hiss under my breath and swipe at the dial button before I can talk myself out of it. I massage lines out of my forehead as it rings. Once, twice.

“Hello, Red?” Callisto answers breathlessly.

I swallow around a lump in my throat. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I was up. About to finish for the night, though. Is something wrong?”

“Um, not exactly.” Fuck, Red, what are you doing? I rest my ass on one of the bar stools, toying with the rim of my glass. “Well, I guess I had a nightmare, and I didn’t want to wake the guys. I remembered you’re often up late and hoped you wouldn’t mind if I called.” I’m babbling now, tripping over myself to justify why I called this alpha.

“Red.” His soothing tone captures me, restraining my panic. “I don’t need an explanation. You can call me anytime for any reason. As your lawyer . . . or as a friend.”

I bite down on my lip, hanging my head. He might be an ass of an alpha, but damn, his voice is smooth as melted chocolate. “All right,” I say simply, the tension draining out of me. I take a sip ofmy orange juice cocktail, the bitter tang hitting differently now. Kinda feels like I’m out for a drink with a friend. Come to think of it, I’ve never been to a bar. I’ll have to ask Rickon to take me. Or maybe Callisto, since this isn’t my first time having a drink while chatting with him.

“How was your day?” Callisto asks.

I snort. “Kinda awful.”

Callisto listens as I spill the details about my topsy-turvy adventure with the panicked horses.

“Rickon must be beside himself,” he muses, rustling around like he’s getting changed or something.

“Yeah.” I laugh. “But I think the worst part was I got a lift home with Bradley Jacks. And get this—he has a red Lamborghini. It’s so him.”

“The actor?” Callisto’s voice turns cold. “Why did you need a ride with him?”

Oh, shit, I walked myself into a landmine. “Um, well, the thing is, Zack and Rickon had to stay home today.”

“Why?”

I shake my head once before resting my cheek on my hand. “I think you should ask Rickon that. It’s not my story to tell.”

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