Page 88 of The Omega's Alpha
I called the Alpha. And as soon as he came on, I said, “Alpha Las Padros, while I greatly appreciate the honor you have shown sending your Head of Security to make certain of my safety, I do not and will not accept his behavior toward me, particularly inpublic.” I put that special emphasis on the word, and held the phone up so he could hear Alyn or one of his men threatening to teach me to behave even when my mate wasn’t around to keep me in line. I let him listen to that for a moment, then put the phone back to my ear. “Please call them back to the enclave, or my next call will have to be to the police. They’re interfering with the business I’m here to conduct.” I didn’t want to involve the human police, but they weren’t giving up and behind my anger I could feel a slowly growing bubble of fear. And I didn’t know if he’d listen to me any more than his men had.
“He’s making a scene in public?”
“He is.” I debated telling him he was getting this one chance to deal with it himself, but didn’t, and then was glad I’d chosen not to let the words spill out of me.
“I’ll call him. He knows that you and your Alpha are doing this for Green Moon. I’m not sure what his problem is, but I’ll fix it.”
Ah. Well, I could throw him a scrap of good meat. “If it helps, I do think he was worrying for my status, but he needs to let me deal with it. This doesn’t present anyone in a good light.”
“I’ll tell him that.” The Alpha’s voice was wry, and then the line went dead. Seconds later, I heard a phone outside the door ring and the growling and occasional fist slammed against the door stopped abruptly. I waited a moment, until I heard Alyn say, “I’m going to wait in the car,” and then eased myself off the door.
Laine’s eyes had widened slightly, but he recovered himself well for someone who’d had all his previous exposure to shifters curated extensively. “We good?” he asked in a low voice.
“It’s been taken care of,” I said nonchalantly and turned back to Kelly. “I’m sorry about that,” I said, stepping forward and offering her my hand, as humans did when greeting others. “It won’t happen again, I can guarantee it.”
The startled expression on her face evaporated and she shook my hand firmly. “Oh, don’t worry, hun. I’ve seen worse. Let me just clear you gentlemen a couple of chairs and we can go over the schedule for tomorrow and talk about any changes you want made.”
Chapter Seventy-One
That evening, Laine and I checked into a hotel, rather than go back to Las Padros as had been planned. The Alpha was disappointed but I’d spoken to Quin and he had suggested I stay at the hotel as a subtle message to Las Padros. I’d grimaced, but was just as happy to stay in town and avoid seeing Alyn. We’d compromised by promising to come out for a visit after the mating, and he’d assured me they’d be present to wish us well.
I warned Laine as we paid for the hotel that if we were in a room together, he would be locked in with me, and suggested he get a second one for himself. He laughed and booked just the one, then went out on his own, leaving me to settle in for the night. He came back with shopping bags full of—stuff. Food, newspapers, magazines. Food again. I looked through the bags and marveled at the things he’d found. “Is this all for us?”
“We can throw out what we don’t eat. Or give it to the staff if we haven’t opened it. But if you don’t mind, I’m going to take over the table and work on a case I’m taking to court next week.”
“Sure. I’ll take over the bed.” I had something of my own to work on too, something I’d been neglecting for far too long.
“I ordered soup and sandwich from the cafe across the road,” he said as he emptied his briefcase on top of the table. “They deliver. Should be here in twenty minutes.” He pulled out one of the chairs and sat, his eyes fixed on the documents in front of him.
“Thank you,” I said, but he was already lost in his work and didn’t hear me. Well, that suited me fine. I was tired and hungry and I missed my family. Quin especially, and as I piled all the pillows up at the head of the bed so I could lean against them, my body ached for the warmth and solidity of his presence. I wanted to talk to him about today, about the preparation for the interview, about the advice I’d been given on how to talk to the host. And I wanted to wrap myself around him and let him tell me that I would be fine, that the operation was simple, there was no danger. That he would be there to spoil me and bring me treats while I recovered. Ugh. I was just lonely.
I fished inside one of the bags and found a chocolate bar. I stripped the plastic off it and reached for my own entertainment—the old writings and stories. Older, even, than the ones that Bax and Bram had been working on, that I had read through on the way to New York and that had sparked that fascinating experiment two weeks ago. I’d been saving these two, the ones I’d borrowed from the man at the university, for a moment when I had the time to translate them, because they had indeed been written in the old pack language.
The old pack language was supposedly a mix of Slavic languages and something else that made our tongue even more foreign. I’d had a great-aunt who’d needed someone to look after her during the day, a great-aunt who still remembered the old words. It had been forbidden to teach to our pups, and most of the books had slowly crumbled away to rot and disuse. But there were still a few, and at the time, I’d thought it a great adventure. So she’d taught me, and I soaked it in because I was bored and young and it was fun to have a secret language. I didn’t realize at the time that she was doing her best to save our history, our culture, storing it in me like jewels hidden away in a locked box.
I was seriously out of practice now, but I was going to do my best.
I opened the first book, an old journal written by the Alpha’s Mate of a pack that no longer existed. Absently, I took a bite of the chocolate bar and let myself fall into the text in front of me.
A knock on the door jolted me out of my reverie. I set aside the journal, and went to answer the door. A young man in a white t-shirt and black apron stood in front of the door, holding a couple of plastic bags.
“Oh,” he said, and stared at me with wide eyes.
“I don’t bite,” I told him. “Are those for us?” I reached out to take the bags and he made an odd little hiccuping sound as our hands brushed. I took the bags and stepped back, worried that I’d terrified him and then Laine was there, holding out a folded ten dollar bill to the young man.
“Thank you,” Laine said and pulled me back inside the room.
I smiled apologetically at the young man as the door closed and nearly dropped the food when Laine started to snort with laughter. He waved me toward the table and snickered while he carefully moved his papers out of the way so we could lay out our supper.
“Why are you laughing? It’s not funny when the humans are so afraid.” I opened one of the bags to find a covered Styrofoam bowl and a paper bag with the beginning of grease stains on it.
“You aren’t wearing your tabs,” Laine said and flicked a finger at the collar of my t-shirt.
I dropped the sandwich and my hand went to my neck. He was right—the tabs were pinned to my jacket, not my t-shirt. “Oh, dear Lysoonka. Will he report me?”
“Why? You can’t tell you’re a shifter, except when you wear your tabs. Looked to me like he thought you were hot.” His grin began to fade and consternation took its place. “Would people really do that?”
“I don’t know.” I looked down at my food—my appetite was gone.
