by Lola Rock
Then the music kicks on.
A dozen girls move across the stage, but she’s the only one I can see. She’s tiny. Delicate. More eyes than body, with luscious brown hair that makes me wonder if she tastes like chocolate mousse.
And these juicy rosebud lips I want to feel wrapped around my—
No.
Absofuckinglutely not.
Hunter leans over the balcony, straining to take her in. “That’s her?”
“Pretty,” Finn says breathily, his eyes sparkling.
I can’t deny she’s beautiful. The way she moves, that lithe little body twisting and bending…
I tip my head back, staring at the ceiling, but my hard cock already sees something he likes.
Fucking traitor.
“Look.” Hunter nudges me, handing over his phone with the digital program pulled up.
Her name’s Lilah Darling.
Only the Center’s wards are named Darling. So she’s either an orphan or her family fucking sold her.
“Lilah,” Jett chokes.
I lock on to her photo.
She has huge, haunted grey eyes.
It’s a terrible picture. Her skin’s swollen, her hair a tangled mess. No makeup or coy smile like the other omegas. She purses those rosebud lips in a nasty scowl.
Her bio lists her hobbies as forensic financial accounting and shiv whittlin’—her spelling.
“Unawakened.” Hunter points to the key piece of info.
She’s twenty-three and hasn’t even gone into pre-awakening.
“Makes sense the dads flagged her.” She’s bizarre, damn near a spinster for an omega, and if she never awakens, she’ll stick the OCC with her debt.
I’m still not buying the “secondary omega” line of bullshit. What pack would dare keep two when they’re so rare?
Scorpio, Hikaru, Kieran, and Max, the four founders of Wyvern House never found their fated omega. They had me and my pack brothers through surrogates, and we all grew up chasing the dream of a single unified pack and an omega who’d give us blood-related heirs.
Science says male omegas could evolve to bear children, but that’s a dream a long way off.
Bottom line, Orion can’t give us kids, and the dads are deep in their leave-a-legacy phase, obsessed with the four of us passing on their genes and raising the third generation leaders of Wyvern House.
So they’ll say we need mentorship and guidance when what they really want is to shoehorn a female into Orion’s spot.
“You can’t be considering taking her in,” Jett grits out.
“Biting her into the pack? Never.” She’s a strange little doll, and no amount of parental pressure could make me betray Orion.
But our problem with the dads isn’t going away.
“She’s a Darling,” Hunter says, always seeing the heart of the issue.
The girl’s practically a throwaway, with no family to pay what she owes, and Hikaru the only legal guardian watching over her.
She’d be better off raised by wolves. They’re more maternal.
Wyverns eat their young.
Then again, she’s probably in on the dads’ scheme. I have zero sympathy for yet another female trying to claw her way into our family. Finn almost died the last time our team fell for batted lashes and a sob story.
As much as I’d rather choke the girl out than even let Orion know her name, the sickly possibility keeps churning through my brain. “If we take her, we can keep the pressure off while we deal with the Redfangs. If she goes into heat before then, we toss her into rotation.”
“She’d be in our home,” Jett hisses. “You want her there with Orion? They’ll claw each other to death.”
“She’s not awakened, and she’s not competition. Unless you all want to be off duty for the next six months to forever, we need to bring her in. We’ll stash her in the basement and ignore her while the dads leave us alone.”
“That’s shitty,” Hunter says, watching the girl with a dangerously soft look in his eye.
I won’t look at her. I refuse to. But I feel her moving at the edge of my vision like a feather brushing down my spine. “We’re saints compared to the packs she’ll end up with if all Hikaru cares about is earning back her debt.”
“I want to play with her.” Finn’s eyes glitter like pools at midnight, and for the first time, I have no idea if he’s in dark mode or running high. Maybe a little of both.
Dangerous.
“Vote. Do we offer her a temporary place in the house?” I turn more harshly away from the stage, ignoring the way the hairs on my arms spike when I put my back to her.
“No,” Jett says immediately.
“Hell yes,” Finn says.
“Yes.” I hate myself, but I say it anyway. I can’t let Scorpio sideline us.
Hunter takes the longest to decide, staring at the girl on stage. I don’t know what he sees, but he finally shakes himself. “It’s a terrible fucking idea, but yeah. As long as it’s temporary. We can’t afford to be off the mission roster right now.”
This is a means to an end, I remind myself as I type out a text to the dads. No doubt all four are in on the scheme.
Atlas: We’re not biting her. She’s out if she causes trouble or Orion says so. We have the right to kick her at any time for any reason. She only stays on a trial basis.
* * *
Scorpio: I’m here. Hikaru and I will handle the offer personally. Do you want to meet her?
I glance at my pack.
Hunter and Finn are mesmerized by the girl on stage, both big men leaning over the balcony like they’re being lured.
Finn probably wants to fuck with her.
Hunter’s all puffed up like a tattooed mother hen, itching to feed the girl a sandwich.
Meanwhile, Jett stares at nothing, as blank and pale as white paper, and I can’t look too closely at my own gut-twisting urge to drink her in.
Atlas: We’re going home. Have Craig make the arrangements.
I don’t want to know anything about her. I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to have to look Orion in the eye and tell him that I made this happen.
“We’re out.” I stand. The motion snaps the guys out of their shit, and they march out of the box behind me. Jett moves like he’s striding down death row. My other brothers put their heads close, whispering secret schemes, and Finn sparkles.
I keep my heart fixed on home.
And how the fuck I’m going to explain this goddamned train wreck to our mate.
Six
LILAH
Evgenia knew I’d bolt.
She waits in the wings and grabs my elbow before I can sprint back to my dorm room cave and lock myself in for the weeks it’s going to take me to recover from tonight.
“Your lines were beautiful. You were beautiful. Now change for the reception,” she says, already tugging me toward the dressing room.
“Not happening.”
“No arguments tonight, Darling. This goes over both our heads.” Evgenia puts her hands on her hips. In an elegant patterned wrap dress, with her dark hair slicked into a glossy chignon, she looks like a bougie dance mom. I’m not her kid, but backstage swarms with security and I can no more run than throw a tantrum.
I change because only in my nightmares would I go in public in this sheer, skimpy spandex. But I don’t have a rack of couture cocktail dresses waiting for me like the other girls. All I brought were my OCC sweats. Most days, I rock around in them happily.
They keep me hidden. They keep me safe.
Tonight, they make me stand out.
Evgenia sighs at me before patting my shoulder and herding me to the atrium. The massive space is divided into clusters of couches, where each omega holds her own court.
Every girl here is a princess in a sparkling gown. They’re surrounded by their families and packs of suitors, smiling with big bouquets of garden-of-Eden flowers, the tables decked out with expensive bottles and fancy finger foods.
I’m led to an empty sofa, su
rrounded by empty chairs, and I wonder if it’s twisted that I take comfort in the emptiness.
“I can’t stay,” Evgenia says after settling me in my seat. “But you’ll have an offer tonight. Take it, no matter what. Opportunities like this never come twice.”
She leaves me to be swallowed up by the dull roar of dozens of conversations, and a roomful of scents I want nothing to do with. I curl my knees up on the couch and hug them to my chest.
Maybe it’s my grungy sweatsuit, maybe it’s my face full of bruises, or maybe there’s a subtle pheromone hanging around me that says fuck off, but either way, it’s like a force field separates me from the rest of the room.
Not even the waiters come near. The only reason I know I’m not invisible is that the omegas in the closest seating groups take the time to sneer. Rachel glares from the far, far side of the atrium where she sits with her foot on ice and a crowd of hulking alpha admirers.
Solitary punishment doesn’t last as long when you have bankrollers to bribe the trainers.
I’m hoping I spend the whole night alone.
Unseen and unbothered.
Although some water would be nice?
I peek above the couch, seeing if I can ask a waiter for an empty cup. That’s when I spot the forces of nature headed toward me.
The room folds around the two men.
Every conversation cuts when they stroll past. Their footsteps move in sync, the telltale sign of long-time pack members. The waves of their dominance make my blood flutter in the bad way that says I don’t want this kind of attention.
I recognize the dark-haired man.
Hikaru Wyvern.
He owns the OCC.
He owns me.
He’s a cold-faced, older man with sword-sharp brows and cutting cheekbones. He’s not even standing close, but his dominance already has me wanting to roll over and show my belly.
The man at his side is even worse.
Built like three pasted-together linebackers, he has salt-and-pepper hair, a square jaw, and a take-no-shit attitude that has me sinking into the sofa cushions.
Please be here for someone else.
“Lilah.” The silver fox action figure stops his floorboard-crushing steps directly in front of me. “I’m Scorpio Wyvern. You must’ve been waiting.” He sheds alpha in pounding waves, his scent metallic in my throat. It’s gunpowder and blood, aggressive and suffocating.
At least, at first.
I catch a hint of something sweeter clinging to his clothes, but I close it down hard. The sharp overtones that are all Scorpio are bad enough. I’d crawl under the sofa, but I don’t dare show my back.
“I’m Hikaru Wyvern. I’ll be standing in as your guardian for this discussion.” The ice face takes my side of the couch like he’s in my corner while Scorpio sits across the empty table.
He’s my guardian?
This is my nightmare.
This is everything I knew would happen. I grip the cushion, trying to ignore the black static fuzzing at the edge of my vision.
“Relax,” Scorpio says, sitting like he’s in his war room instead of an atrium packed with hundreds of nosy eyes, all wondering what underground hellhole the poor pitiful Darling is about to be sold off to.
Hikaru snaps for one of the waiters. “Water.”
A few seconds later, a chilled glass is thrust into my trembling hands.
Bet Hikaru adds it to my tab.
I drink it anyway. I have to get my shit together. I’m not going to sit back and let them ruin what little hope I have left for my life.
It takes a few more blinks and deep breaths before I realize a third person has joined us. He’s thin in that weaselly kind of way, a brown-haired beta whose scent I can’t make out over the Wyverns who leave me gagging on metal.
“This is Craig,” Scorpio says as if I should recognize him. All I know is he has no surname, so no pack and he’s not the threat I have to worry about with two big alphas sucking up my oxygen while they count the money they’re going to get for selling me to slaughter.
Craig perks up, preening, only deflating slightly when I keep sipping my water, unimpressed.
Scorpio clears his throat. “We won’t waste your time. I’m presenting you an offer on behalf of my son’s pack.”
“No.” The word slips out before I realize who I’m talking to.
He hits me with a who’s-in-charge-here look that makes my lips snap shut and my spine snap straight.
“No one’s forcing you,” he continues, “we need to place a female omega with our sons’ pack. We’ve had you on our radar for ages.”
“But I’m not awakened,” I croak out.
This shouldn’t be happening, right? They can’t make a formal offer until I’m at least in pre-awakening.
“That’s why you’re our top candidate.” Hikaru pins me with his attention like a butterfly mounted to his wall. “Because of our sons’ circumstances, we’d prefer that hormones not play a role in the mating. You may legally be a minor because of your status, but given your age, we’re confident you can make an informed decision. Whether or not you accept our offer, it’s past time for you to be graduating.”
I suck in a breath and choke.
Just like that, all my careful planning, all my sweat means nothing.
“I won’t mate a pack.” They can’t make me.
“No?” Hikaru tilts his head. “You’d prefer to go into rotation?”
“Not that,” I answer quickly. “I just want to be alone.”
“Alone? An omega?” Scorpio looks at me like a puzzle he can’t figure out. “You want such a painful life?”
If by pain, he means passing through heat without alphas to satisfy me… Well, I won’t ever start having heats. And if he means loneliness? That’s not a thing with me. “I’ve always been more comfortable solo.”
“You seem to be forgetting your position here.” Hikaru looks less concerned and more shrewd, with a dollar-sign glint in his dark eyes. “You can make whichever choice you like as long as it affords you the ability to pay back your training fees. Given the unusual length of time you’ve been with us, plus the cost of your original purchase… The amount is quite substantial.”
The man is all business, but somewhere in those words, I know he’s mocking me.
He’s for sure threatening me.
Some fucking guardian.
“With our offer, that won’t be a problem,” Scorpio says. “If you can get the boys to accept you into their pack, your fees will be waived, and we’ll set you up with a generous stipend.”
“If they accept me?” That’s not how offers work.
Alphas chase the omega.
Even when packs are so desired that multiple omegas are fighting for their attention, they understand that they’re lucky to be considered.
No pack is entitled to an omega.
The ratio of alphas to omegas is something like 20:1 and always rising in our favor. Omegas might be commodities, but we’re goddamned precious ones.
Or so I’ve been told.
Scorpio clears his throat. “That’s exactly why your terms are so favorable.”
Which tells me nothing. I keep my tone professional enough to protect my ass, but come-the-fuck-on. “Your sons could have any omega. They won’t want me.”
Craig—silent, but somehow annoying me anyway—gives a sycophantic nod, watching Scorpio like a sunflower follows the sun.
He wears his brown hair a little too long. Like he wants it soft and floppy. Like he wants to look omega, all vulnerable and take me.
Gag.
Freaking alpha chasers. Every other trainer at the OCC is just like Craig. Like Trainer Brock who got booted for sneaking into the dorms after hours and trying to give underage omegas foot massages.
Craig licks his lips like he’d die to suck one of Scorpio Wyvern’s combat-booted toes. I wish Scorpio would turn and give the guy the attention he’s panting for, but Scorpio’s too busy watching me with an alpha intensit
y that makes me want to fold myself into origami.
His forehead furrows. “The offer is generous.”
And fishy as fuck.
“You won’t receive another offer from a pack.” Hikaru slides the paper closer. He might as well admit he’ll block all other offers except the one that comes from his own son.
I push the paper away. “Then they can offer someone else. They’re not even here.”
What more needs to be said?
No one invites a person—even an omega—into their pack sight unseen. There’s too much risk of a pheromone clash that could spark fear, anger, disgust. If a picture is worth a thousand words, a scent is worth a million.
“It has to be you,” Scorpio insists. “Between your age, your performance, and frankly the way you aren’t caving, even though we all know you should. There’s no other omega up for this mission.”
Mission?
A mating’s a marriage, not a diamond heist.
“But—”
“If you refuse,” Hikaru interrupts, “you’ll be chemically awakened and put on offer for mating. When no pack makes you an offer high enough to buy out your debt, you will be placed in rotation as of your first heat. Unless you’ve secured another source of funds?”
A high, hateful omega growl builds from the base of my soul, rumbling and bubbling with a lifetime’s worth of fear and frustration.
If I ever let myself imagine my dream proposal—which thank the goddess, I didn’t—it wouldn’t have gone down like this.
No words of love.
No promises or gifts or affection.
Hell, no mates. The assholes are having their fathers make the offer.
Honestly, it’s exactly what I’ve always expected.
Further proof that I’m an asset and not a person.
My body isn’t even my own.
Not awakened? No problem.
We’ll stick you full of this toxic hormone cocktail and force your awakening in a way so painful they give omegas a stick to bite. No painkillers, because those could negate the effect.
A fucking stick.
Oh, and no doubt they’ll add the cost to my debt.
Assholes.