His words sting, but I try not to take it personally. My mom always says people lash out when they're hurting, and Darren's hurting worse than anyone I've ever known.
"I know," I say softly. "But maybe you need food? Real food, not just whatever snacks you've got stashed in there."
His stomach growls loudly, betraying him. A flush creeps up his neck.
"You said everyone's gone?" he asks, suspicion narrowing his eyes.
I nod. "Just you and me. I skipped practice. Told Coach I was still feeling that shot I took to the collarbone." It's not completely a lie. The bruise is still there, a purple-yellow reminder of how close that game was.
Darren hesitates, and I see the conflict playing out across his face. Pride versus hunger. Isolation versus basic human needs.
"Fine," he says finally. "Give me a minute."
The door closes in my face. I hear shuffling, then the sound of a drawer opening and closing. He's changing clothes, probably. Or maybe hiding the evidence of his nesting instinct kicking in.
My chest tightens. I don't know much about male omegas—they're pretty rare, and I've never known one well at all—but I know enough to recognize pre-heat nesting behavior. It's too soon. The doctors said it could be weeks or even months before his first heat.
Unless they were wrong.
Or maybe he's just adjusting to his new instincts in general.
Before I can spiral down that worrying path, the door opens again. Darren's changed into clean jeans and a henley, and he's made a half-hearted attempt to smooth his hair. He still looks rough, but at least he doesn't smell like he's been marinating in misery for a week.
I back up to give him space as he steps into the hallway. He moves cautiously, like he's not sure his body belongs to him anymore.
"Thanks," he mutters, so quietly I almost miss it.
"For what?"
"For not making a big deal about..." He gestures vaguely back toward his room. "That."
I swallow hard. "No big deal. I mean, who doesn't like blankets, right?"
He snorts, the closest thing to a laugh I've heard from him in days. "Right."
We walk down the hallway in silence. I'm hyper-aware of his presence beside me, of the woodsmoke scent that surrounds him, more potent now that he's out in the open. It doesn't smell like any omega I've encountered before. It's richer, deeper, almost like?—
Stop it. Stop analyzing his scent like a creep.
"Kitchen's stocked," I say as we reach the main level. "Dmitri went shopping yesterday."
Darren grunts in acknowledgment, his gaze sweeping the open-concept living area like he's checking for threats. Probably Zayn. The pack house is quiet, just the hum of the refrigerator and the faint sound of traffic outside.
"Or we could order in," I suggest. "Whatever you want."
He heads straight for the kitchen, opening the fridge and staring at its contents. "I'm an omega, I'm not a helpless baby bird, McKinney."
"I know that." I lean against the counter, trying to look casual and not like I'm watching his every move. "Just offering options."
I guess at least he's not in denial anymore and beating the shit out of anyone who reminds him of his new reality. Progress?
He grabs a Gatorade and cracks it open, downing half in one long pull. His Adam's apple bobs, a droplet of blue liquid escaping to trace a path down his stubbled throat.
I realize I'm staring only when Darren shoots me a look that could thin paint. "Problem, rookie?"
"No," I croak, and quickly look away, confused by my own fascination. I've never been attracted to men, certainly never to one as…manlyas Darren. But something about the way he smells now pulls at this primal force in me. Protective instincts, maybe. The alpha in me wanting to take care of a packmate in need.
Yeah, that's all it is. Just normal alpha protectiveness.
