He has to poke a new hole for the tong so it’ll fit me, but he works so quickly it takes less than the blink of an eye.
“Sit and roll the bottoms. I’ll get your slippers.”
When I lean forward to begin, my hair creates a curtain around me, the messy tangles causing anxiety.
I don’t show it. There’s no reason to fuss over something so frivolous.
Yet before I move to roll the second pant cuff, he’s gathering my hair into his big fist.
I didn’t hear him retrieve the brush, but he runs it through my hair with such ease I know he’s had practice. Memories I’ve recently gained spring into my mind. He spent his early years surrounded by other children and would enjoy pleasing his mothers and sisters by caring for their hair.
He’d had fun learning how to braid their hair, knowing he enjoyed keeping his own hair long.
He does the same with mine now, removing the tangles without pulling my scalp a single time. A few seconds later, he twists my hair to the back of my head and secures it with a fastener. I’ve no idea where he kept the hair tie, but I suppose he has many, since his hair flows past his shoulder.
By the time I’ve slipped on my shoes, he’s finished my hair and moved on to his own. I long to do his for him, but before I can ask, he’s already tied it at his nape.
He takes my hand and leads me to the drawers.
It’s full of weapons, none of which I’ve ever held. My stomach tightens, but I sense his need to have me able to defend myself. He gestures for me to pick something, and I study his face.
He wants to say something tawdry and flippant, but he keeps silent, knowing my heart is in my throat.
After a quick perusal, I pick up a smaller knife, which still seems huge in my hand. He produces a holster for it and secures it to my hip.
He leans down into the next drawer and pulls out two blades. They look unimposing, but their edges gleam in the light. He takes my hand and guides it into my pocket. A weird ridge lines the bottom, and after inspecting it with my fingers, I realize it’s a hidden holster.
He offers me the knife handles. I accept them and slide the blades into my pockets, a little surprised when they snap in without noise. It felt as though magnets pulled the sharp points into place.
Wearing his clothes and drenched in his scent, I let him lead me to the door of our den.
We leave the peace of our lifemating nest and enter a world full of unpredictability and danger.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jumoke
We were bound to be interrupted, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
We’ve only walked down two halls, but I’ve already found about eighty things to be upset over since we’ve left our den. We haven’t even made it to the cockpit yet.
Every nuance I suspect may turn into a threat to my Omega and my child sends me to the edge of a rampage. Every scent seems magnified, each sound amplified, and every motion my eyes catch holds an edge of danger I never acknowledged before.
The impulse to snatch her up and haul her back to our den wars with the need to see to her long-term safety. I will not allow my child to live a life running from danger.
They will not have to hide in the shadows just to survive another day.
I will annihilate this threat.
Anastasia stays on my heels not only because of the gravity between our melded hearts, but also because she understands the situation.
She has her own anxieties, yet she holds herself as regal as a queen.
She is a queen.
She’s my queen.
I step into the cockpit’s doorway with alert senses and hackles raised.
Sweat gleams on every individual. Seeck, Dirk, and Kwame breathe as though they’ve been running for hours.
Shya clings to Dirk, her tiny frame almost hidden as she stands plastered to his side. Britani sits in the chair next to Kwame, the rope binding her forearm held tight in his hand. She visibly shakes as she flexes her arms and legs, working out stiff muscles and weak connective tissues. Nova stands encompassed by Seeck, his back to her front as he stands rigid by the control panel.
Every head swivels in our direction.
A warning growl leaks from my chest. My lifemate’s hand on my shoulder blade cuts it short.
Without saying a word, she squeezes through the small space between me and the doorway. As though an afterthought, she grabs my hand and hauls me into the room, instinctually heading for the corner furthest away from everyone.
After a few moments of battling with the need to drag her back to our den by her hair and teach her where she belongs, I force down the growl begging to be released and swallow my agitation.
These are my teammates. I can trust them.
“What the hell is going on?” I snap, unable to hide the agitation in my tone.
Seeck’s green eyes darken in warning, but no one says anything for a tense moment. Myriad versions of shock slaps across every face in the room.
As their scents hit me, I realize everyone just got a whiff of us.
Tense silence fills the air before Seeck lets out a curse.
“Leave it to Jumoke to impregnate his Omega on their lifemating heat,” Seeck explodes, the fire in his eyes matching the flaming color of his hair.
My fury makes me feel bigger, the anger swelling in my chest infusing my muscles with strength.
“Jealous much, Seeck? I’d say green doesn’t look good on you, but…”
Anastasia’s stern face turns to me, disapproval morphing her mask. Without opening her mouth, she chastises me, a sharp tug on our link and cooling of her expression making me feel like an errant youth.
My mouth snaps shut despite my sentence not being complete.
“Are you not sick anymore?”
