Espresso for His Omega Read online

  Espresso for his Omega

  Full Moon Mates Book Three

  M/M, Alpha/Omega, Shifters, MPREG

  Kallie Frost

  &

  Harper B. Cole

  Copyright 2019 Kallie Frost and Harper B. Cole

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system.

  This book is only available on Amazon Kindle and Kindle Unlimited. Please respect and support the hard work of the authors and purchase your copy from an authorized vendor.

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  The Full Moon Mates Series

  His Omega Roommate

  Icing the Omega

  Espresso for his Omega

  The Last Alpha Dragon

  An Alpha a Day (Coming Soon)

  Chapter One

  Cambry

  I’m going to die. And it isn’t even a full moon.

  The irony of the thought wasn’t lost on me. I always figured loneliness would eventually drive my cat insane and it would turn on itself during a full moon, and that’s how I’d go. I was right about the dying alone part, at least.

  Just like I lived.

  I didn’t miss that irony either.

  Although I guess the true irony is that I didn’t have to live, or die, alone. It was my own choice to isolate myself from my family. Clinging to the feeling that I didn’t fit in, no matter how many times they told me I did. Time and time again, I used my nature as a cat as an excuse for why I couldn’t do something with them, when the truth was I was just scared I’d fail. Maybe if I tried to fit in, I’d find out I really didn’t.

  Maybe if I let myself get closer to them, my cat wouldn’t be as lonely. Maybe I wouldn’t wake up beat to hell the morning after every full moon; surprised to be alive. Glad to be alive. Disappointed to be alive…

  It wasn’t that I was suicidal, no. I was just suffering from the same ennui that eventually struck every lone alpha. I was getting older and I had no true mate. My own self-imposed isolation didn’t help. It wasn’t as hard when my cousins were all in the same boat. But after Rion came home with his true mate and their baby, it hurt. I watched him the morning after each full moon, happy and uninjured, and full of life. And I was jealous.

  But losing Carrick… He was like a twin to me. I was closer to him than anyone else in the family and losing his attention to his true mate cut like a knife. I knew he couldn’t help it, but now I felt more alone than ever. If he wasn’t fawning over Brooks, he was caring for their son. Or sleeping whenever he could get the chance.

  It was time for my year away, anyway. It was too claustrophobic in the family house, avoiding the werewolf hunter who was potentially still threatening Half Moon Island. I was sick of escaping the confines of my aunt’s house, only to find a warden staking out my coffee shop. I was already falling out of love with my little café, but the wardens’ constant presence just sucked the rest of the life out of it.

  My only problem was the matter of where to go for a year. Thanks, once again, to the hunter, our usual nearby retreat was compromised. The other popular option was to go stay with extended, out of town family, but they were all wolves. Well, not all of them. My cousin Lysee’s true mate, Ailina and her family were foxes. I could have gone down to New Orleans to stay with them and their son, Adin. But Lysee was still a wolf and I wanted to get away from those cousins entirely. Had I been thinking clearly, I would have asked my cousin, Dovar, what he was up to. Out of the entire Silvanus clan, Dover and I were the most alike. Our mothers were both dead, and our fathers were alphas who weren’t wolves, which set us apart from our canine family. Dovar was a raccoon, and often as much an outcast as I was during family gatherings. Unlike mine, however, his father was still alive. Uncle Gavil and Dovar left Half Moon after my Aunt Willow was killed. They would have welcomed me for a few months. But no. Instead my misery drove me to just try and be more miserable.

  I grabbed a handful of cash from my dresser drawer, hopped the next bus, in the direction it was going, and went as far as my change took me. Hours later, I ended up in a little seaside town, on the tip of Maine, called Port Canard. It was cute, I supposed. It reminded me a lot of Half Moon Island. I couldn’t decide if being somewhere like home was good or bad. It didn’t matter; after a grand total of six hours, Port Canard would be my grave.

  I hunched my shoulders against the cold and forced myself forward. I tried to sniff for something, anything, but all I could smell was ice and snow. Maybe my nose was frozen. My whiskers certainly were.

  Upon arriving at Port Canard, I found all but one of the hotels were closed. That wasn’t unusual; Half Moon emptied out during the off-season, too. I checked in and dropped off my bags, before going out to explore the town. I saw all of two people, both of whom warned me a winter storm was on the way. I didn’t pay much attention; I grew up by the shore and was familiar with winter storms. I neglected to take into account the fact I was considerably further north than usual. I took a long hiking trail out of town and down the beach. I couldn’t say how far I wandered, only that it was a couple of hours later, when the first snowflakes fell. That was the first time it occurred to me I wasn’t prepared for the winter in Maine. I turned and headed back to town, but was still quite far when the snow began to fall harder.

  I had still been on the beach when the sun set, stumbling in the sand on tired human legs. Shifting seemed like the best option; running as a human hadn’t been getting me anywhere. I shifted and abandoned my winter clothes. I had never been more envious of my wolf cousins and their ability to carry a full outfit while shifted. Instead, I ran through the sand, slipping and sliding, while the icy wind cut through my thin fur. By the time I reached Port Canard I was freezing. Literally; my paws were numb, and my whiskers actually had ice on their tips. And then the full impact of the empty town hit me.

  I couldn’t get inside.

  It wasn’t a winter storm, it was a fucking blizzard, and I was trapped outside in an unfamiliar town. My night vision did little good in the thick snow; I couldn’t see more than a foot in front of me. My heightened ears heard nothing but the wind that stung them. I couldn’t smell anything but snow. Even if I could smell more, the town wasn’t familiar enough for a scent I knew to lead me to the hotel.

  Every door I found was locked. I even risked shifting a couple of times to try doorknobs and windows. All I succeeded in doing was probably giving myself frostbite and wasting energy. The insane snow was already drifted to my feline shoulders and each step was nearly impossible. If I were a wolf like the rest of my family, I may yet have survived. I could have dug myself a cave in the snow and curled up with my thick coat to protect me. The snow wouldn’t have been nearly as hard to push through either. Instead, I was a tiny cat, practically hopping through snow drifts. I couldn’t feel my paws, my ears, or even my tail. In fact, I was pretty sure most of me was numb.

  Now, here I was. Lost, and frozen, and utterly alone.

  If I couldn’t find shelter soon, I’d be dead.

  If I passed out, I’d automatically shift back, and then I’d be a naked, unconscious human. And I’d still end up dead.

  And then, I smelled just the faintest hint of a scent I knew very well: coffee. Freshly brewing coffee. Someone was nearby. I followed the scent until, like a beacon of hope, a light finally cut through the dark snow. I ran smack into the side of the porch. It would have hurt if I could still feel my nose. I risked jumping up and landed in deep snow, but on a higher step. I hopped up the steps and found just a slight b
reak in the driving wind and snow. There was a door. I put my paws against it and beat with all my might, while yowling at the top of my frozen lungs. I considered shifting, but didn’t have the strength. The effort would probably kill me.

  My burst of energy faded and I managed one last, feeble mew, before collapsing into the snow.

  Chapter Two

  Louis

  I slammed the lid of my laptop shut, without bothering to log out of my bank account. It was lower than I had expected. There was usually a little surge of holiday traffic, but it hadn’t been enough this year. Profits were always down in the off-season and I planned for it, but with things getting leaner every year, a couple of bad months hurt quite a bit more than they usually did.

  I stood and looked out the window. The blizzard the weatherman predicted was evidently here. I was so wrapped up in the finances, I hadn't even noticed. My window was caked with snow and I couldn't see a thing outside. But, I could feel the cold wind whistling in through the cracks in the window, and added it to my increasingly long list of things that needed to be fixed, but that I couldn't afford.

  “Sorry, Mom,” I said softly. “The shop’s going under soon.”

  I shivered and trudged down the stairs to the shop, debating whether or not I wanted to turn the heat up a little bit, or just settle by the fireplace for the night to help keep heating costs low. Wide awake now, largely thanks in part to my frustration about the lack of profit, I walked behind the counter and put on a fresh pot of coffee. While it brewed, I headed over to the fireplace. It was probably the nicest thing in the whole shop, these days. It was a large stone fireplace, that heated pretty much the entire room, and was always popular with customers on a cold day. At least, that had been the case while my mother was still alive.

  My thoughts drifted to her, as they so often did. I piled up a couple of logs in the fireplace and crumpled newspaper, with a little more force than necessary, as I thought of her. Right here, gathered by the fireplace, she’d talk to the customers as long as the shop stayed open, and then some. She knew every local by name. When all the tourists were gone for the season, she’d open up the shop on Christmas for anyone who was alone. Everyone was always made to feel at home here. I wondered why I never did…

  My coffee finished brewing right around the time my fire was large enough to sustain itself. I headed over to pour myself a nice big cup. I briefly debated adding something, but instead went to find a chair by the fire. After doing the finances, I wasn’t sure I could justify having anything but black coffee. The shop had been struggling for quite some time; I knew its days were numbered, but balancing the checkbook from last year hit me hard. I really hadn't expected the profit margin to be so slim. October saw me lose money, November and December weren’t much better. Another month or two without turning a profit and I wouldn’t be able to keep the shop going. I didn’t know what I’d do after that happened; I was so desperate to keep the coffee shop running that my personal finances had gotten tangled up in it. If – when – the shop went under, I'd be penniless. I glanced above me, looking toward the little bedroom above the café. And homeless.

  A strange sound caught my attention and I set down my mug to look around. There was a distinct pounding noise, coming from somewhere. I followed the sound across the shop and paused outside the door to the storage room. Was it coming from in there? I eased open the door and looked in. Something was pounding against the door to the back alley! Now, I could hear yowling as well. It was an animal, trying to get inside! What could it be? Nobody was stupid enough to let their pets out in this. And, thanks to my mom, even now there were no stray cats in the town. Could it be a racoon? Did they make noise like that? I wondered if I wanted to open the door and risk something rabid lunging for my throat. Then, silence. Had my ear not been right by the door, I wouldn’t have heard the pitiful, follow-up mew. A cat?!

  I fumbled for my key and quickly unlocked the door. An icy blast nearly knocked me back as I opened it. Damn, I was not prepared for the ferocity of the storm. Shielding my eyes with my hand, I looked down, trying to see into the driving snow, and hoping that no animal was about to attack me. There was something brown in the snowdrift on top of my step. I squinted, trying to make it out. The wind died down, just for a moment, but long enough for me to see that there was a cat. I honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if it was already dead, but it opened its eyes and blinked at me.

  Fuck. I spun, looking for something to grab it with. Hoping for a towel, but not seeing any, I grabbed an apron off the shelf, and rushed back to the porch. I threw it over the cat, and gathered it up, then slammed the door against the blizzard.

  It was a big cat, I thought, as I rushed back into the main room. I hoped that I hadn’t been in such a rush that I mistook a young mountain lion for a cat. Did we have mountain lions here? I hurried to the fireplace, and grabbed a wicker basket with blankets inside it, left over from after the last café cat had passed away. I never had the heart to remove the basket; I was glad now that I hadn’t, as I tucked the cat in it, and moved it as close to the fire as I dared. Then, I pulled back the apron, just for a peek. To my relief, it was indeed a cat. The poor thing’s ears and nose looked frostbitten. I hoped I hadn’t just killed the animal by taking too long to bring it inside. It kept blinking at me, and I wondered if it could even see. I put blanket around it and tucked it in.

  Once I was satisfied that the cat was sufficiently bundled up, I went to go get it some food. I heated up a small dish of cream, too. I knew cream was bad for cats, and was sure my mother was rolling in her grave, but I thought the smell might be more enticing than just water, and I wanted the cat to drink. Though I had let my mother’s café’s reputation as a cat-friendly coffee house slip, tourists with fond memories still dropped off food sometimes. I let it sit until I had enough to take to a cat shelter. I hadn’t gotten a chance to go recently, so I had a whole box of cat food. I grabbed a can out of the back room, and took the opportunity to relock the outer door. I opened the can and spooned it onto a plate. The cat watched me as I brought over the food. I was afraid it would be skittish, so I moved slowly. Before I could even set the plate all the way down, the cat shot out from under the blanket and started lapping up the food. I put down the food and the cream next to it, and then slid back into my chair to watch. I was relieved to see how quickly the cat seemed to be recovering. It gobbled down the food, and then sniffed at the cream. The damn thing looked at me, almost as if it was judging me, and then began to lap it up.

  “What does this mean?” I asked softly. Rather than be startled by my voice, the cat merely flipped its ears in my direction. Then, it settled back on its haunches and looked at me again, tilting its head curiously.

  “Cats were my mother's favorite animal,” I told it. “I never cared much for them, no offense.” I laughed at myself for apologizing to a cat. It was still watching me with large, too intelligent eyes. I felt almost compelled keep talking to it. Funny thing was, I didn't care for cats. My mother always had several, but I couldn't remember ever saying more to one than telling it to scram.

  “She’s been dead for seven years,” I said. It still hurt to say it out loud. “There was a cat at her funeral. Not at the funeral, I mean. Just outside the funeral home.” I laughed again. “I’ve never told anyone this,” I said to the cat. “But, there was a cat in the parking lot. Just… sitting in the bushes. It was there when I got to the funeral. And when I left it was sitting on the hood of my car. I know it was just because it was a chilly day, and my car was warm from the sun, but… I told myself that maybe it was my mother sending a sign… like I said, she loved cats…”

  The cat sat upright, almost like it wanted to hear my story. Though I'd never shared it before, it felt good to say it out loud. “Ever since her death,” I told the cat, “cats seem to show up whenever something big happens in my life. I know it sounds stupid, but like, this one time I had a boyfriend break up with me, and I was devastated of course… And I was driving
home, and I pulled over at a gas station just to… collect myself. There's a cat there. Probably hunting around in the bushes next to the gas station. And I know was just a stray cat, but… but it always seems to happen. Something major happens and there's a cat there, almost like my mother is telling me it'll be okay or urging me to go for it or something…” I stretched and smiled at the cat, chuckling at myself. “So, I'm wondering what it means that a cat has now turned up on my doorstep in the middle of a blizzard, and I essentially saved its life. Maybe fate has something really big in store for me now.”

  The cat twisted its head, regarding me with wise eyes. Almost like it was thinking about my words. It was somewhat unsettling. I thought about what I had been doing before the cat showed up.

  “I guess none of that matters anyway, I'm not going to be able to keep the shop open for much longer. Is that why you’re here? Are you appearing now that things are going to fail?” I laughed weakly. “Or maybe you're a sign that somehow things are can still turn around.” With all of the strange coincidences in my life, I found it almost hard to believe that a cat would show up right after I finished doing the books and it wouldn’t signify anything.

  Once again, the cat reacted as if it was listening to me. It tilted its head, watching me intently.

  I got up to get another cup of coffee, when I returned the cat was still sitting right where it had been before. That worried me a bit. While I didn’t much like cats, I knew more than enough about their behavior to find it a little unusual. It acted like a friendly enough cat – maybe escaped from some tourist who dropped in for the winter – but, I was surprised that it had yet to get up and start exploring its surroundings. It was spending a little too much time sitting in the same place for my liking, and I hoped that its paws weren’t suffering from frostbite or anything. Even though it seemed tame, I didn't want to risk trying to examine it.