Page 110 of The Boss Omega
“Excuse me.”
He turns, taking us in quickly.
“I’m Silas Caron,” I say. “I’m looking for my omega, Lark Jensen. She owns OmegaBox.”
Recognition flickers across his face. He sticks out his hand. “So you’re the other alphas,” he says. He jerks his chin toward the warehouse. “Your omega is in the conference room. She’s with the other one. Saint.”
“Thank you,” I say.
He doesn’t move out of the way immediately. “I’ll warn you,” he adds, voice shifting just enough to let me know he’s serious. “He’s a little feral right now.”
Graham stiffens beside me.
The fire marshal huffs out a quiet chuckle, though there’s no humor in it. “Got quite the scare,” he says. “Thought she was inside when the building came down.”
My alpha goes completely still. For half a second, everything in me locks into place. Saint, walking into this. Saint, thinking—
I cut the thought off before it can finish.
“She’s safe?” I ask.
The fire marshal nods. “He’s not going to hurt her. He’s just feeling a little more of that alpha protection instinct than normal.”
The tension in my chest eases.
He adds, “Took a bit to get him settled. Still hasn’t let her out of arm’s reach.”
Of course he hasn’t. I wouldn’t either if I had thought that she’d been hurt. But for Saint, that must have been a special kind of hell.
I move toward the doors. “Thank you,” I say over my shoulder.
Graham falls into step with me, his usual commentary noticeably absent for once. Which tells me everything I need to know about where his head is.
We cross the threshold into the warehouse and make our way to the conference room. We’ve only visited once before, but Graham and I both know exactly where it is. I push open the door without knocking. She’s here.
Lark sits sideways across Saint’s lap, her arms looped loosely around his shoulders. His face is buried in her neck. He’s taking slow, deep breaths like he’s afraid he might forget her scent.
For a second, I just stand there. Relief hits first. She’s healthy and calm. I don’t move, though. Not yet. I don’t want to spook Saint.
His head snaps up, eyes locking onto us, and the snarl that rips from his chest is pure animal. Graham stills beside me. I lift my hands slowly, palms open.
“Easy,” I say.
Graham mirrors me without a word.
Lark sighs, like this is only a mild inconvenience and not completely unhinged. “Saint,” she chides softly, brushing her fingers through his hair. “Silas and Graham are pack. They won’t hurt me. Or you.”
He doesn’t take his eyes off me, but the snarl quiets. Barely.
She turns her head just enough to look at me, her expression apologetic and a little amused all at once. “I only just convinced him to let me turn around and sit like this,” she says. “I’ve been holding on like a koala since he found me.”
Despite everything, my mouth twitches. “Are you well?” I ask, my voice softer now. “Any symptoms? Dizziness? Cramps?”
“We’ve been worried the stress would send you into a spike,” Graham adds.
I take a step forward before I can stop myself. I need to place my palm against her skin. To assure myself that she’s truly okay.
Saint reacts instantly. He yanks her tighter against his chest, turning his body away from me like I might rip her out of his arms. Lark winces. It’s small, but I see it.
