Beautiful Omega

Seven

Blake woke with worry knotted in his stomach. 

He could feel a cloud of tension through the floorboards, a massive bundle of emotion somewhere in the lower levels. It was like a black hole, a void that he could only interpret as trouble. Big trouble. 

Quickly he showered away the scent and memory of last night, emerging from the room in minutes dressed in a thin grey sweater and black shorts he pilfered from Grey’s drawers. The usual scent of maple and strawberry, the signs of breakfast, were absent in the halls.

The only thing he could smell as he descended the stairs was ink. Shit. 

He paused on the last stair, his black hair still damp and hanging limply in his eyes. He strained his ear against the creak of the old house to focus on the one room he hoped was still empty. 

All was quiet, yet the feeling still permeated throughout the first floor. Then he heard it, the rustle of paper. Old paper. A map. 

Blake gripped the oak bannister tight. They were in the war room.

He passed through the lower floor, past the dining room and through the kitchen. A hallway, partially obscured by a mint green wood cabinet, stretched before him. 

It was a relic of the old house. Old wooden floors and pale cream walls with polished oak columns stretching along its length, stained glass windows casted multicolored fragments across the wood. Even the old woven rugs with his family’s crest remained on the floor. All of it was a grand display that led to the true attraction, the war room at who’s door Blake now stood. The Sumner family had decided to keep this portion of the house, a decision that Blake now no longer felt grateful for.

Blake breathed deep, and then entered a scene of unbridled chaos. The room was filled with males, thirteen in number, who were all huddled over a map bickering. 

“What’s going on?”

An eerie silence descended on the room as all of the males turned to look at Blake. Normally he would have laughed at the almost comedic feel of it, but they weren’t in normal times now. 

“Blake,” Grey exclaimed, surprised. “I thought you were still sleeping. You told me he was still sleeping!”

Cole, who stood near the door, shrugged away the Alpha as only he could. “Don’t look at me. I’m not his keeper.”

Grey bristled but seemed to shrink away at something. But what?

“Blake?”

He turned to Cole again, who’s black hair was also damp and pulled away from the nape of his neck by a leather strand. His brown eyes were wide with worry, worry directed at him….

“You okay?”

Blake started to ask “why?”, but then he began to feel it. The void of emptiness and worry that had once filled the room was now being combated by a new feeling. His powers let him see the bright crimson tendrils twisting about the room, emitting from him to twine around the others. 

They couldn’t see the tendrils of course, but the others could feel it as they shrunk away from him. 

Bitterness, worry, anxiety, all of it now spilled into the room as if a dam had broken inside Blake. He took a deep breath, and desperately tried to will it away.

“Yeah. Just a little tired still,” he lied. The others didn’t look convinced so he quickly rushed to add: “Why’s everyone here?”

Cole traded a hesitant glance with Grey, a move Blake noticed as the tendrils began to spread again.