Page 19 of Omega in Love
"We're not walking into this for the wrong reasons," I add, needing to make this clear, leaning forward with elbows on my knees. "It's not because he needs protecting. It's not because we feel obligated. It's because we care." The word feels inadequateagainst the depth of what I'm beginning to feel, but anything stronger might be premature. My cedarwood scent intensifies with the emotion I'm trying to contain.
Levi lifts his head, eyes meeting mine with a directness that cuts through pretense. The constellation tattoo on his arm seems to shimmer as he shifts. "Because he's ours?"
Hero's mouth quirks, that rare half-smile that transforms his stoic features. "Because he might be. If he wants to be."
It's not a decision we make for him. It never was. I've spent too many years watching Alphas claim without asking, take without offering. The memory of my father's controlling nature flashes through my mind. We won't be that. Not to Brookes. Not to anyone.
This moment, just the three of us here, acknowledging it aloud, it feels like the first real step toward something, toward a pack. Toward us. The tension in the room shifts, becoming something electric with possibility.
I can only hope when Brookes comes back into the room, still damp from the shower and smelling like roses and warm skin, the sweet fragrance that's become as necessary to me as breathing, we'll be ready to tell him.
I can only hope that he wants this just as much as we do.
Chapter 9
Brookes
With a sigh, I wipe my face with a towel as I make my way down the silent hallway. The steam from the shower clings to my skin, warm and grounding. It helped rinsing the saltwater off, letting the spray drum against my shoulders until the tension finally gave. The shower washed away the physical remnants of the beach, but the emotional residue lingers. Now, wrapped in soft cotton joggers and an oversized hoodie that still smells faintly of Hero's sandalwood scent, I feel exposed.
Okay, not exposed, not exactly. More like a door I usually keep bolted shut has been left cracked open, letting in a draft I'm not sure I want to feel.
When I pad barefoot back into the living room, my toes curling against the cool hardwood, I stop short. The three of them are still here in the living room, exactly where I left them but somehow different. Hero stands near the window, his broad silhouette backlit by the fading afternoon light, fingers tapping rhythmically against his thigh, a rare tell from someone usually so still. Dante is perched on the arm of the sofa, spine straight as always, but there's a tension in his shoulders I recognize.Levi sits where I left him, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, those kind eyes fixed on some middle distance, his usual smile nowhere to be found.
Whatever they were talking about, it's over now, but the air still hums with whatever they didn't say aloud. The conversation suspended like dust motes in the sunlight, visible but impossible to grasp.
They all look up at once when I enter. Three pairs of eyes, each with their own kind of intensity, land on me with an almost physical weight. It's not hostile, not even startled, more like they were caught in the middle of planning a surprise party they're not sure I'll enjoy. Or maybe plotting something more serious, something that concerns me in ways I'm not ready to face.
"Well," I say slowly, dragging it out with maximum brat energy, my voice lilting with practiced nonchalance. "Either you were conspiring to murder me, or you've just realized I'm too pretty to be left unsupervised." I cock my head, studying their faces for any crack in their collective composure.
Levi's lips twitch, those devastating dimples threatening to make an appearance despite whatever serious mood has descended over my security detail.
Dante tries not to smile, but I catch the slight softening around his eyes, that micro expression he can never quite control when I'm being deliberately ridiculous.
Hero doesn't even pretend, he lets out a low huff of amusement, the sound rumbling through the tension-filled room like distant thunder.
"That's it, isn't it?" I continue, strolling toward the couch like I own the place, which, technically, I do. "You were all talking about how best to lock me in a tower so no one else can touch me. Honestly, I'm flattered. Obsessed much?" I flutter my eyelashes dramatically, wielding my charm like the weapon it's always been.
Dante raises a brow, green eyes flashing with something unreadable. "You finished?" His voice carries that slight accent that emerges when he's either irritated or amused. I can't tell which it is right now.
"Never," I shoot back, and without missing a beat, I flop down right between him and Levi, claiming my space with deliberate casualness. My thigh brushes against Levi's tailored slacks. Dante is all quiet tension beside me, his cedarwood scent intensifying with my proximity. Hero hasn't moved from his position by the window, but his hazel eyes track every motion like I'm a tornado about to wreak havoc on their carefully constructed plans.
Maybe I am.
The silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken words. The afternoon light catches the dust motes floating between us, turning them to gold.
I buy myself some time and sip the last of my water, then place the ceramic mug back on the coffee table. The cool liquid does nothing to soothe the sudden dryness in my throat. Whatever this is, they're gearing up for it. I can feel it in the way Dante shifts closer, moving from the arm of the sofa into the seat next to me, his muscular thigh now pressing firmly against mine. In the way Levi rests his hand casually but deliberately on my knee, his dark fingers a stark contrast against my lighter pants. The warmth of his palm seeps through the cotton like a promise or a warning.
"So," I say, licking my lips nervously before forcing a smile, "Who wants to tell me what's going on? Did I miss a group text? A secret Alpha handshake meeting?" I glance between them, using humor as my shield.
Dante sighs and scrubs a hand over his buzzed scalp, the gesture uncharacteristically vulnerable for a man who calculateshis every move. "We need to talk, Brookes," he says, my name softly.
"Oh no," I murmur, leaning my head dramatically back against the couch, letting it sink into the plush cushions as I stare at the ceiling. "Is this the 'it's not you, it's us' conversation? Please. At least make it interesting. If you're going to drop some bombshell, I'd prefer confetti or at minimum a PowerPoint presentation."
Levi's hand tightens just slightly on my knee, his warm vanilla scent wrapping around me like a security blanket, grounding me when I want to float away on sarcasm. "Brookes." Just my name, but something in his voice, a depth, a gravity, that quiets my mind. The teasing words die in my throat.
Hero crosses the room with that fluid grace that still catches me off guard, his movements economical yet somehow elegant. Raising an expectant brow, I watch him shift the coffee table carefully. Before I can question him, he crouches in front of me, forearms braced on his knees, perfectly balanced. His face is calm, steady, hazel eyes locked on mine, but his scent, sandalwood and earth, is a touch heavier than usual, more potent. Having all his focus directed at me, the quiet, intense attention that misses nothing. It makes me want to squirm in my seat, makes my skin feel too tight, too warm.
"We want you," Hero says simply, the words hanging in the air between us, unadorned and unmistakable.
