Page 110 of Pack Rivals: Part Two
I simply smile at him and pretend to be considering the dress.
“You know when we’re bonded, our thoughts will be shared.”
I look up at him. “What?”
He sits down beside me on the bed. “I’m guessing you haven’t got to that bit in your Omega 101 literature.”
“Bonding? No. It didn’t seem to be one of the urgent things I needed to know.”
“But you know about it? You know how it happens?”
I reach up and trace the teeth marks in his neck. “When your mate bites you.”
He nods, taking my hand in his and encouraging me to stroke along the vivid white scar lines. He closes his eyes as if this simple touch feels divine.
“It creates a bond, unseverable, permanent.”
I nod, that much I know.
“It also creates this …” he struggles for the word, “portal between us. I can feel the emotions of my bonded mates, at times I can see what they’re thinking too.”
“You can read each other’s minds?” I say incredulously. I’m not sure I want anyone else in my head with all my crazy mixed up thoughts.
“It’s not as simple as that. It’s not like reading a book. People’s thoughts are never neat and orderly, most of the time it’s incoherent. God only knows what someone like Nate’s mind would be like! But you learn to read it over time, like understanding that person’s own personal language. And the emotions, they’re clearer. I can read them innately, a bit like I can read people’s scents.”
I nod, understanding what he means about the scents. I’m finding it easier and easier to read these men. I know when they’re tense, relaxed, happy, turned on. If I’d been more adept at reading scents in the first place, would I have spotted their stupid games sooner? Saved myself the heartache? Then again, I wouldn’t have gotten to know them like I have. Maybe some heartache is worth it in the long run.
“I’m not sure I like the idea of my mind being read.” I kiss the lines in his neck. “I do like some privacy.”
“You don’t get a whole lot of privacy in a pack, sweetheart. But that’s what I like about it best. You’re never alone. Never lonely.”
I stare into his eyes, watching the whispers of silver float through his irises. Can he read my mind after all? Can he see how lonely I’ve been? All those years with Karl. I didn’t realize it until I moved to the city and I wasn’t alone anymore.
“Besides,” he continues, “there are ways of shutting people out. You don’t have to share every thought if you don’t want to. I find most of the time I don’t mind it, though.” He smoothes his hands over the cotton-white dress. “So do we like this one or should I keep searching?”
“It’s okay to wear on the boat?”
“You could wear a paper bag on the boat if you wanted to, sweetheart.”
“Then yes, I like it.”
* * *
The harborin Rockview jostles with yachts that range from Missy’s size to ones the size of small palaces. They bob on the lilting water, sails flapping in the breeze and the water slapping against their sides.
Expensive restaurants and cafes line the shore and people in sunglasses, more expensive than all the clothes I own in my wardrobe, sit drinking overpriced coffees and glasses of champagne. Several more sit out on the decks of their boats, eating meals served by men in crisp white shirts, or lying out on sun-loungers.
The jetty under my feet shifts and I’m glad I took Angel’s advice and wore sneakers, even if they look odd with my sundress. Everybody is watching as the six alphas accompany me along the rows of boats and I’d rather not face plant in front of all these rich and well-to-do people. Several call out hellos to the men, wave or slap them on the shoulders as they pass by. One or two try to engage them in conversation.
We don’t stop to talk.
“It seems like every rich person in the city is here today,” I whisper to Connor who holds my hand and leads me along.
“It’s a good day for sailing. Tide’s right, good amount of wind, sea’s flat and the sun is shining.”
“These people don’t seem to be doing a lot of sailing.”
“Yeah, but they know we will be,” Connor says, frowning and I notice there are several groups of omegas lying out in teeny, tiny bikinis or hovering about in revealing outfits.
