Pack Darling Part One

by Lola Rock

  “Settle,” I bark, then turn to her with a softer tone. “Have a seat for a minute.”

  Lilah reaches out like she wants to grab my sleeve, but before I can figure out what I’d do if she did, she darts up the steps. Grabbing a corner seat, she hunches so low her delicate chin touches her desk.

  Every male tracks her smallest motion. Dogs licking their fangs.

  Jett is the only exception, turned stubbornly toward me instead of the chaos I unleashed on his classroom.

  “This can’t wait until after my lesson?” He grips the podium.

  I drag him into the corner. Not that anyone gives a damn about us with Lilah in the room. “Did you know her when you were younger?”

  Our bond tightens with Jett’s fear, and my gut clenches. It can’t be true.

  “Hikaru told you?”

  “He claims she’s our fated omega.”

  “No. We have Orion,” he says with a hint of quaver in his voice.

  “That’s what I told him.” I refuse to let the doubt creep in. I know Orion’s ours, and no matter what fantasies the dads cook up, that’s never going to change.

  I can’t believe it.

  There’s no way.

  No goddamned way Lilah is meant to be ours.

  She would’ve thrown herself at us.

  And we would’ve let her.

  “Take her to Hunter’s class. I can’t teach with her here.” Jett angles his body away from Lilah like he isn’t watching her every move from the corner of his eye.

  Like I’m not doing the same shit.

  Everyone’s watching her.

  Jett’s frantic vibration pulls at my instinct to soothe my packmate, but this isn’t the place. Not with trainees looking on and him as skittish as a doe.

  All I can do is change the subject. “What’s the news from the Redfangs?”

  “They’re plotting. Dom wants blood.” Jett slowly pulls himself together, solidifying into the iceberg we know and love.

  “Timeline?”

  “Soon. We caught one of their foot soldiers, but he’s too low on the ladder to have any valuable intel.”

  “Tell me when—” I cut off, my gaze snapping to the back of the room. An alpha trainee leans over Lilah, trying to cop a sniff.

  “Asses in your seats,” I bark.

  Metal screeches as a hundred trainees scramble for chairs. Lilah relaxes, and I catch another flash of purple plastic. “Shiv whittlin’,” I mutter.

  We need to get her a real knife.

  “What did you say?” Jett frowns, a finger-deep furrow forming between his brows.

  “Nothing.” I shake myself, trying to scatter the sense of everything crashing down.

  Have to protect Orion.

  Have to protect the pack.

  Have to protect Wyvern House.

  The dads’ expectations, the Redfangs closing in, and now Lilah.

  It’s terrifying how naturally instinct settles. Just hours ago, I was thinking of Lilah as my enemy.

  Now she’s another life I have to protect.

  I promise I’ll keep her safe.

  And I fucking pray she’s gone before my instincts go any more berserk.

  Twenty

  LILAH

  While Atlas and Jett whisper their secrets, I feel like I’m boiling in oil, surrounded by sniff-happy alphas. The guy sitting in front of me keeps turning to stare and I can feel his rumble through my chair legs. His dry grass scent mixes with dozens of others, sending my brain into pheromone overload. Sweating, I fight the urge to roll under the desk.

  “Lilah,” Atlas’s bark jolts me, and I dart to him like he has me on a bungee. “Let’s go. I’ll take you to Hunter.”

  He leads me out, and I hate how I relax the second I’m absorbed into his orbit where his leather scent overpowers all the other noise in my nose. Just before the door swings closed, I glance back and catch Jett tracking us.

  Tracking me.

  He jerks his gaze away like he just got caught surfing porn. The kinky kind.

  My feet stall instead of following Atlas.

  I swear there’s something so familiar about Jett. He has the straightest nose, a little flat at the tip, with sharp cheekbones, and a a sharper chin. I’m too far away to see his eyes, but I know they glitter like galaxies.

  Only I’ve never looked into Jett’s eyes, so I shouldn’t know.

  How do I know that?

  “See something you like?” Atlas asks, knocking me back to reality.

  “Sorry,” I quickly apologize and look at my feet.

  “You recognize him.”

  “What?”

  “Jett. Do you remember him?”

  Something stirs deep inside me, like worms at the bottom of a mud pit, but whatever memory’s lurking down there, it doesn’t bubble to the surface. “I don’t think so.”

  He nods at my answer. “Come on. You shouldn’t be out in the halls.”

  Atlas moves like he’s on a mission, but I swear he walks a little slower because I can actually keep up. He leads me to a huge gym filled with soft floor mats and paired alphas sparring hand-to-hand.

  The nearest guy goes bug-eyed when he spots us. His partner isn’t quick enough to stop his jab and decks him in the face.

  “Shit. Sorry, man,” he mutters before locking onto me in naked appraisal.

  He’s big. Alpha. And I can’t tell if the stare’s about sex, violence, or pure curiosity.

  I need him to look anywhere else.

  Hunter guides two trainees in a slowed-down fight. He wears the same black camo as Atlas, marking them instructors or leaders, or whatever they are that makes me want to peel off every strip of cloth.

  “Lilah?” Hunter turns to Atlas. “Why did you bring her here?”

  I’ve been asking myself that same question.

  Also, when can I leave?

  The meeting’s over. We got the stupid ball invitation, and I have a mighty need for a dip in the ice-cold lake after spending the morning swimming in pheromones.

  Whispers echo. The alphas’ scents mix with the strong tang of sweat. Their attention digs my flesh like needles. I want to duck and hide, but Atlas’s broad back doesn’t offer any shelter.

  At least, not to me it doesn’t.

  “Scorpio wanted her to sit in on classes,” Atlas answers. “Have a tour. Do some team bonding.”

  “He wants an omega loose in the training center?”

  “I’m not loose,” I mutter.

  A trainee snickers.

  Ignoring him, I step past Atlas, gravitating to Hunter, whose mezcal scent tastes disturbingly comforting when it should be anything but. “I’ll stay out of the way. Is there a corner where I can hide?”

  “You’re not hiding.” Hunter sighs. “Full eval?” he asks Atlas.

  “Grade her on hand to hand, then send her to Finn for marksmanship. We need to make sure she can handle herself.”

  Wait. What? “Train?”

  Also, I’m right here, assholes.

  Atlas stalks off. I half turn to follow, but Hunter catches my sleeve. “You’re with me, Omega.”

  “Why?” That’s what I don’t understand. I’ve taken self-defense and martial arts from dozens of different trainers, but combat for omegas is mostly about running away.

  I’m all about the escape, especially today.

  I have no business in a GD military school for the most elite of alphas. Especially because I don’t want them knowing how good I am. How much I love fighting. It’s the same as dance, the way I want to throw myself into motion, just to the rhythm of hard breaths instead of pounding bass.

  “Did anyone say you could stop?” Hunter hits his trainees with a bark, and the stinking eavesdroppers jump back into action.

  He pulls me to the edge of the gym, lowering his husky voice. “We’re stuck with the dads’ bullshit, which means you’re stuck with us and our enemies. You’re going to need to know how to fend off an attacker.”

  The shiv in my waistband says
I’m ready anytime, anywhere, but that’s not a factoid Hunter needs. “Fine. What do you want me to do?”

  “Switch pairs!” Hunter calls. “Brock, to me.”

  A smaller alpha jogs to our corner of the gym. Small being a foot taller with arms bigger than my waist.

  “You’re with Lilah,” Hunter says.

  His eyes bug. “Sir. She’s an—”

  “I noticed,” Hunter says drily. “I need to evaluate her skills. Just do some basic movements.”

  “Yes, sir.” He squares up to me, mouthing a soft sorry.

  Me too, buddy.

  Brock is lean and agile, already bouncing on his toes. That long reach is going to be a problem. He’s so much taller. If he’s any good at grappling, I’m screwed. But if I duck and—

  Shit.

  I catch myself just before Brock lunges. I don’t need to beat him. I need to lose.

  Instead of dodging his slow-ass right hook—he’s totally taking it easy on me—I throw up a clumsy block and clench my teeth to take the hit. Brock’s fist busts my cheek.

  A flash of pain, and my head snaps back.

  I crumple, eating mat hard.

  “Lilah!” Hunter dives to my side.

  “I’m so sorry.” Brock hovers over me. “Sir. She was going to block, and—”

  “Get out of here,” Hunter barks.

  “Right away, sir.” Brock scampers off.

  “Everyone dismissed!” Hunter yells. He waits for the alphas to clear the room. I peek from under my lashes, praying he punts me to the med bay or better yet, all the way back to the basement where I belong.

  My jaw stings, but the hit’s the kind that’ll bruise hard and fade fast.

  It’s weird.

  The hits that don’t bruise, the ones that are the easiest to hide? Those are the ones that always hurt the most.

  When the door slams, Hunter pins me with a scowl instead of the pity I wanted. “What the shit was that?”

  “I think I have a concussion.” I fake a wince, cradling my head.

  “Bullshit.”

  My eyes pop open.

  “You’ve trained.” His gaze narrows. “Muay Thai? Boxing?”

  “No.”

  He snorts.

  “We do jazz aerobics at the Center.”

  “That wasn’t dancercise, Killer. You were about to flip Brock on his ass. Why would you let him hit you?” He cups my chin, his palm so big and warm and safe—but his touch is lies.

  All lies.

  Hunter’s the opposite of safe.

  There’s no deadlier danger than the way Hunter’s head cocks to the side, the way he examines me like a puzzle he’s determined to pull apart and twist into shape until all the broken pieces fit.

  “I’m not a fighter,” I say, straight-faced.

  “That’s not what your school records say.”

  “Those were omega tantrums. Not real fights. Didn’t you see my combat marks?” I bet the trainers don’t even remember my name.

  Once I wised up, I only watched class, never joining in. Then I held my own battle practices after hours. In the gym, pounding the bag until my knuckles ached, or in the dark when two or ten jealous omegas cornered me in one of the campus dead zones, with no cameras to witness the beating whether I was the one giving or taking the hits.

  “Really,” he says flatly.

  I relax, and he reads the change in my body, stealing the chance to haul me to my feet. I thump against his chest, forehead bumping a wall of warm, firm muscle. I suck in a smoky mouthful, and my toes curl in my sneakers.

  Hunter starts to purr.

  The sound is soft as a rabbit fur brush, tickling the deepest part of my soul. I go soft for him. So soft my knees relax and I can’t help sinking deep into his arms.

  “Lilah,” he rumbles, wrapping me in an illusion of safety so perfect I almost forget it’s fake. “You’re lying to me.”

  I push off his chest and stumble back, clapping a sleeve over my nose so I can take a breath that isn’t all smoke and hypnotizing sweetness.

  “You can fight.” His full lips pull into a smirk.

  Hunter sees too much. Hunter knows too much.

  “Just give me a zero. I promise, I—”

  Hunter lunges.

  Quick as a mofo viper, he jabs my chest, and I can’t do anything but react. I dodge, automatically blocking, pushing the force of his punch away from me and dancing out of his range.

  His eyes light with interest. And with heat.

  I shift my feet, losing the fighting stance, but it’s too late.

  Hunter moves again. This time, I brace, locking down my reaction, determined to take another hit and prove that the last dodge was a fluke.

  The shadow of his fist brushes my face, but he pulls the punch. Squinting through half-closed eyes, I find Hunter way too close, watching like he’s already sifting through my secrets.

  “I can’t fight.” I scramble away from him.

  “Sure, Killer. Come on. I’ll take you to Finn’s.” He reaches to take my hand.

  “Lead the way.” I dodge again, wincing when he smirks.

  “Have you shot before?” he asks, leading me out of the gym.

  “A few times,” I answer, keeping close behind him while so many alpha eyes track us through the hall. I can’t decide if he’s better than Atlas or so much fucking worse when he angles himself to block me, subtly protecting me from their looks.

  “A few times?” Hunter quirks a brow. “Let me guess. You’re secretly an ace assassin?”

  My elbow cocks to nudge him in the ribs, but I hug it back to my body before it gets any ideas. Hunter and I aren’t on the level of teasing.

  We are not.

  He leads me down a quick flight of stairs to a series of ranges where the muffled sound of bullets popping off echoes down semi-soundproof corridors. We enter a room where every lane is taken and Finn stalks up and down the row of trainees, correcting postures.

  He feels nothing like the mischief machine who ground up on me in a go-go cage. Nothing like the alpha who slung me over his shoulder, petted my thigh, and fed me french fries with firey looks.

  Darkness clings to this Finn.

  More than clings. It’s inside him, haunting everyone he nears. An alpha just as huge as him flinches when Finn steps into his space, eyes more black than green.

  Killing aura.

  It should be the latest reason to stay away from the man, but I couldn’t be less afraid of Finn. I’m fascinated, watching every lethal movement. Because Finn is deadly.

  It’s in every lazy, precise action. A casual violence that has other alphas cowering from him like they know Finn could snap their necks, leave them in pieces on the floor, and no one would even try to stop him.

  My traitorous nipples harden, popping up to say hello dark Finn.

  Bad girls.

  “Finn. New student for you,” Hunter calls when the gunshots finally lull.

  “Babydoll.” Finn flashes a mouthful of teeth, bouncing over and breaking the spell. Thank god. This Finn I can work with, because unlike that dark, temptingly delicious demon he carries inside him, he’ll never take me seriously.

  I’m a game to him.

  Hunter pulls Finn aside to whisper something that has his eyes lighting up like grenades on Christmas morning. Meanwhile, the shooting never restarts. Curious alphas lower their weapons to watch me, sniffing the air and trying to catch my scent.

  It’s not my first time at the range. Firearms are need-to-know self-defense when the omega kidnapping statistics read like a who’s who. It was easy to hide my shot-out targets when the instructors were so busy flirting with the real omegas.

  It won’t be as easy to play the same trick here.

  “Make room,” Finn barks, and the nearest alpha scampers out of his lane.

  I jump to hide between the lane dividers, letting out a breath when I’m finally out of sight. But Finn is already too close. He smells more gunpowder than oranges today, a heady masc
uline scent I shouldn’t crave.

  “Missed you, Babydoll.”

  Like he doesn’t know exactly where I live? “What am I being evaluated on?”

  “Have you shot before?”

  I give the same answer that I gave Hunter, who I can feel hovering at the edge of the room. “A few times.”

  “Good.” Finn licks his lips, but the mischief quickly fades as he walks me through the handgun I’ll be firing. I’ve never shot such a high caliber before, but Finn explains it frontward and backward, checking to make sure I know what I’m doing before I’m even allowed to touch the thing.

  It feels heavy in my hands. Not at all what I’m used to, which means maybe I don’t have to fake missing the target.

  “Show me what you’re made of.” Finn’s breath feathers the hairs on my neck as he fits me with a pair of ear cups and drags a long, slender finger down the contour of my jaw.

  A shiver rocks me. If he keeps that shit up, I definitely won’t have to fake missing.

  I move away from him, squaring up to shoot and planning to let the gun’s kickback knock me on my ass.

  Finn tsks. “Nice try, Babydoll.”

  His heat closing the gap between us, he lowers himself, flattening his chest against my back. Slinking his arms around mine, Finn rests his chin on my shoulder as he guides my hands, sending my heart into fluttering meltdown.

  “You look so fucking good holding my gun.”

  There’s nowhere to hide when the big bad alpha holds me captive in his arms.

  If he were anyone else, I’d freak, but that deep, sneaky part of me recognizes Finn.

  He’s mine.

  That batshit thought has me firing way wide of the man-shaped target I’m in no danger of hitting. The kickback rattles my teeth and knocks me deeper into Finn’s arms. His rock-solid stance holds me steady.

  “Try again,” he mouths against my neck, stroking my hand with his thumb as he adjusts my aim.

  I brace harder, then shoot. This time, the bullet hits the target’s forehead, the force of the gun reverberating through my arms until my fingers tremble.

  Finn hums in appreciation, and my nervous system crackles. This is bad. I wriggle out of his grasp, careful to keep the gun pointed away. “I can do it myself.”

  “I know.” He nips my shoulder.