Page 30 of Generation Omega: Claimed
While the weight of his declaration is still settling on their souls, I direct my question to my inner omega. Do you want to name him, or should I?
It would mean more coming from you—just don’t pick Adam, and don’t you dare call me Eve. He’ll hate that even more than I do.She just struck down my first choice.
“My omega wants me to pick, but she said something earlier about how he’s her origin alpha—theorigin alpha, right?”
Mackenzie nods.
“Then what aboutOry, short for origin? How would he feel about that?”
After a moment to deliberate with his lodger, Mackenzie smiles. “He likes that and says thanks for not choosingAdam—he doesn’t care for that name. He thinks Adam was a whiner who blamed his woman instead of defending her, when he should have cut that whole tree down if it pleased one hair on his mate’s head.She made me do it—what a pathetically unworthy wretch he was.” Mackenzie holds up his hands. “From him, not from me, though I tend to agree, just not as enthusiastically about the punishmentOrywould have enacted on that man and his ribs.”
Laughter erupts at the table, possibly from oppressive nerves, but it’s still a first for our pack, our shared laughter now a shared memory. Ory probably doesn’t approve of mirth, but I’m grateful he inspired it.
To Gideon, I send a message. All right, first alpha, I’ve done my part. This pack is now your responsibility. Have fun, and if anyone eats that last pancake, punish them severely.
But who am I kidding? I stab that pancake with glee, drag it home to my plate, and make it mine.
CHAPTER 18
GIDEON
There are moments in life when the true significance is known in real time. This is one of them, our first meal together as a pack, as very different people all chosen to be at this table. Tillie’s recitation of the omega prophecy couldn’t have been more perfect to remind all of us why we were brought together. I needed to hear it as much as everyone else, because the adjustments we’re making in forming this pack are overwhelming and confusing. What gives me hope is that when I faltered and almost initiated another heat, Ory was there to step in and take us back where we needed to be.
As I look around this table, I see untapped resources, each of them bringing something that no other person could have brought. I trust that’s the case, even when I can’t imagine their value, or find them so annoying I’d prefer another selection had been made. There’s no doubt in my mind that the coming days will reveal exactly why we’re all here.
After Tillie handed me the leadership baton and returned to enjoying her syrup-drenched pancake, I took some time to consider what I wanted to say versus what needs to be said. They aren’t the same, not if I’m honoring my role in the pack.But I don’t speak until the buffet fever subsides, and a collective exhale is released by all.
“Let me first say, welcome, and I’m glad we’re all here together. I’m not the omegaverse expert, but I know that no pack in recent history has made it this far. Everything we were in our lives made us the right people to be at this table—I truly believe that, and I hope you do too.” I meet each gaze, and from that, I have a fair idea what’s coming next.
Jameson leans his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his steepled fingers. His lips tick up in a smile that’s a mask he wears when stalked by paparazzi. “Have I waited a respectable amount of time before asking what the actual fuck is going on? I mean, I’m always down to fuck a stunningly beautiful woman, but this was some next-level orgy action, and usually, I’m not into having other men in my bed.”
“Can’t handle the competition?” Kazimir drawls like he’s dropping a hockey puck right before Jameson’s stick.
Displaying his honed survival skills, Jameson backs away from a confrontation with Kazimir and glares at me. “Gideon, what the fuck?”
I spread my arms wide, hands raised. “Welcome to the omegaverse, buddy.”
“This shitcan’tbe real.” Denial after experiencing the heat? Even with hazy—sometimes disturbingly erotic—memories, I can’t imagine the delusion Jameson’s drinking to deny his new reality. Even he seems conflicted about continuing, but still adds, “If it were real, we’d know. My dad would know.”
Thatcher clears his throat, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “He may not know. Presidents aren’t automatically given the details about the shadow organizations operating for the benefit of this nation and its allies. He’s probably not aware of the numerous facilities or the hunts to destroy omegas and alphas, but he’s about to, because of you.”
Jameson adopts a petulant expression, but I already know it’s a defensive move, a shield against any weapons aimed at him. “I was picked for this littlefuck teambecause of my dear old dad—yeah, I already got there—but thanks for the reminder that I’m thenepo babyalpha in the pack.”
Jameson is throwing out coarse words in reference to Tillie, which should set me on edge, but her curious response to him is muffling my violent inclinations. Kazimir, Mackenzie, even Ethan, aren’t bothered either. They all seem amused by Jameson, like he’s a fluffy bunny the omegaverse found and brought home.
Jameson’s amber eyes flash as he looks directly at Tillie. “You tasteamazing, darling, best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”
Suddenly wearing a mean girl’s haughtiness, Tillie responds, “You taste forgettable,darling.” But then she starts, her attention fixed on me. “I don’t smell or remember anyone’s scent but yours and Ethan’s.”
“Ethan?!” Thatcher blurts, his prissy decorum evaporating again. “You can smell abeta?”
Kazimir stiffens except his hand that’s playing with a knife, flipping it from end to end as though determining its worth as a throwing weapon.
Tillie delivers her own blow to Thatcher with a smugly stated, “Yup, and he smellsincredible.” It’s a shock and a sign of progress when she leans forward to catch Kazimir’s attention. “Ethan’s scent is cheesy, bacon bread, isn’t it?”
A surge of desire hits Kazimir, and he growls, “Yes, which makes it exceedingly challenging to concentrate on anything else.”
“Abetahas a scent and your alphas don’t—why?” Thatcher’s poor brain is working overtime, and there’s still no advancement in his good sense.
