I came to stand beside Chance. A lanky man with almost black hair pulled a set of headphones out of his ears, the music loud enough I could hear it. He sauntered over to us, his straight hips swaying slightly out of sync with his stride as if to call attention to them. He wore a white shirt with a neckline showing a good four inches of smooth chest. A brilliant blue gem stud glinted in one ear. The last thing I noticed was how his heavily lined eyes matched his earring.
“Another puppet learning to be a Real Boy, huh?” Craig nodded slowly at me. “Hey.”
I nodded back. His foxy scent was familiar to me. Growing up, I’d had several fox shifter playmates, and I’d met a few since then.
Chance shook his head with a smile. “You’re already real boys, Craig. Nothing to learn there. Is Hunter home?”
As if pointing with it, Craig tilted his chin up. “Studying, as usual. Unless he’s jerking off. Hopefully the latter. Kid needs to loosen up a little.”
“Well, if his door is closed, we’ll let him be.” Chance took Craig’s comment in stride. “Come on, crew. Let’s get Wyatt settled!”
Craig was already putting his headphones back in, so I wasn’t sure if he heard my quiet, “Nice to meet you,” but he nodded at my wave. So that was something.
The stairs led to a straight hallway with four doors. The one to our left was open, so Chance stuck his head in. “Hey, Hunter. Got a minute? I’d love to introduce you to Wyatt.”
A moment later, a tow-headed, chubby omega appeared in the doorway. His hair spiked in a multitude of directions, like he’d just rolled out of bed or been running his hands through it constantly. His scent was a mystery to me. My wolf-brain said prey, but what kind? I had no idea. “I only have a minute. I want to finish this module before Bast gets back.” He thrust out his hand. “Hunter. Nice to meet you.”
Even his brusque attitude was more than Craig had offered. I took his hand. I wasn’t nervous about touching other omegas. Only alphas bothered me. “Wyatt.”
I was grateful no one seemed interested in sharing last names. I hadn’t decided what to do with mine. Stanislav had practically become a curse word to me, but I didn’t have an affinity for anything else, so I was stuck with it for the time being.
“I work on school from nine in the morning until three in the afternoon, unless I have an appointment. On Tuesdays, I have class from six p.m. until nine. Even if my door is open, please don’t interrupt during those times.”
“Okay, sure. No problem.” Was I going to be required to do that much schooling as well? I had a hard time imagining Craig setting such strict schedules, so maybe that was a Hunter thing?
“Nice to meet you.” Before any of us could respond, Hunter closed the door.
“He’s a little serious, but a good heart,” Chance said.
“I see what Craig meant about him needing to loosen up,” Dante muttered.
“Dante…” Chance’s disapproving tone made me want to tuck my head. He was so bright and cheerful, I couldn’t imagine his disappointment being turned on me. “You of all people should know everyone has their own way of dealing with things.”
“Disculpe. Yo sé. Which of these is Wyatt’s?”
Chance pointed at the closed door directly across from Hunter’s. “There’s Craig’s room, and next door is yours, Wyatt. The bathroom is right across from you.”
My room had a single bed, pressed into the corner underneath a window facing out at the playground. The walls were painted a gentle off-white, and the bedding was a light blue, probably matching the house color pretty closely. The only other furniture was a nightstand with a lamp, but it was mine and more than I’d owned in a while.
I bit my lip, swallowing through the lump in my throat as Chance showed me the closet and explained that there was a warehouse full of donations I could go through to decorate my room.
Dante put his arm around my shoulders, and Chance trailed off as he realized I was struggling. “Are you okay, lobito?”
I closed my eyes and nodded. I was okay. It was all just… it was a lot.
“Do you want to get settled in?” Chance asked softly. “Take a nap? Whatever you need. We can do the tour any time.”
I cleared my throat so I could speak. “No, I want to do the tour. But maybe… maybe I could have a few minutes to unpack?”
Chance nodded understandingly. “Of course. We’ll be downstairs.”
Dante squeezed me close in a hug. “You’re doing great, guapo. And you know, you are always welcome en mi casa. I’m proud of you for taking this step forward, but I want you to know you have a home with us.”
“I know. But I think this will be good for me.”
“Claro.” Dante gave me one last smile of encouragement, then shut the door behind him.
I left my bag where Dante had set it on the floor and sat on my bed, surveying my room. My room. I jumped up and turned the lock, then tested the doorknob. It was secure.
I leaned my forehead against the door. This was my first step to figuring out who I was. Not as a Stanislav. Not as a child. Not as a slave. But as myself. Wyatt.
Whoever he happened to be.
2
Jordan
I got up to grab the empty plates from the table. “Delicious as always, Mom.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed by the way you licked your plate clean. Didn’t I raise you with better manners?” Her words might have been admonishing, but she was pleased.
Shelby covered her nearly full plate with her shaking arms. “Don’t think about it, knot head.” Her words were slow and difficult, and the uninitiated might have had trouble understanding her, but I was fluent in Shelby-speak, especially when she was insulting me.
“Shelby!” Mom admonished. “Don’t call your brother that.”
“What? A knot head?” No one could match the brightness of Shelby’s wide, contagious smile. I winked at her, hiding my laughter as she pushed Mom’s buttons. “But he is.”
“Technically,” I said, “the knot is at the base of—”
“Children!” Mom’s outrage sent us into snickers. “That is not appropriate dinner-table talk.”
“What table is it appropriate for?” Shelby dropped her spoon, and Mom instinctively leaned forward to help her, then forced herself to sit back and let Shelby handle it herself.
“None. It’s not appropriate table talk. It’s not appropriate talk at all.”
I plugged the sink and filled it with warm water. “We’re all adults now, Mom. I think the table can handle a couple off-color jokes now and then.”
“Maybe the table can, but I can’t. I don’t care if you’re both almost thirty. You’re still my babies.”
Shelby grimaced. That comment dug into deep wounds for her. There were only two years between us, but Shelby had been “the baby” in more ways than one. Her cerebral palsy made a lot of people think she was helpless. Even Mom acted that way without thinking, sometimes—but I had noticed when she’d stepped back and let Shelby feed herself. I was proud of Mom for working on that. And even prouder of Shelby for standing up for herself a few months ago, telling Mom to back off.