by Lola Rock
Orion was always different.
Just like Lilah’s different.
Only, I don’t know if I’m treating her like this because she’s omega or because she’s ours.
I don’t know what this girl is, but she’s not what Jett fears. Not what Atlas suspects or Orion dreads. Not a slut or an invader or enemy or any of the other names they’re probably calling her in their twisted skulls.
What I’m most afraid of?
Lilah Darling might be our biggest hope. Or she’s about to tear our pack a-fucking-part.
All I can do is wait and see which way the coin falls.
Seventeen
LILAH
I fall asleep with a belly full of rice and Hunter’s smoke invading my dreams. Orion stars in my fantasy feature, playing the knight in shining armor who rescues me from a troll and licks me head to toe for reasons that make total sense in the middle of the night.
When my alarm beeps, I wake up panting, my thighs pressed hard together against the ache of what I hope to god wasn’t a freaking sleep orgasm.
My hormones need to chill. I don’t care if I’m surrounded by muscled, steamy, tempting, beautiful men.
We can’t play this game.
I cannot awaken. I can’t start to let them think of me as a potential mate. Not for one second.
After a cold shower, in clean clothes, I throw in another load of laundry, then creep up the stairs, listening to the house at every step. Footsteps sound and coffee mugs clink in the kitchen.
No way am I bumping into my housemates and their brain-fogging pheromones. I slink up the back steps, popping out in the lawn and stealthily making my way around front, dew soaking my sneakers. My feet itch. The bottoms are all scabbed over, but no one’s going to catch me complaining.
Like the creeper I am, I lean half-hidden against the corner of the garage. I peek inside and spot a few empty car slots.
Did Hunter already leave?
“You’re late,” says a harsh, beta voice worse than a constipated rooster.
I whip around to find Craig sneering at me in khakis and a white collared shirt. He looks like a third-rate caddy. Or the guy who drives beers to the golfers in a D-list rom-com. My nose wrinkles at the wet cardboard smell of his pheromones.
“I’m supposed to be meeting Hunter.” I hug the wall, not showing submission, but not acting dominant. Hopefully, Craig will forget I exist after this chat.
“The pack got called into HQ. Hunter told me to take you to the grocery store.” He holds up a black card, looking so smug, I’m almost positive this is a special treat for him. I hope it’s just the card he’s gloating over, and not the chance to boss me around.
“I’ll take a rain check.”
“Wait,” he shouts so quickly I can’t help but stop. “Alpha Hunter said it, so you’re going. Don’t try to get out of work.” He clicks a key fob, making the SUV chirp.
I weigh the options.
Shopping spree on the pack? Or hide out and lose Hunter’s goodwill?
When Craig struts for the car, I decide I deserve ice cream now that the image of his khaki wedgie is seared into my brain. I move toward the passenger door.
“I’m not your chauffeur.” Craig tosses the keys.
I catch them, a frown puckering my brows. “I don’t have a license.”
“But you can drive?”
“Technically.” Driver’s ed was one of my many, many OCC electives, but I never passed the test and I never practiced.
“Then drive.”
“That’s not—”
“I’m not carting you all over town,” Craig snarls.
I clench the keys until metal bites my palm. He wants me to drive, I’ll drive.
The car is way bigger than the beater sedan my driver’s ed teacher let us kick around campus, but the seatbelt and key work the same. I figure it’s all gravy, minus the too-tempting alpha scents embedded in the upholstery.
I open my window to air out while Craig climbs in back. He doesn’t buckle, sitting with his phone and leaving me to play driver. I’d rather play along than deal with his whining, so I search for the closest grocery store on the GPS and roll out.
Driving is fine on the driveway and country roads, but I forgot how fast cars go. And why is the road so narrow?
I drive thirty the whole way to town, getting flipped off three times and almost hitting a shrub that someone planted way too close to the fucking road.
Craig mutters under his breath, but so what?
Bastard could’ve called an Uber.
“Park at the coffee shop,” Craig says, waving to the cute café spot across the lot from the grocery store. He hands me the black card like he’s leaving one of his organs in my care. “Wait by the car when you’re done. And pick up some energy drinks.”
He hops out and ducks into the shop.
I’m nervous in public for literally the first time in my life, but being alone is so much better than being stuck with Craig. Tucking the credit card safely into my bra, I grab a cart and head inside.
I’ve only seen grocery stores in the movies.
It’s more colorful than I imagined, the bakery smells amazing, and I can’t fucking fathom why there need to be five hundred kinds of cheese, but I am on board this crazy mozzarella train.
Pushing my cart, I duck down. It feels like people are looking at me, sneaking glances from the corners of their eyes. Because no perfuming omega should ever be out on her own.
A male beta passes so close I consider stabbing him an extra air hole. When his sniff comes up blank, his creepy eager smile fades and he darts down the aisle.
Whatever I smell like, I look omega, and not even shrugging into my hoodie hides the come-mess-with-me aura.
I have a scowl for that.
I don’t plan to cook anything complicated, so I grab the basics that the Wyvern pack’s missing. Stuff for grilled cheeses, spaghetti, and salads. Ground beef and buns for burgers.
They’re set on condiments for life.
My cart’s already heaped when I hesitate in the baking aisle, wondering if I could get away with making Craig a cake filled with rat poison.
“New pack?” A female voice chirps.
The small blonde offers a warm smile that’s wrecked by her hulking alphas who study me like I’m a grocery store terrorist.
“Honestly.” She scoffs, then playfully shoves them away. “I’ll meet you at the front.”
“But babe,” her alpha whines.
“You shouldn’t be alone,” the other insists, both big men pressing her tight to her cart like a sniper could be ducking behind the bags of sugar.
“You forgot my ice cream,” she whines back.
They both tense, trade a glance, and suddenly they’re sprinting down the aisle, chased by the soft sound of their omega’s laughter.
I should relax now that the big dudes are gone, taking their dominance to the dairy section, but to me, omegas are the scariest.
The sweeter they smile, the faster they go for your throat.
“I wasn’t looking at your mates.” I duck behind my cart, hoping she’ll leave me alone.
“Of course not.” Her smile fades. “You just looked a little lost, and I thought… You are omega?”
“Not awakened,” I answer. Even if this conversation is too personal for a grocery store chat, I want to make it super clear I’m not a threat.
Not to her or anyone else.
“Got it. But you’re shopping for your pack?” She gestures at my overflowing cart.
“Yeah.”
“How many?”
“Five.”
“Wow. I have my hands full with three.” The way her thoughts move to her mates has her smiling brightly again, her perfume bursting in a cloud that smells like fruity breakfast cereal.
I cringe.
I can’t imagine my “mates” causing joy. I also can’t imagine them racing to grab my favorite kind of ice cream, or even caring to know that it’s almond cake—
the limited-edition flavor I’ve only had twice in my life thanks to OCC parties.
It makes me feel sad. Lost.
Not that I want that life.
“Well, the rule for alphas is to make three times more than you think you need.” The woman points to a box of marble cake from the most expensive brand. “But don’t stress. They’re your mates. They’ll love anything if you’re the one making it.”
Right. That I can imagine.
Hunter and Finn might humor me, Finn probably making some excuse to feed me. Atlas would rumble disapproval, Jett would try to burn me up with hate-powered eyebeams, and Orion would finally snap, just straight up pile-driving my face into the cake and suffocating me in frosting.
Death by buttercream.
“Oh. Well. Have a good day.” The woman hurries away with her cart, finally picking up on the leave-me-alone vibe that I work so hard to cultivate.
Steering down the rows, I make sure to pick up foods filled with the nutrients that omegas need. Every time I toss something in for Orion, I swear I scent the tang of fresh-pressed cider. I don’t understand how an omega can draw me so hard.
I know that he shouldn’t, but that doesn’t change the facts.
There’s only one solution to my problem: I need so much fucking ice cream.
The pack’s black card burns a hole in my bra. One teensy pint added to the bill won’t send them knocking on my door.
I’m standing in front of the freezer case with greedy eyes locked on the gold-lidded container of almond cake ice cream when a growl rattles every one of my vertebrae on its way to the pit of my stomach.
Atlas tears down the aisle, bigger than I remember, and madder too. A shit-smug Craig skips behind him.
“Why is it impossible to get in touch with you?” Atlas growls.
“Craig knew where to find me.” I glance at the beta, but he gazes at Atlas like he’s worshipping the sun god.
Way to kick me under the bus.
I fight the wave of crushing dominance, but it feels like being crushed under layers and layers of thick, suffocating leather.
Even worse?
I’m not sure if I’ll be flattened or I’ll roll over and beg him to do it harder.
“Follow me,” Atlas barks, and my feet are moving before I can blink. “Pay for the cart,” he calls to Craig before marching me out of the store.
I spare a last wistful glance for the pint of ice cream that’ll never be mine.
Goodbye, my love!
On the way out, I spot the blonde omega.
Her jaw drops, and I wonder what she thinks of my escort. He’s nothing like the sweet mate she must have been imagining. In Wyvern House uniform, all black camo, he looks like a drill sergeant hauling me off for fifty lashes.
“Get in the car,” he barks when we reach his truck.
Helpless, I climb inside, choking on alpha, heady musk and leather mixed with Orion’s throat-tickling sweetness.
“Scorpio summoned you,” Atlas announces as he starts the truck. He vibrates, glaring at the road, but even though he’s not looking at me, his presence crushes like a black hole.
I slide as far into the door as possible, widening the space between us. “What does he want?”
“He and the other dads want to make sure you’re settling in.”
“Other dads?”
“Kieran and Max.”
Wonderful. Because I need more alphas in my life.
“Whatever they ask, just say that you’re getting to know us and there are no problems.”
“We don’t have problems.” The guys are mostly leaving me alone, and even with Craig, I’m not being treated any worse than I was at the OCC.
“If you try to start shit…” Atlas flicks the turn signal too hard, his scent spiking ominously prickly.
My instincts have me curling up, afraid of the big bad alpha, but I shut that shit down, gripping the edge of the seat and forcing myself to hold my space. If I can make my intentions clear to the pack leader, he’ll handle the rest of the pack. “You know your dad bought me, right? I’m only here because Hikaru threatened to awaken me with hormones if I didn’t sign on to be your pack’s breeder.”
“Hikaru did what?” Atlas pumps the brakes.
I’m thrown against my seatbelt, air forced out of my lungs. I rub my breastbone with a wince while Atlas stops the car in traffic.
“They forced you to sign?” The intensity in his honey-brown gaze has me squirming for reasons that need to be stomped.
They did give me a choice, only it was like choosing death by being burned or buried alive. “It was join your pack and no forced awakening or hormone shots and into rotation.”
Cars fly by us, honking while Atlas grips the wheel hard enough to make the plastic creak. His square jaw strains like he’s chewing diamonds.
“You didn’t know?”
Atlas doesn’t answer.
He weaves back into traffic muttering, and the only words that make sense are, “I have to speak with them.”
It would be excellent if Atlas started pitying me. Maybe he’ll pity me so much he lets me build my spinster cabin on the back of the pack’s property. “I don’t want bites, and I don’t want your pack. Aren’t we all just trying to survive?”
“Just don’t rock the boat.”
Me?
I’m the motherfucking captain of the S.S. Do Not Disturb. It’s a stealth ship, slipping silently over the waves, bothering no one, and hopefully someday soon, fading into the mist, never to be seen again.
I guess if I wanted fated mates, I’d cross oceans to make them mine.
But Wyvern Pack belongs to Orion and always will.
I’m just sailing through.
Eighteen
LILAH
Wyvern House HQ is built for intimidation. Atlas drives us to the huge facility outside the city where we pass through multiple gates, checkpoints, and a retinal scanner just to land a parking spot.
Atlas avoids looking at me, but I can feel his constant awareness like an extra layer of security. Not that this place needs any help with all its barbed wire and cameras.
When Atlas climbs out of the truck, I scramble to unbuckle and follow. Trailing behind, I can’t miss the way his heavy boots and black pants show off his muscular legs and ass.
I need to be slapped.
We walk through a guardhouse where a super deferential beta reverently greets Atlas as sir. He offers me a guest pass with both hands and a bow, never once making eye contact out of blatant deference that puts me on defcon levels of alert.
I pin the badge to my sweatshirt, feeling out of place and spooked. I didn’t dress for a military hearing, let alone someplace where people would treat me as a respected pack’s omega.
I feel like a fake. A liar.
And I want to punch myself in the face, because some deep, dark part of me is like a dried-up little bean sprout leaning toward the light, loving the change in status. As if we’re owed this kind of treatment.
Except I’m not.
And never will be.
After passing a door with a fingerprint scanner, we pop into an atrium that smells like plastic, sweat, and a whole lot of alpha. I catch a hint of chlorine and ache to dive below the water and hide where I can’t smell or hear anything but the too-fast pounding of my heart.
Atlas doesn’t care if I can keep up with his giant legs. The halls are packed with trainees in Wyvern House gear who stare so hard, I feel like the lost little bunny who hopped into a wolf hunt.
If I were Orion, Atlas would warn them the fuck off, growling, holding me close, and soaking me with his scent so every single alpha knew exactly who I belonged to.
Instead, he’s hanging me out to dry.
My shiv works miracles against uppity teen omegas, but these dudes are straight-up mercenaries, trained and built for murder.
I have no chance if one of them wants to claim me and Atlas is all help yourself, bro.
So I scurry behind him, not
sure which of us I hate the most.
When the scent of the pool is long gone, and all I can smell is alpha, I catch a familiar whiff of iron. Atlas walks through the double-doors to a massive office suite where a pretty beta secretary pops up from her desk in the plush lounge.
“The founders are waiting for you in the first sitting room, Mr. Wyvern.” She tips her head to Atlas.
I follow him, bracing for impact.
Wishing I could hide behind Atlas’s shoulders—because there’d be plenty of space back there if I were the kind of omega he wanted to protect—I step into the sitting room.
Four scary-dominant scents hit me like a club.
Scorpio and Hikaru Wyvern sit on either side of a sofa. One man sits in the corner, half-hidden with the way his chair’s turned.
The fourth rushes me.
“Lilah!” A big bearded Latin dude who’s Hunter’s older clone squeezes me into the bone-crushingest bear hug of my life.
I go rigid.
I don’t like being touched, being covered in a man’s scent before I even know his name.
“Put her down, Max,” Scorpio barks. “You’re making her uncomfortable.”
“Truly?” Holding me a foot off the floor, he lifts me out like he’s checking out a picture frame. “My bad. I was too excited to meet my daughter-in-law.”
The bottom falls out of my stomach, probably making an acid stain on the carpet.
Daughter-in-law?
Atlas looks like he swallowed a woodland creature, and I wish I were on that same wavelength.
Instead, the sneaky, shoved-down part of me I hate goes all smug.
They’re my fated mates’ fathers.
Of course they want to meet me! They’ll adore me!
Ha.
Dream on, little girl.
“Have a seat.” Scorpio motions to the empty sofa across a coffee table set with donuts and carafes. “Are you hungry, Lilah?”
I’m always hungry. Especially for glaze. But surrounded by five linebacker alphas, with Atlas looming at my side, there’s no way I can take a single bite. “I already ate.”
“How are things at the house?” Hikaru asks, getting right to the point. In a sleek suit, with his dark hair slicked back, he looks like Lucifer’s right-hand man. Just like Jett.