Page 202 of Awakened

In for a penny, and all that shit.

“Don’t. Touch. Them,” I enunciate each word, ready to straight up fight my Packmate if he pushes me.

He doesn’t. Instead, he switches sides and teams up with the clock against me.

“Moron,” he mutters, rolling his eyes and throwing himself down on the opposite couch.

This fucker. I know things changed at breakfast. I could see it in his eyes. In the way he kept his fists clenched so no one would see his hands trembling. I know my brother. I know when he’s spiraling. He can lock down his side of the Bond all he wants, but he can’t fool me completely.

He knows he fucked up. He was practically on his knees in front of Gav right alongside me. Of course, he’s not going to come right out and admit he’s been a giant bag of dicks, but you don’t stare sightlessly at a wall for two hours in silence if you’re not seriously regretting your recent life choices.

Then again, he wouldn’t be Dax if he didn’t fight back just a little—just to prove to himself and everyone else that he’s still in control. I should have expected this little regression, but he’ll have to push through it. I don’t have time to rub his nose in his accidents. Not when there’s groveling to do.

Lots and lots and lots of groveling.

Caelan, Soren, and Idril walk in together, Idril sandwiched protectively between the Alphas. And just like every other time the Omega walks into a room, all my attention is drawn toward her. Even though I just laid eyes on her a bit ago—after being chased around the yard by her demon cat—she looks… different. There’s a weightlessness to her now that wasn’t there before. Her skin’s still pale, but it’s glowing. Her hair is no longer pulled back into a single, thick braid, but falls down her back in soft, sleek waves. Tiny braids are interwoven throughout the strands, including two at the sides holding sections away from her face. Wispy silver strands absently frame high cheekbones flushed a soft pink, making her look like she’s actually fucking glowing.

But best of all?

She’s smiling.

My heart slams against the front of my ribcage as Soren murmurs something and her smile grows, widening into a grin. Caelan smirks and leans down, whispering something to the two of them that causes Idril to throw back her head and let out a bright, musical laugh.

I make a mental note to ask him what he said to her later. I need to keep track of everything that makes her smile. Then do them every single day. I’ll be the best Packmate-in-law in the whole Fatesdamned world. I’ll fucking crush it. If they ever hand out awards, I’ll be at the top of the list. Everywhere I’ll go, people will point and whisper, “Hey, is that Vaelenor? I heard he’s like… The best Packmate-in-law in the universe. His Packmate’s Fated Mate thinks he’s so amazing she even made a blog. He’s way better than that loser, Daxen.”

Yeah… that’s totally happening.

There’s just one little problem. One I’m reminded of when Caelan murmurs something else to the Omega, and she laughs even harder—it’s that same beautiful, tinkling laugh I first heard in the library.

The sound goes straight to my cock.

I search for something to hide my growing erection and grab the nearest pillow, placing it on top of my lap, praying to all the gods and Fates and even the moon for good measure that Caelan doesn’t notice. I’m like, ninety percent sure he’d tear my throat out if he does.

No matter how hard I try to convince myself that lusting over my Packmate’s Fated Mate isn’t weird, I haven’t quite reached that level of self-delusion, unfortunately. It’s not exactly something I can turn off, though, and if I’m being totally honest with myself, these feelings aren’t new.

I decided last night that I’m officially done ignoring my instincts. All morning after what we found out at breakfast, I couldn’t stop thinking that if I’d simply listened to my instincts from the start, everything would be so different right now.

So even though it scares the shit out of me, for the first time in my life, I’m trusting them completely—no second-guessing. No excuses. No letting fear get in the way—Curse or no Curse.

The way I see it, my relationship with Idril cannot possibly get worse.

I’m so lost in my head hyping myself up for ‘Operation Don’t Be A Coward’ that I nearly miss Idril walking toward the couch, bright blue eyes trained on the blankets.

My spine straightens as she shuffles to a stop in front of me, scrutinizing the bedding warily. Her hands curl into fists at her sides like she’s fighting her instinct to reach out and touch them.

Her eyes dart to mine before flitting away again.

Logically, I know that this is the part where I’m supposed to speak, but it’s like all the words have been sucked out of my head, and I sit here, just staring at her stupidly.

Fates… What should I say? Something tells me that, “Here, I bought you these to make up for denying you blankets for so long, even though all I’ve wanted to do since the second I saw you is to wrap you up in the softest fabric known to man because you deserve to live inside of a cloud,” isn’t going to go over well.

I have an entire list of new names to call you. My Alpha gleefully informs me. I’ve been preparing for this moment my entire life.

Snarling, I send him a mental middle finger and ignore his commentary. He can save his list for another day. This is the first step in my list of ways to grovel, and I’m not going to fuck it up.

Idril’s growing increasingly fidgety, rubbing the fabric of her cotton sundress between thumb and index finger and chewing on her lower lip. My own anxiety has skyrocketed into the stratosphere, and for the rest of my life I’ll blame my overwhelming panic for the way I finally put an end to what’s become the world’s most awkward silent standoff.

Taking a deep breath, I open my mouth, gesture toward the blankets, and scream—yes, scream—in a pitch five times higher than my normal register, “These are for you!”