Three months later
“The weather sucks,” Fenrir griped, staring out the window of the tiny rental they’d booked for the weekend. It was located on a small island on the other side of the country and had taken them months to locate.
Or, rather, it’d taken them that long to locate their targets, the people currently occupying the even tinier house across the road.
“I like it,” Oberon said, switching the stove off as soon as the kettle began to whistle. “Coffee is ready.”
“What’s there to like about a blizzard?” Fenrir crossed the small living area to the kitchen, scowl firmly in place. Restless energy crackled in the air as he moved, proof that his Shout nature was the cause for how riled up he currently was.
They were going to have to deal with that before he did something rash and blew their cover.
Or destroyed the place.
Oberon glanced around, noting all the colorful knitted items and winced. If Fenrir unleashed his powers in here, half the place would be ruined beyond repair. Usually, he wouldn’t care, but the old woman who’d agreed to rent it out to them was the grandmother of one of his business partners, and…
He kind of liked the place.
The sunshiny yellow knitted throw pillows and the vibrant blue blanket folded over the back of the green paisley couch were endearing in their own, mismatched, totally hideous way.
“Here,” he handed a steaming mug of instant coffee to Fenrir. “Warm yourself up so you can cool yourself down.”
They’d tracked Trick and Jose to this speck on the planet and had made arrangements as soon as possible. In their haste, they’d failed to check the weather forecast and had arrived just before the start of what everyone was warning was about to be a massive storm.
Since Fiora had stopped giving them updates on what was being done to Michelle, Fenrir had grown agitated. Taking out his other two antagonists would be good for him.
But there was no need to rush.
“Why are you grinning like that?” Fenrir scoffed. “Stop it.”
“Does this remind you of anything?” He motioned toward the window with his chin, then sipped his drink.
“It reminds me of snow. We see it every day. We live on Synastry.”
Oberon rolled his eyes. “I swear, how’d I end up with the least romantic omega in the universe?”
“You confuse romantic with cheesy,” Fenrir stated.
“Are you calling me cheesy?”
“You’re a whole fondue set, King.”
He choked on his drink, almost burning himself, and then shuddered. “Good Light. I’m rubbing off on you.”
“The jokes are bad, you see it now?”
“Lucky for you, there’s something I am good at.”
Fenrir’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
Plucking the mug from his hands, Oberon set them both on the counter and then cornered Fenrir against the fridge.
“Seriously? Is now really the time—”
He didn’t let him finish, tongue forcing its way past Fenrir’s full lips. It didn’t take much to get the omega to submit to him, and he pressed his hips in close, grinding his hard-on against Fenrir until he felt the responding bulge forming between them.
No matter the time of day, location, or situation, Fenrir was always so responsive to Oberon’s touch. He loved that about him.
“I love you,” he said, nipping at his mouth before moving to decorate the curve of his jaw with featherlight kisses that had Fenrir squirming. When his omega moaned and tilted his head, presenting him a better angle, O tsked. “That’s not it. Come on. Behave, precious.”