Pack Darling Part One

by Lola Rock

  My shoulder!

  His teeth graze my sensitive skin. I let out a half-whimper, half-mewl, my face blazing red, belly clenching so hard I’m afraid I just creamed myself.

  Laughing softly, Finn finally lets me go.

  I’m breathing too fast for a girl standing still. I want to unload on the target—just shoot again and again and again until the paper’s shredded, because just like this stupid attraction, Finn’s interest has to die.

  I adjust my stance so I don’t ass-plant and start firing.

  I land a few hits on the outer rings of the target’s head and chest so that it’s not totally obvious I’m throwing the game. The rest of my bullets fly wide, some punching the edges of the paper, some going rogue.

  When I reload, Finn steps in.

  “Keep your muscles tense. Arms here.” He shows me the position with gentle hands that have me popping goose bumps.

  “I’ll try.” I don’t let myself loosen up until he steps aside.

  After firing a few more rounds with no improvement, I glance at him. “How many more do I have to shoot?”

  Hunter steps into the lane. “That’s enough for today. Atlas texted to meet him at the car.”

  “I’m not done with her.” Finn’s jaw sets stubbornly, but Hunter tugs me away before he can do anything crazy. “End your class and catch up.”

  Finn watches me leave, and so do twenty other alphas.

  The hallway’s just as bad because the rumor mill must be churning. Now that people know who I am, they’re even more curious, staring at me, examining me.

  I want to tuck myself against Hunter’s side and let him protect me the way I know he would if I asked.

  But there’s no point.

  He’s never going to be my mate, and soon enough, I’ll be fully on my own. Hunching into myself, I try to make myself smaller, with less surface area for the stares.

  I can’t wait to get back to the nest and dive into the darkness where I belong.

  Twenty-One

  LILAH

  Atlas drives in silence. I climbed into the back seat, as far from the alphas as possible, but their scents can’t be escaped. Jett stayed at Wyvern House. The other three are three too many for my overworked ovaries, and I’m panting by the time we pull into the driveway.

  As soon as the engine cuts, Orion pops into the garage. He tenses like a cat about to pounce when he spots me slinking out of Atlas’s car.

  “You’re home early.” He moves to Atlas, who kisses his forehead on his way into the house.

  “We’ve got shit to plan.” Hunter squeezes Orion into a hug. “We’re on deck for the Patrick fundraiser.”

  “All six of us,” Finn says. “Together.”

  Orion pales.

  I hold back while the alphas pass him. I always feel weird in my skin when I’m faced with Orion, but now I’m puzzled too.

  If Atlas, Finn, and Hunter were my alphas, and I was alone all day, I’d be all over them the second they came home. Full-on movie montage, sprint, pounce, thighs around their hips, kissing anyone or any part I could reach, and hopefully a quick orgy on the hood of the closest convertible.

  Shit, I can barely stop myself now and I know they’re not mine.

  Orion looks likes he needs a hard knotting, itching his arms and leaning toward the house. He’s holding himself back. Probably because I’m here.

  I wince for him.

  Omegas aren’t built for restraint. We want what we want, and we want it thirty seconds ago.

  Which is why I need to stop spending time moping over what I can’t have.

  “I’ll leave.” I move toward the garage door, ready to skirt around to the basement.

  “You can come through the house.” Orion runs a hand through soft, messy hair. “It’s cold out.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Lilah. It’s fine. I can already smell them on you.”

  That is not fine.

  My fingers drift to my waist, not that I want to stab Orion, but if he jumps me…

  “Scorpio asked me to go to this ball, otherwise—”

  “I know,” he says with a hint of a growl that should send me running.

  Omegas are always growling at me in challenge or hatred or fury.

  But Orion’s growl is magnetic. Like syrup-soaked apples and honey, melting me like chocolate in front of a cozy fire.

  Color brightens his pale cheeks. He’s beautiful, standing barefoot in sweatpants and a T-shirt that clings to his tight, lean body.

  While I stare at him, he stares back at me, both of us wary, not sure who should make the first move.

  I finally crack. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do. I’m trying not to step on your toes.”

  The corner of his mouth quirks in the teeniest smirk. “You ever feel like you’re a slave to the hormones?”

  “Always,” I say with a little too much passion.

  He laughs, just a puff of air, flashing a breathtaking smile that lightens the day’s heaviness and lifts an invisible barbell off my shoulders.

  “Come through the house.” Orion steps to the side, making space for me.

  “Thanks.” When I slink past, I can’t resist the urge to breathe him in. Cider apple sticks to me, and the scent keeps teasing me when I’m alone downstairs, locked in the nest with heat pulsing between my legs at the thought of a pair of brilliant blue eyes.

  I can’t be attracted to him.

  I won’t let myself.

  He’s not even alpha, goddamnit.

  I sneak into the empty gym and prepare to make Hunter’s treadmill my bitch. Cranking the speed, I hit the belt, planning to pound miles until I collapse. At this point, I’m so dizzy with the pack’s scents that it doesn’t matter if the gym’s soaked with their sweat.

  My body has too many ideas that will get me in trouble. Like would it be so bad to lick the flavor from Orion’s lips? Just once?

  Not that I know anything about kissing. I bet Atlas could give me some killer tongue tips. Maybe join us…

  I growl and duck my head, sprinting so hard my footsteps pound over the screaming belt of the treadmill.

  I can’t decide if I need a lobotomy or an alpha-girth vibrator.

  I stay out of everyone’s way for the next few days, quietly working, exercising my pheromones to death, and avoiding all things alpha. I’m starting to hope that they’ve forgotten about me and this fundraising ball isn’t going to happen.

  I’m napping, totally passed out after a few hours in the lake, when I hear footsteps.

  I snap awake, already holding the shiv under my pillow. The big heavy bank door is shut, but the fucking thing never locks, so I can never sleep deeper than a doze.

  The footsteps stop.

  Moving silently, I push the door open just wide enough to peek.

  Please not Craig.

  Please not any of them, but I hate the idea of Craig in my space the most.

  It’s Jett.

  In a suit, his hair slicked back to show off a profile like a billionaire CEO, he couldn’t look more out of place in the dingy basement. Yachts and runways are more Jett’s speed.

  He jerks when he notices me peeking. Breathing through his mouth, he looks like he’s in pain.

  “Here. Be ready at six.” He tosses the garment bag in his arms over a chair, and by the time I get to the table, he’s already taking halfway upstairs.

  The gesture, the bag, the dark hair and eyes.

  All the same as I remember.

  The boy I made myself forget.

  It was tea party weekend at the OCC, when the omegas’ families visit for a fancy day in the gardens. One back corner table was reserved for us Darlings, even though I was the only one who showed. A cucumber sandwich would’ve been my only meal that day. I was bruised and aching from a fight the night before and avoiding the dining hall. At the party, with parents watching, I thought I’d be able to scarf down a few mouthfuls in peace.

  The trainers kicked me out, saying I did
n’t meet the dress code in my scrufty sweatpants.

  Hungry, tired, aching, I ran and hid, finding everywhere crowded, even the dorms. I ended up in the prop room behind the theater, nesting in a pile of silks and pillows from a performance of Arabian Nights.

  I was sad and alone.

  Until he found me.

  He gave me a dress then, too.

  He gave me a reason to smile.

  “JJ?” The name slips from my lips.

  Jett freezes on the top step, giving me nothing but his rigid back.

  “Are you… JJ?” I can’t match the images of this demonically beautiful man and the sweet boy I used to dream about.

  I forgot about him because I needed to forget or the hope would’ve crushed me.

  Jett’s so taut that the air vibrates, every cell of him fixed on me, even though he never turns and never acknowledges me.

  The door slams.

  Shit.

  He remembers.

  I don’t like the idea of anyone knowing my real history instead of the careful persona I’ve cultivated since I got wise. Not that Jett knew the facts, but I can’t count how many times he found me beaten up, wallowing alone when there were no classes to throw myself into, and I had nothing to do but sulk.

  I unzip the garment bag.

  The fabric is the blue-grey of a storm cloud, deep and shimmering. It matches my eyes so exactly that it’s impossible to believe Jett hates me. Unless one of the others picked it out, but I’ve never seen one of them in anything but T-shirts or camo, and a tantalizing hint of cedar clings to the fabric.

  My fingers tremble as I slide them over the soft, silky cloth. The bodice is embroidered with delicate pearls and glistening crystals. Jett picked out a gown for a princess.

  Not for me.

  As I pull it out of the bag, I’m positive it’s exactly my size, maybe even tailored.

  What do I do with that information?

  I guess I thought I’d be going to this ball in sweats, the same way I go everywhere else since my clothing budget is zero dollars and my favorite place to shop is the lost and found bin.

  The dress is sheer, small, and so heart-tearingly perfect, I can’t imagine anything making me more uncomfortable.

  There’s nowhere to hide in a dress this gorgeous.

  It freaking sparkles.

  People will stare.

  Alphas will see me in this thing.

  I zip up the bag and hang it on the shower rod, hoping maybe it disappears. Jett picked that shit out like he has the password to my Pinterest vision board, and I can’t stop seeing him side-by-side with the perfect, precious JJ of my memories.

  Ever since the day he dried my tears and gave me a chocolate chip muffin, I was in love.

  That was before I realized I can’t afford to be soft.

  I never spent much time around alphas, but JJ was the one who showed me they could be kind.

  Back then, I still believed I could have love. I dreamed what it would be like if he were mine.

  I just wanted to be around the beautiful boy whose rare smiles tipped my world upside-down, the only one who ever noticed my bruises or asked who gave them to me.

  But he disappeared.

  Just stopped coming to the OCC, or at least looking for me. Those were the saddest years. I had to accept the truth that I’ll always be fighting.

  That I’ll always be alone.

  No one bothers me the rest of the afternoon, but I run out of distractions as the clock ticks closer to the ball of doom.

  Even sending invoices and watching the dollars drip into my accounts, there’s no rush of victory.

  I’m too nervous for tonight and what it means.

  Because Jett recognizes me, and I recognize him. I’m starting to think that Wyvern Pack knows I was meant to be theirs. That the second my perfume hits, they’ll realize I’m their meant-to-be mate.

  But am I?

  Orion has that spot locked.

  So maybe I was supposed to be theirs, maybe I could’ve been, but not anymore.

  I don’t want to be theirs.

  I don’t want to be anyone’s until I can try on what it’s like to be myself, because all this time, I feel like I haven’t met the real, actual Lilah. The girl I might’ve become if Mom hadn’t thrown me away.

  It helps to think of tonight as a play. A performance.

  Getting into my role, I shower and slather myself with de-scenter. I have to be crazy careful to keep my secrets in a roomful of alphas. One hint of my perfume and I’ll be as fucked as the Kama Sutra.

  Slipping into the gown feels like putting on someone else’s skin.

  It’s amazing and it’s terrible.

  I don’t need to see the tag to know it’s the most expensive thing I’ve ever worn. I sigh when I catch sight of myself in the mirror.

  If I’m a princess, I look like one who’s so far down the line, I’ll only inherit the throne if a plague kills off the entire royal family.

  I look like I’ve already survived a few plagues, with dark circles under my eyes and too-hollow cheeks and collarbones.

  If I had makeup, I could hide every flaw.

  Nope. Think again.

  If I had makeup, I could play up every flaw.

  I don’t want to look well-rested or healthy or glowing. This stringy hair, malnourished waif vibe is exactly my jam, and I hope it repels every single alpha at the ball. I’m keeping my shoes on my feet and getting my ass out long before the clock strikes midnight.

  Footsteps and voices sound while the pack gets ready for the night. I slip into the silver heels I stole from the club and tiptoe upstairs.

  Hunter and Finn stand at the bottom of the grand staircase, and I should’ve done deep-breathing to prepare for seeing them in formal wear.

  Fitted suits hug their bodies so tight the air abandons my lungs.

  I want to yank their silk ties, haul them against me, and feel what it’s like to be sandwiched while they drag their teeth up and down my neck.

  One growl and I’ll be dripping.

  “Babydoll.” Finn rakes me with a gaze so predatory I tip dangerously close to a hands-free orgasm. “You look like a snack.”

  I duck my head.

  All I want to do is run downstairs, dive into my blankets, and hide the night away.

  But it’s play along or line up for my hormone shot.

  It’s just so hard to remind myself they don’t want me when they look at me like that.

  “Hurry up!” Hunter bellows up the stairs. “We’ve got to make a stop on the way.” When he turns to me, offering a hand, his voice and scent are a low, smoky smolder that melts away my fears and sends me gliding into his arms like a fluffy little lamb.

  “Let’s get you in your carriage, princess.” Hunter takes one of my hands, Finn takes the other, and when they both curl our fingers together, my heart coils in on itself.

  How am I supposed to resist?

  Twenty-Two

  LILAH

  Hunter and Finn sit me between them in the back of a luxe limo while we wait for the others.

  There’s an inch between our thighs, but the alphas are basically on top of me. I shouldn’t love it, but all I can think about is how to climb into both of their laps at once.

  Between their body heat and their smoky, sweet, citrusy, mouth-watering scents, I’m in a toaster oven for pheromones.

  I clench my legs tight enough to crush walnuts.

  Finn watches every little twitch, his pupils dilating. When his hand creeps toward my knee, I know I won’t be able to say stop.

  I’ll let him do whatever the fuck he wants to me, and if Hunter doesn’t end it, I’ll be begging him to join.

  I’m so screwed.

  Before I can invite them to my first-ever orgy, Atlas ducks into the limo in a cloud of leather and a presence so all-consuming, I only half-register Finn’s touch brushing my leg.

  Atlas notices.

  “Hands off,” he barks.

  The com
mand turns my leg into a hot panhandle that Finn recoils from with a nasty snarl.

  Orion climbs in like he’s boarding the bus to prison, and Atlas is the big, beefy dude who owns his ass. Huddling close, they sit across from us.

  Jett enters last, and my ovaries riot. His hair’s clipped back with a few long pieces loose to frame the runway model jaw I want to trace with my tongue.

  Every one of them looks edible.

  Atlas is a mountain I ache to conquer and Orion’s the younger blonder Bond, but Jett is pheromonal napalm. Cedar and saffron, he’s this perfectly masculine, perfectly put-together package, and with the five of them all in an enclosed space, I give up on breathing through my nose.

  Jett settles as far away from me as possible on the other side of the limo.

  Thank fuck.

  I can taste him in my throat.

  “Everyone ready?” Craig pokes his head into the car. He’s in a suit too, but the jacket’s cut too baggy.

  “Pull over at the mall on the way,” Hunter says. “We need to make a stop.”

  “What stop?” Craig asks, leaning in like he wants to join the party.

  “Pull over at the mall,” Hunter adds a bite of alpha that has me shivering and clenching all over.

  All. Over.

  “Yes, Alpha.” Craig flinches and shuts the door.

  “How long do we have to keep that fucker around?” Hunter rubs his knuckles against his tailored pants.

  “Not much longer,” Atlas answers. “Why do you need to stop?”

  “Makeup for our princess,” Hunter says.

  Orion jerks like he just took a silenced bullet to the chest. A fistful of Atlas’s jacket is the only thing holding him back from my throat.

  He’s deadly silent, but the way he trembles may as well be a scream.

  This isn’t going to work.

  I dive to the empty bank of seats and huddle in the corner. The new arrangement leaves Hunter and Finn, Atlas and Orion, and Jett each their own bench.

  Orion’s claw-hands relax, and he shoots me a grateful look. “Thank you.”

  I finally suck in a full breath, choking on Orion’s bittersweet apple anxiety.

  “What was that?” Atlas glances between us.