Page 6 of In Stockings
I peek at my watch. “In about an hour.”
“Then sure. We’ll meet you out front.”
Samson takes Lyra’s hand and leads her out of the cabin.
“Bye, Santa.” She waves as they step out into the hospital.
I watch them go.
Holy Christmas Balls!
Am I going on a date with the Hart Alphas?
2
Craig
Lyra dragsus around the holiday gift section picking out totally inappropriate gifts for her grandmas. The basket I’m carrying is full of junk I don’t even remember her stowing there – most of it unicorn themed. I, and the others, I’m pretty sure, have been too preoccupied with the little omega-elf we just met to have noticed.
Astrid smelled like sticky caramel, and she wore pointy ears that unlocked several forgotten teenage fantasies.
If we could seduce her into bed, could I convince her to keep those on?
I remember the woman vaguely from school. She’d been the quiet one in form who hid behind her books every time I looked her way.
Fuck, has she changed. I can’t imagine that shy little thing volunteering to do crowd control at a Santa's grotto armed only with lollipops and dressed as an elf. And that quiet little thing at school certainly didn’t possess all the curves she does now or a scent that signalled her omega designation. Although, I have a vague memory of that smile – all plush pink lips and sapphire blue eyes.
Shit!
Samson leans in to whisper in my ear as Archie and Lyra debate whether Granny G really wants a unicorn onesie for Christmas.
“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”
“And you’re not?”
“Fuck,” he mutters, “did you catch her scent?”
I nod, licking my lips like I can still taste it in the air. In fact, I’m certain I can. I’m certain I could follow it, and it would lead me straight to her.
“She wasn’t an omega at school, right?” Samson says.
“No, there’s no way she’d have escaped our notice smelling like that.”
“I remember her, though,” Samson continues with a glazed expression. “She used to have PE when I had science. I’d sit watching all the girls run around in their tiny little shorts, and I remember she caught my eye. She was this cute little thing.”
“Yeah.” I wipe my brow.
We watch as Archie wrestles the onesie from Lyra’s hands and places it back on the rack. She dives for a pair of fluffy slippers with sparkly horns on the toes instead.
“We’re not giving Granny G phallic slippers, Lyra,” Archie tells her.
“What does phallic mean?”
“You think Astrid remembered us?” I ask Samson.
“No idea. But it’s a good sign that she agreed to dinner.”
Most omegas run in the opposite direction when they find out we’re a pack, and those that don’t make a swift exit when they learn about Lyra.
