The Alpha's Addiction [BXB]

Chapter 7: Arms

As I'm resting on the ground, Oliver wrapping his arms around me in worry, I notice Cyrus's huge black wolf moving away. At first I think he's leaving—but then he's going behind a thick-trunked tree, re-emerging about a minute later in his human form, clothes obviously hurriedly thrown on from the wrinkles in his shirt. He must've got them from the pack his wolf was carrying.

I give him a look of confusion before he's walking straight towards me with determination in his piercing blue eyes. He scoops me up in those huge arms of his like I weigh nothing, causing my face to heat in sudden humiliation.

"Oh my god! Put me down!" I shriek, kicking my legs out but he holds me firm, like he's restraining a small animal.

"You cannot walk. Be sensible.!" He growls in frustration and as I notice the others watching us, I clamp my mouth shut, refusing to embarrass myself further.

Normally when alphas touch me, I cringe. I hate it to my very core, because it reminds me of all the horrible things they have done to me, to my body. But for some reason... his touch isn't as bad as I thought it'd be.

"Are you calm?" He asks in that deep rumble of a voice and I just stubbornly huff in concession. He's right. I can't walk. And being carried in his arms is a thousand times better than crawling, which is the only thing I could probably do right now with my fucked up ankle.

"Be good," he orders, and I roll my eyes, crossing my arms. He ignores my reaction, nodding to the wolves. We continue through the woods, and while I was stiff at first I find myself relaxing into his warm embrace, his scent of fresh pine and rain washing over me until I dose, finally feeling like it's safe for me to rest my eyes.

*

CYRUS

When he rests that little head of ruddy curls against my chest, I forget to breathe.

Despite my effort to hide how much joy this action brings me, my eyes dart down to look at his face, eager to take in the sight of my mate. His honey eyes are closed, though--long, thick lashes dusting over his freckled cheeks, and I note by his even breathing he has fallen asleep. When I realize he didn't do it on purpose I'm slightly disappointed, but the thought that he felt comfortable enough to sleep on me is rewarding as well. After our rough start, I'll take whatever I can get.

I have to force myself to tear my eyes away from him, otherwise, I'll watch him all day. Can one blame me, though? My mate is beautiful. So much so that I don't want anyone else to look at him. 

My gaze inevitably finds him again, my chest constricting in a bittersweet ache. I have long dreamed of this—of finally finding my omega and now that I have, he barely seems to tolerate me. I'm sure if he was not stranded in the forest and forced to rely on me, he'd have ditched me long ago.

He also acts as if I would harm him or his pup. The thought angers me, because it means that it has happened before. No doubt an alpha inflicted the injuries he bears. Looking at the large, hand-shaped bruises on his fragile looking neck makes my stomach turn. This alpha obviously had intent to kill.

I clutch him closer to my body, protectiveness overcoming me. I will not let such a thing happen to him ever again. I' ll kill anyone who dares lay a hand on him or the pup.

He suddenly shifts in his sleep, letting out a soft sigh and cuddling up against me. His small, slender brown hands find purchase on my chest, the curves of his perfect body pressing right up against me. I nearly stop in my tracks, my eyes going wide at the sensation. Sucking in a breath, I can't help it as my mind flashes to how he looked this morning, wearing only his jacket and undershorts. He had legs for days, showing off the golden brown skin of them as he demanded for Xavier to give him his knife back.

I really need to stop these indecent thoughts before I rile up my wolf. My heart is beating so loudly I fear it will wake him. Then the scent of vanilla with a hint of something alluring—like spiced cider—makes its way to my nose, and by the Moon Goddess it is intoxicating.

As I take another whiff of his scent I nearly groan in pleasure, but I restrain myself as my eyes flit to the others. They are walking a ways ahead with the kid who rides on Lonnie's back. Thank god.

I will myself to calm down, to get ahold of myself. My mate is sleeping, completely unaware of what he's doing to me. And I fear if he caught sight of the rock-hard bulge in my pants I'd scare him off for good.

I instead try to shift my focus to the strain of my arms. He is by no means heavy, but carrying him this way for our entire trek has taken a toll on my muscles. Not that I wish to put him down, no. Getting to hold him like this is the most attention I've gotten from him—positive attention. Him coming at me with a knife was definitely the negative kind.

While a part of me is disappointed by the fact that he was so fearful of me when we met he felt he had to resort to that, I understand. He was protecting himself, his pup.

He had been fierce then, coming at me with all his might, knife and eyes blazing. It is strange to imagine that is the same omega who is curled up against me now, so small and delicate in my arms.

So precious. Even despite the vulgar words that seem to constantly come out of those plump, rosy lips of his.

Dammit.

Eventually, my raging hardness goes down and I rejoin the group. Oliver, as I've learned the pup's name as, looks delighted at being able to sit on Lonnie.

He scrunches his pudgy hands in her black and white spotted fur, squealing with delight. As I approach, he asks, "Is mama okay now?"

"He's resting," I reassure him, which brings a bright smile to the boys face.

"That's very goodie!"

I chuckle at his use of words, wishing I could ruffle his hair. But it might be overstepping my bounds. My mate is fiercely protective of his pup, and although he is not conscious to stop me, I do not wish to do anything he wouldn't like.

Instead, I ask him something that would also probably anger the sleeping omega, but is pretty necessary.

"What is your mama's name?"

He thinks for a minute, frown on his face as if deciding whether it's okay to tell me.

"Um... it's Koa," he eventually replies.

The fact that my mate'a pup trusts me enough to tell me that sends a surge of pride through me, but then I realize how ridiculous that is. I'm acting like a pup myself, desperate for approval.

But Koa. Koa. My mate.

Mine.