Page 79 of Hidden Fates

She brightens as she digs back into her food. Bringing her here was the right call. Mr. Phillip’s reverence for Omegas has provided her a new way to look at her designation. One that will hopefully dispel some of her lingering self-doubt.

Chapter Twenty-Five

My Omega was gone too long.

When we were touring and she had other obligations, I didn’t feel the need to track her down and drag her back to me. Somehow a few weeks away from our careers has changed me. Shaped me into an even more possessive asshole than I was before. Now, I hate having her out of my sight.

Feeling her through the bond isn’t the same as watching her expressions as she experiences each emotion.

And I want them all.

Which is why I’m stealing her away for the night.

A plan I have not shared with her other mates yet. They’ll be fine for one night.

Rifling through her closet, I toss a spare outfit into my duffel bag. Her drawers are stuffed full, and I have to dig for what I want. I finger the sheer babydoll nightie Emmett bought for her birthday, contemplating adding it before deciding to save it for a night when her other mates can also enjoy it.

Tonight, I’m going to take her out for a fun, stress-free evening, and then I’m going to take her to a hotel where I will strip her down and keep her locked on my knot.

All. Night. Long.

The only sleep she’ll get is with me balls deep inside her.

With our bags packed, I frown at the racks of clothes on the wall. Picking something for her to wear out isn’t something I am good at. I’d be happy to see her in one of my shirts and a pair of leggings that hug her ass, but we’ll be out in public. While Starburgh doesn’t have nearly as big a paparazzi population as New York or Los Angeles, there is always the chance someone will recognize her and share a photo of her on social media.

No way in hell will I let my poor fashion sense lead to her being dragged online.

A quick text to Emmett sorts the situation out. He’ll make sure she’s magazine-worthy.

Leaving the planning of her outfit to him, I seek Quentin out to let him know our plans. I already booked our hotel, ensuring its security was top-notch. Especially after what happened with Orbital Somatic’s manager being kidnapped two months ago.

Risks aren’t worth taking when they endanger my mate.

Knocking on Q’s bedroom door, I wait a long moment, but he doesn’t respond. He could be in his office and not have heard me, or he could be somewhere else in the house. Better to text him and find out than try to hunt him down.

He responds quickly, letting me know he’s in the sitting room.

I jog down the steps, duffel thrown over my shoulder. It hits the floor by the front door, ready for me to grab on our way out.

“I’m taking Skye for the night. Want me to send you the details in an email?”

Light gray eyes study me. “Please do.”

Half an hour later, I’ve changed into form-fitting cargo pants, heavy-soled boots, and a sleeveless shirt, all in shades of black. Thick silver chains hang around my throat and along one of my thighs, matching the rings slid onto my fingers.

Running a hand through my messy hair, I attempt to arrange the short strands so they’re less messy.

“I love the way this shirt stretches over your torso,” Sterling comments as he joins me in the bathroom, levering himself onto the counter beside me. “Skye’s going to soak her panties when she sees you.”

Snorting, I wash the product from my hands and step between his thighs to bury my nose against his throat. Caleb’s near-miss rut has me on edge. It’s been a long time since I’ve experienced one myself, and it wouldn’t be unreasonable for him to have set me off. That, paired with my growing comfort having Skye in the house all the time, is a recipe for disaster if I don’t get a hold of myself.

“She never cares what we’re dressed in.”

Sly’s arms wrap around my shoulders, holding me close. The position is definitely messing up my hair, but I don’t care as long as he continues to hold me.

“Are you going to wear a scent blocker? With how edgy your scent is today, it might be a good idea.”

Wrinkling my nose, I knead his thighs with my hands. Scent-blocking cologne burns my nostrils. Too sterile. Too wrong. Still, he’s probably right. If I don’t want to blast waves of aggression every time someone looks at my Omega, I should use it.