Lights, Camera, Omega (Hollywood Omegas #1)

I can be dense sometimes, but watching all three of them go straight to their ‘going down in flames’ stony expressions paired with their socially acceptable panic mitigations… I do my best to right myself.

“Miss Dale—er, Daphne,” I start again, not quite donning the false mantle of my movie star persona, but making an effort not to sound as clipped and aloof as earlier.

“Forgive me, I’m projecting my frustrations with my packmates onto you,” I apologize, though I’m not entirely convinced that this simpering little blonde, however attractive, can handle being a part of Pack Silver.

She smiles, all twinkling eyes and pearly white teeth.

But is there anything underneath?

“I can find it in my heart to be understanding. I think I’d be pretty pissed off too if I’d been woken from a little sun nap by getting unexpectedly accosted by an unidentified flying cork,” she quips, doing her best to make nice—to steer me in a more comfortable direction.

“To be honest, Daphne—It’s good that you see some of us off our best behavior right up front,” I begin, my damned tongue running away with itself again.

Her smile wavers, but I can’t help continuing, anyway. I don’t want her to be scared away by the real me, the real Pack Silver, right at the point where the boys and I are all thinking predominantly with our little heads—too wrapped up in the whirlwind of heats, ruts, and what’s clearly already outright infatuation on the parts of Sol and Julian. If she’s going to see how we are when we’re not putting on our personas for the outside world and decide that it’s not for her—it’s better to get it out of the way now. To do it before anyone gets too attached.

“In truth, I can be a real moody bastard. Ask any of the guys, they’ll tell you.” I gesture to my packmates, Daphne staring at me all the while—dumbfounded.

“And once I’m mad, it can take a while for me to cool down,” I admit grudgingly. “I’m working on it, but I can still manage to be a real asshole until I have my shit back under control. I’m sorry for the attitude, and for dumping all of this on you, but I think you should know all this kind of shit if you’re actually serious about courting our pack.”

I let out the rest of my captive breath on a sigh, relieved to have finally spoken my mind with a prospective omega. Of course, I’ve likely ruined our potential with Sol and Julian’s little favorite. For once, I don’t feel like I’ve started the courtship under false pretenses. Everything is out in the open, and for this, I will likely get a three headed hydra of a lecture this evening from the others.

Daphne falters her full bottom lip caught between her teeth.

I’m actually starting to worry that she’s going to start to cry when Sol swoops in to save her.

“Since we’re talking about our embarrassments, blemishes, and vices,” he begins, sunnily as ever. “I will eat every single one of the snacks in the house if left unattended. I swear. I’ve worried Julian would kill me some of the times I accidentally ate things he’d meant to save for special occasions—or even just dinner.”

Daphne isn’t quite smiling, but she looks less lost—no longer afraid or uncertain.

“I sleep totally crazy, arms and legs every which way. You gotta be careful, because I flip and flop like a fish pulled up on the dock if I’m havin’ a bad dream. Not to mention, I shed hair just about everywhere. You’d think Julian would be worse with that big ol’ merman mane of his over there, but you will end up with my hair on your clothes, in your mouth, etcetera,” he continues with a grim seriousness that can’t help but be funny in this context.

Daphne is smiling again, a shining hopeful thing.

“I will nag you to death about eating and staying hydrated—not to mention making sure you’re getting enough rest and pampering time,” Julian jumps in, eager to keep the upward trend.

“Ask Magnus, I’m like an annoying little bird. ‘Did you eat yet?’ and ‘How much have you drank today?’ or, ‘You need to get to bed! You have a meeting with the Romanian unit director at 6:30 AM!’ I’m always trying to feed and water him,” Julian trills.

Daphne actually giggles at this. Sol had mentioned her giggles, like windchimes on a breezy summer day. Her scent is turning too—from a tart, fruity tang of fear, into the sticky sweet white floral, ripe apricot, and golden honey I’d smelled on Sol, that I’d smelled on her card.

I fight an actual swoon.

“Is it my turn?” Magnus strides over to our clustered group, flicking open his antique combination cigarette case and lighter. He pulls a spliff from one of the rows of paper cones and places it between his lips before snapping the case closed and turning it over to flick the spark wheel of the lighter.

“I am, admittedly, a work-o-holic, who has a hard time expressing their feelings directly much like our dear Cosmo over here.” Magnus waves at me with the lit joint in his hand—a little plume of lilac smoke ribboning through the air.

The truth of his words sting slightly, but I am reminded that it was I who thought this little round table of truth would be a good idea in the first place.

“I don’t drink that much anymore, thank goodness, but—I still smoke like a chimney.” He takes a drag of his spliff for effect before continuing.

“Though Julian is trying to move me over to cannabis entirely. Anytime he catches me with a regular cigarette, I am in the doghouse for weeks.”

After the end of Magnus’ confession, there is a heavy silence until Daphne speaks.

“Hoo boy!” She breathes out, reaching unexpectedly toward Magnus, pinching the still smoking joint from his fingers. “If you don’t mind?” she confirms with Magnus before taking a long drag.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

“Well, the smoking thing is obviously not a deal-breaker,” she exhales on a cloud of smoke, returning the joint to Magnus.