Page 56 of Run Omega Run
Dante took his turn next, his hands gentle as he positioned her to receive his affection. His scent intensified as he nuzzled against the other side of her neck, his lips trailing kisses that made her arch against him with soft sounds of pleasure and need.
"Beautiful," he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with emotion that went far beyond physical attraction.
Angus followed, his massive hands impossibly tender as they cradled her breast. While Cole's approach had that clinical precision, transformed into something almost worshipful as he knelt beside the bed. His toffee scent had gentled, becoming something warm and comforting. He pressed his lips to her wrist, feeling her pulse beneath his mouth.
"Safe," he said simply, his dark eyes meeting hers with absolute conviction. "You’re always safe with us."
With the formal claiming complete, we arranged ourselves around her like guards protecting something precious beyond measure. Her heat continued to burn through her system, demanding physical relief we were more than willing to provide.
Downstairs, the broken door hung from its hinges, a reminder that danger still existed in the world beyond our walls. But inside, surrounded by the combined scents of our newly formed pack, Heather finally had what she'd been seeking all her life: a family that would never abandon her, protection that would never fail, and love that would never ask her to be anything other than exactly who she was.
Chapter 23
Heather
My heat had ended, but my hands wouldn't stop shaking.
I stared down at them as they trembled around the handle of the wooden spoon, watching the oatmeal stick and clump because I couldn't maintain the steady rhythm that breakfast preparation usually required. The familiar weight of the spoon felt foreign in my grip, as if my body had forgotten how to perform the simple tasks that had anchored my mornings for years.
The kitchen felt different in the pre-dawn darkness. Shadows stretched longer than they should have, and every creak of settling wood made my shoulders jolt with tension I couldn't release. Through the windows, I could see the faint outline of our rebuilt fence, but all I could think about was how easy it had been breached, how quickly our sanctuary had been violated by men who saw us as nothing more than merchandise to be collected.
I forced myself to take a deep breath, inhaling the comforting scents that should have steadied me—cinnamon from the oatmeal, vanilla from Becky’s lingering scent, the lingering traces of my pack's combined presence. But underneath it all, I could still smell gasoline and engine exhaust fumes, as if Jude's violence had stained the very air we breathed.
The spoon clattered against the pot as another tremor seized my hand. I gripped the edge of the counter, my knuckles white against the worn wood, and tried to summon the calm façade that had carried me through every previous crisis. The children would be awake soon, padding downstairs in their mismatched pajamas and bedhead hairstyles, expecting the steady presence of the woman who'd never let them see her fall apart.
But I was falling apart. Had been since the moment I found out those men had forced their way through our door. Every protective instinct I possessed had gone haywire, leaving me jumping at shadows while trying to maintain the illusion that everything was still safe, still manageable.
From somewhere outside came the sharp crack of a hammer against wood, followed by Bennett's low voice discussing measurements with Dante. They'd been working since first light to repair the damage, to restore the barrier between us and the world that had proven so fragile. Each strike of the hammer made me flinch, my nervous system treating every sudden sound as a potential threat.
I tried again with the oatmeal, forcing my hand to move in smooth circles despite the way my pulse hammered inside my chest. The children needed breakfast, needed the routine that told them their world remained stable even when everything felt like it was shifting beneath our feet. I could fall apart later, in private, where my terror couldn't infect their sense of security.
Footsteps on the stairs announced the first arrival. Tomas appeared in the doorway, his thin frame wrapped in pajamas that were still too big despite Becky's recent shopping trip. His hair stuck up in impossible directions, and he clutched the worn corner of his blanket like a talisman against the uncertainties of waking.
"Morning, sweetheart," I said, injecting brightness into my voice that felt like glass cutting my throat. "Did you sleep well? Any good dreams to tell me about?"
He nodded slowly, but his eyes were too serious for a child his age, scanning the kitchen with the same hypervigilance I'd been fighting all morning. "I heard loud noises," he whispered. "Scary noises."
My chest tightened with guilt that I hadn't been able to shield him from last night's violence. "We will be okay," I said gently, spooning oatmeal into his favorite bowl, the one with painted flowers that had somehow survived both the earthquake and countless washings. "Bennett and Dante are fixing our front door. Making it stronger than before."
The explanation seemed to satisfy him, but I caught the way his shoulders remained tense as he climbed onto his chair, the way his gaze kept darting toward the hallway where our broken entrance waited for reconstruction.
More footsteps announced the arrival of the others. Loubie Lou bounded in with characteristic enthusiasm, her stuffed rabbit tucked under one arm and her nightgown twisted sideways from sleep. But even her perpetual energy seemed subdued this morning, her usual chatter replaced by uncertain glances between Tomas and me.
"Miss Heather," she said, settling into her chair with unusual quiet, "why does the house smell different?"
