Page 109 of The Boss Omega
His gaze flicks to Saint, assessing. “Is this the firefighter alpha you mentioned?”
I nod, shifting slightly in Saint’s arms, even though he doesn’t give me much room to move. “Yes. Saint,” I glance back at him, “can we follow Mr. Davis?”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even look at Davis. A low growl rumbles through his chest.
“I’m sorry,” I start, heat creeping up my neck. “He’s—”
The officer lifts a hand, stopping me. “No need,” he says easily. “We see this all the time. Alpha thinks his mate’s been hurt? Takes a bit for the instincts to stand down.”
That somehow makes it both better and worse. Saint tightens his hold on me like he’s proving the point. Eventually, with a combination of calm voices, space, and me repeatedly assuring him that I’mright here, we manage to redirect him. Barely.
He doesn’t let me go, though. No amount of reassuring him that I am fine and that I can walk will convince him to put me down. Saint follows Fire Marshal Davis with me glued to his front like a barnacle.
We end up in a small conference room in the main warehouse. Saint drops into a chair and keeps me exactly where I am. Straddling his lap. His arms still locked tight around me.
I should be embarrassed. There are three firefighters, two police officers, and the fire marshal in the room. I am very much not sitting in a normal, professional manner. And yet… I’m not. Not even a little. Because every time I shift, like I might get down, Saint’s grip tightens.
Mine.
The word isn’t spoken, but it’s everywhere. In the way he holds me, the way his nose brushes against my neck like he needs to keep my scent anchored. So I stay like this, answering questions as if it’s all normal.
“Yes, the inspection was completed before we signed the lease.”
“No, there were no major structural concerns flagged.”
I speak calmly, professionally. Like I’m not currently wrapped around a man who looks like he might gouge out someone’s eyes if they get too close.
Saint doesn’t say a word. Just sits there, breathing me in, his hands occasionally tightening like he’s reminding himself I’m real.
When the fire marshal finally seems satisfied, he tucks his pen into his jacket pocket with a small nod. “Alright. That should be enough for now.”
He steps forward, extending his hand toward me. Saint growls. It’s quiet, but dangerous. The fire marshal pauses, glances at Saint, then very deliberately pulls his hand back. A hint of amusement tugs at his mouth.
“Plan on staying close to his side for a few days,” he says dryly. “Until his instincts settle.”
My lips twitch despite everything. “Noted.”
Saint’s nose brushes against my neck again. Breathing me in. My foolish heart doesn't find this inconvenient at all.
It seems the alpha who ignored me for weeks now wants me attached to him like Velcro for the next day or so.
Silas
The warehouse lot is still crowded when Graham and I pull in. Emergency vehicles line the space, red and blue lights cutting through the haze of dust hanging in the air. I step out and scan the scene, my alpha rising immediately to the surface. I push him back down.
Not yet. Find her first.
My alpha knows that Lark was not harmed by the building’s collapse, but he’s still frantic. The stress from the emergency combined with whatever happened between her and Saint has probably rattled her. May even made her more likely to go into a spike, as Graham reminded me no less than one thousand times on our trip here. The idea of her perfume rising and pain spiking around so many alphas makes me want to mow every emergency worker I see down until I find her.
Firefighters and police officers move in and out of the main building, radios crackling.
“She’s here,” Graham says beside me, though I hadn’t asked. His voice is tight and controlled. He’s as big of a mess as I am.
“I can smell her. It’s faint, but definitely Lark.”
“I know,” I answer, already moving. “I caught it the second we stepped out of the car.”
A man steps out of the main warehouse just as we approach. He’s wearing a Garden Brook FD jacket. The embroidered badge over his chest readsFire Marshal. I angle toward him.
