I can’t lose my pack.
Perhaps it won’t really feel like losing if I’m the one to let go.
eight
VIOLET
More time passes. It’s hard to keep track of how much, given that I have nowhere to be on any kind of a timetable. Also the sun is constantly out, shining down on the mountains that line the city’s horizon. This is such a strange place I find myself in. A strange place for a strange girl. Earlier if someone would have asked me to describe Alaska, I’d have said it was a far-off place where Christmas reigned all year long.
And yet, it’s not so very different than the home I left behind in California. Everything is simply more extreme. San Francisco is sunny, but here the sun never sleeps. Even though I’ve only seen a small part of it, Alaska is so big and beautiful, it puts all other places to shame.
I like it here.
I could be happy, if only I let myself.
Unfortunately, my kiss with Miles has me so shaken that I’ve gone back into hiding. Each passing day brings me closer to my eventual heat. Then there will be no more hiding from anyone—least of all myself.
For now I have a good excuse to stay busy. I’m preparing our nest. The guys offered to bring in a specialist to custom fit the space with whatever luxury options I chose from her overstuffed catalog. I, however, welcomed the challenge and chose to completely DIY even though I didn’t even manage to complete Nest Building 101 before getting pulled from the academy. Still, it’s not rocket science, and it’s easy enough to tell what I like when I see it or feel it.
I also have an advantage that few omegas do when building their first love den. I’ve done this before.
Not with an entire pack or anything, but I’ve known a man’s touch. I remember how it felt to be plugged and chugged… just last time it was one hole at a time.
This heat will be different.
It will make everything different, too.
We’ll enter the nest as individuals, but we’ll leave as a pack. Our first time as a group is what officially seals the mate bond. Those who choose to hold a fancy ceremony or lavish party do so as an added way to commemorate the occasion. The laws simply state that once an omega consents to her pack’s bites, she is theirs forevermore.
Of course, there are packs who force themselves upon omegas to fabricate a mate bond. The law is meant to protect the omegas in these cases, but sadly, sometimes it fails.
I, however, will willingly accept Muldoon’s bites. Once mated, our union can only be broken by death or infertility. The two worst things that can happen to a pack.
Both far too common also.
For now, it’s the latter I’m counting on to save me—and even more than that, to save them. To save them from me.
Obviously, I try not to think about any of that while I peruse the upscale fabric boutique downtown, running my fingertips over the silks, satins, velvets, fleece. Color-wise, I’m drawn to the purples. From the deepest blackberry to the softest lavender, these tones have always been my favorite. It’s what I like, even if a purple nest is a bit on the nose for an omega named Violet.
I take my time, spending first days, then a full week, setting us up. Getting myself mentally ready too.
Thanks to my very feverish efforts, our nest is now fitted with a custom-made mattress at least three times the size of a normal bed. It’s also filled to the brim with pillows and cushions of all shapes and sizes, blankets both light and heavy. And because I have a feeling they’ll get a kick out of it, a whole chest of special toys.
Yes, this time it is those kinds of toys. I can’t wait to see the look on Miles’s face when he recalls that moment from our first exchange. Awkward then. Endearing now.
A soft knock sounds on the door. Just as I was thinking of him, Miles must have been thinking of me too, because here he is.
“Come in,” I call, pleased with the progress I’ve made here.
Miles enters, bringing his sandalwood and bergamot cologne with him, hands held tight over his eyes. “I won’t peek, I promise.” His sandalwood and bergamot cologne fills the air around us. We haven’t kissed since that time at the hangar, but I’ve been unable to stop scenting him since. To stop scenting all of them.
Archer has kept his distance since that day, citing work and their busy season, but even still, his pine and patchouli have seeped into my nostrils, permeated me to the core.
“You can look. It’s ready,” I tell Miles, then reach up and remove his hands from his eyes.
Yes, the nest is ready. Even if I am not.
I take a step back to show off my handiwork, but Miles grabs my wrist to stop me from adding distance between us. “I want the grand tour.”