An idea hits me. I could pull something together for them, as a thank you for having me here. Maybe that’ll smooth things over a little.
Thankfully, I’m able to find enough basic ingredients to make a simple but filling biscuit and sausage gravy breakfast. I start on the biscuits first, my brow furrowed in concentration as I try to remember all the steps. It’s been months since I’ve cooked anything from scratch, but thankfully, the memory loss hasn’t taken this from me.
The first signs of life echo from the hallway in the form of a toilet flush, followed by heavy footsteps coming toward me. I pause, looking up with my hands sticky with dough as Phantom appears in the opening, and my face heats. He’s not wearing a shirt, revealing toned muscle and a smattering of tattoos across his chest and arms. I look down and keep working the dough, trying not to overwork it, but I need something to distract myself.
“Well, good mornin’ darlin’. I didn’t expect you up this early,” he says, his already deep voice gravely with sleep.
“Good morning,” I mutter, keeping my head down.
His footsteps get closer as he enters the kitchen, and I can feel his body heat as he passes by me toward something on the counter behind me. But I keep my eyes on my work, starting to form the biscuits on the tray.
“Whatcha cookin’?” Phantom asks, tone light.
“Breakfast. Biscuits and sausage gravy,” I say, dropping the dough onto the baking tray with a spoon.
My whole body shivers as Phantom lets out a groaning purr, one of the most alpha sounds I’ve heard in a long time. My knees wobble and I grip the counter to prevent myself from falling over. I swallow around my suddenly dry mouth, my face and chest on fire.
Phantom stops suddenly, and I take a deep inhale. Not that it helps. All I can smell right now is the salty sweetness of Phantom’s scent, and to my surprise, the faintest trace of jasmine, my scent.
“That sounds amazing, darlin’. It’s been a long time since I’ve had some good ol’ Southern comfort food,” Phantom says into the silence, words a little husky.
I nod, not trusting my voice right now. To give myself some breathing room, I turn to put the biscuits in the oven, setting a timer and keeping my back to Phantom.
“Where are you from, by the by?” he asks, tone shifting back to the normal, lighthearted twang.
“A little town in the middle of nowhere. But the closest big city to where I grew up was Tacoma,” I answer, grateful to have something else to talk about.
“So, you’re pretty local,” Phantom replies.
I nod, moving to start working on the sausage gravy. “My parents moved down the coast once I was with my old pack. I haven’t heard from them in…God, it has to be six years now.”
“Not even when…”
My blood runs cold at the mention of what happened, but I shake my head. I’m grateful when he doesn’t push beyond that, moving to sit at the dining room table, pulling his phone out from the pocket of his sweats. I can see him out of the corner of my eye as I cook, his skin almost glowing as the sun rises.
A slamming door makes me jump, but I manage to contain my yelp as I whip around to find Siren stalking down the hall toward the common area. Their hair is a tousled mess, their blue-green eyes leveled in a scowl in my direction.
“What are you doing?” they sneer, pacing forward.
“She’s cookin’, Rin. I’ve already made coffee.”
Phantom answers before I can, his words clipped. I glance at him to find him glaring daggers at his pack mate, and I lower my gaze back to the sausage links I’m chopping up instead of engaging. There’s a tense moment of silence that hangs in the air before Siren finally growls and stomps into the kitchen.
“Where’d you learn to cook like that, omega?” they ask, the tone hitting my ear like disgust even if it doesn’t outwardly sound that way.
“My bond mates, my parents, cookbooks. I—it’s what omegas do, right? Cook and care for their packs?” I reply, rambling slightly with nerves.
Siren lets out a snort, which I’ll take as a victory. It could have been more thinly veiled insults or a return to the outward hostility. They move off toward the dining room table, and I let out a silent sigh of relief.
I’m stirring in the last ingredients for the gravy when Cross, Joker, and Bones enter the room, the beta and omega dressed in sleep clothes in stark contrast to Bones, who is already dressed in dark tactical pants and a Henley, his mask in place, but no respirator this time.
“Little wisp!” Joker cries, pulling my eyes up.
I smile slightly at the joyful greeting, though it dies almost immediately as Bones growls and grabs Joker by the back of his shirt, stopping him from approaching me. I look around and the mood in the room shifts noticeably. Phantom has dropped his gaze to the table, his jaw tight and hand clenched around his coffee mug until his knuckles turn white. Siren has a smug smirk on their face, sipping their coffee and watching me like a predator might watch prey.
“Omega, eyes here,” Bones snaps.
It’s not a bark, but my head whips around automatically, my gaze locking with the alpha’s golden stare.