Her lips are warm against mine, steady, exploratory rather than urgent. There’s no wildfire in it, no reckless edge. It feels grounding. Like something aligning quietly into place. But it feelsright. Inevitable. Perfect.
She exhales into me, and I feel the subtle shift in her scent as it deepens and sweetens.
When I pull back, I don’t go far.
Her eyes stay closed for half a second longer than necessary before she opens them.
“This is different,” she says softly.
“Yes.”
“But good.Reallygood, Koa.”
And for the first time, I don’t step back first.
THIRTY-EIGHT
FINN
I knowbefore I see her. The scent reaches me the moment I step through the kitchen door; warmth beneath an ocean breeze, light and sun-touched with that subtle floral sweetness that never overwhelms but lingers just long enough to sink under the skin. It threads through the air and settles low in my lungs, unmistakable and undeniable.
Omega, undoubtedly.
The word forms instinctively, not from logic but from something older and more primitive.Minefollows just as quickly, territorial and uninvited. I don’t allow it to show on my face, but my body has already registered what my mind is still catching up to.
She’s standing at the counter with her back to me, sleeves pushed up as though she’s trying to ground herself in something ordinary. Morning light catches in her hair and traces the curve of her neck, and my gaze fixes on the faint mark just beneath her ear. I wish it weremymark. The sight of it tightens something deep in my chest – not jealousy, not exactly, but recognition. I hadn’t understood the full weight of it then. I do now.
Lani is an omega, and she’s half-bonded to someone else, someone who isn’t me, and yet every fibre of my body screams that sheismine.
“Morning,” I say, keeping my tone even.
She turns, and for a fraction of a second relief flickers across her face before she smooths it away. Damn, I’ve missed her. “You’re back,” she says, and there’s accusation there, but also something softer she doesn’t quite manage to conceal.
“Yes.” It feels insufficient. It doesn’t account for the distance I put between us, or the silence that followed. “For good this time. No more being called away on business on behalf of my father, thank god.”
“That’s…good. I missed you.”
I step closer, slower than instinct demands, watching her carefully. The shift is subtle but immediate. Her breathing deepens. Her scent warms, rounding at the edges in response to proximity alone. She didn’t just miss me. Her body did too.
“You’re presenting,” I say quietly.
She exhales, a mix of irritation and resignation. “I know.”
“It’s stronger than before.” I shouldn’t phrase it clinically, but it’s the truth. “You feel different.”
Her jaw tightens. “That’s been established.”
Before I can respond, Sol walks into the kitchen, and the air changes again. Lani reacts to him differently – her shoulders lower, tension easing as though something in her recognises steadiness. It’s not dramatic, not obvious to anyone who isn’t watching closely. But Iamwatching closely.
When Kai enters a moment later, restless energy preceding him as always, her scent brightens sharply, reactive and electric. Koa follows more quietly, and that brightness steadies into something warmer, deeper, almost contented.
I don’t miss the pattern.
The realisation settles slowly, heavy and undeniable. She isn’t bonding selectively. It isn’t narrowing. She isn’t choosing. Whatever’s happening inside her isn’t pulling toward one of us – it’s stretching, widening, finding space for all of us in ways I don’t know how to process.
For a fleeting moment something possessive pushes forward in me – a primitive instinct that demands exclusivity, clarity, order. I suppress it. This isn’t about preference. It’s about reality.
Lani is an omega, and she’s making us a pack, whether we want to be or not.