Your Omegas Are Mine 1| Euodia's Sun | Omegaverse Apocalyptic Reverse Harem

84- Beginning of Chapter 27

Rowan

He hated her.

He hated that she'd stolen Zen from their hearts, turned him obsessed and smitten, wrecked and ruined. Zen wavered. In the darkened forest, Rowan had seen his mate brush fingers over withering flowers with soft, confused eyes—eyes for her, not for him. He'd seen his mate pluck dying blossoms and press them into a shrivelling bouquet, had seen him lovingly sort each branch, each falling petal, legs kicking, body bouncing.

Excitement.

It thrummed through Zen, burning brighter than a star. It had his mouth blossoming into a sweet little grin, his cheeks flush with glee. But when Rowan had leapt into his room with mirth in his eyes and tease on his tongue, Zen had lied. His mate had been startled, a vase on the desk tumbling, ribbons fluttering. He had shoved the flowers behind his back like an animal caught in a trap, eyes too wide, blinking too hard.

He'd stuttered out a name, Icarus.

But Icarus hadn't received those flowers that night. Rowan had pressed for answers, hungrier than usual for his mate. He had allowed his lover to slide and rut against him, cock catching against his hip. His hands spanned his waist, sliding to knead his ass. No sex, just painful foreplay. No orgasms without Euodia, without Quinn, only escalating pleasure.

"Zen," Rowan had breathed, and Icarus laughed.

"Don't fucking utter another man's name while you're in my arms."

"He wanted to give you flowers."

"Did he?" Icarus had flipped him over, fingers dipping into the slicked-up whorl of his suckling hole. Rowan had groaned, all arched hips and curved spine. Icarus's tongue was on his scent gland, laving flesh, violating his throat. "Must have given it to someone else."

"He said your name."

"Cold feet?" Icarus smirked, voice drawled into a low raspy hum. "I'd be fucking him if he'd given it to me." And maybe that was why Rowan had sought him out in his tent, had pressed himself to Icarus with batting eyes hoping to see Zen in his bed.

"Do you like flowers?"

Icarus had chuckled and hammered at his hole with a flat palmed hand. No penetration. Rowan couldn't do it without Quinn flavouring his tongue, without Quinn ruining the spell of eternal damnation. Rowan moaned, cheeks painted summer rouge, cock dribbling cum. But it was all just a side quest to the main ordeal. "No," he shrugged. "It'd be a fucking waste on me or anyone in our pack. You should know that."

"I do," Rowan answered, mouth pushed into a pout, bottom lip bitten all raw. Icarus's words confirmed things, things he wanted to forget. "I thought he knew too." He had dropped the questions when Icarus had sunk to his knees to eat him out, all slobbery, messy, and smug.

Rowan found those flowers in the forest the next day, dried out, crumpled and wilting. Rowan knew Zen. And his brows had pinched, expression darkening with knowledge of who those flowers were for. He'd crushed the bouquet with his paw, snarl rippling from his lips.

Quinn.

But it wasn't all about Zen, God, he tried to pin the ache in his chest on that hatred, tried to trap his feelings deep in the bowels of rage. He'd stormed through the battle, teeth sinking into old blood, mouth stained with the putrid taste of the Lonely, and his mind too damn far away.

His dreams were honest.

Rowan had been drenched in the sun's kiss, flecks of snow sizzling on hot skin. He was as malleable and pliant as caramel. His hips were lifted—feline-like, with his back arched for an Alpha. The lip of his jeans plucked downwards, desperately shoved over his ass to puddle at his knees. His hole would be dripping so eager to be stretched to melting, cock all russet and painfully swollen. The Alpha would fuck him, chuckle soft in his ear, breath hot, body smelling like peach juice. A soft hand on his shaft, a thumb on the eye of his cock.