Pack Darling, Part One by Lola Rock

Thirteen

LILAH

I wakeup aching and hating myself in a strange bed and a stranger house. Everything that’s happened since the gazebo feels like it happened to some other girl.

But yesterday’s mistakes are all mine.

It’s a toss-up what hurts more. My head, my feet, or my crushed fucking pride.

What was I thinking, dancing with Finn? Letting him stroke my throat like I’m wearing his collar?

Am I the kind of girl who rolls over and begs just because a sexy as fuck alpha smiles and feeds her cheese fries?

Damnit.

I’m totally that girl.

But the fries were good and he was better.

Holy shit could Finn dance.

The way he ground against me, feeling the music. His hard body and his warm hands. Blood orange so sweet in my nose. I’m not sure if I was drunk off him or my first taste of liquor.

And Hunter. Gruff but gentle Hunter, tending my feet and protecting me like the mate he’ll never be to me.

I’m still huddled in his hoodie, drowning in smoky mezcal that makes my mouth water and my heart feel too big for my rib cage.

I get that the Wyverns are going to be tempting—my body thinks we’re meant-to-be.

Doesn’t matter.

They can love me, they can hate me. I’m not staying, and I need to keep my ass on the path that gets me out of this contract with my heart, dreams, and limbs uncrushed.

I slide off the bed and test my weight. My feet ache, but I want to explore my new cage.

I creep around, exploring the bedroom. It’s low-ceilinged and almost what a nest should be. Windowless with dim lights that set me at ease and a huge bed that could fit my whole pack if I had one.

But the heavy bank vault door is just for show. It doesn’t lock.

My shoulders hunch. I can’t believe I slept here when any of them could’ve walked in and done whatever they wanted to me.

No lock means no privacy means no rest ever again.

I can’t relax here.

Creeping outside, I peek around the basement. The main room is teeny tiny, with a kitchenette, and so many doors it gives bus station vibes.

One open door leads to a teensy bathroom with a kiddie-sized shower, but it does lock, so this may be my new sleeping digs for as long as I’m stuck in McMansion hell.

Another door opens to a cleaning closet with shelves of supplies, including two barrels of chemical de-scenter big enough to hide a body.

It’s meant for use on surfaces and clothes because the shit burns your nose, let alone your skin, but it’s the only way to scrub off pheromones.

I don’t need the heavy-duty chemicals yet, but good to know they’re here.

If my perfume betrays me again, I’ll kill it with fire.

I find a spray bottle of the diluted formula and grab it, bringing it back to the kitchen, where the cabinets and mini-fridge are all empty except for an ancient box of baking soda.

Food can wait. I ate so much last night, there’s time before I have to brave going upstairs to see my personal hell pack.

There are two more locked doors that I should leave alone, but I can’t relax not knowing who could come in and out of my space. My inner omega is all about the territorial anxiety.

I luck out, finding a few old paperclips in the kitchenette’s junk drawer, and quickly pick the locks.

The first door opens to a huge gym so soaked in Hunter’s sweet smoke, I choke before I can whip it shut. The blast of air carries undertones of the other guys, but Hunter’s thick scent rearranges my sinuses.

Note to self: no working out in Hunter’s pheromone cloud.

The other locked door leads to the inside stairway. I close that one just as quickly, hating how many stairs and doors and ways there are to find me.

Definitely need to find a better hideout.

My omega instincts want me unpacking my duffel, tidying, and securing the nest, so I keep the bag zipped. I’m not moving in for real.

But I do need to backtrack to the lake and pick up the clothes that I dropped, because all I have are two spare sets, not counting the little black dress and silver heels that I’m going to burn.

I take a quick but necessary shower, needing to wash off all the scents of last night’s club, but mostly Finn’s orange-soaked touch.

After body wash and a towel that both reek of Hunter, I spritz myself all over with de-scenter.

Eyes closed, holding my breath, the shit burns at the same time it feels too good. Even if turns me half lobster, I just want to smell neutral so I can feel at least a little bit like myself.

Next, I have to figure out how the hell I’m escaping.

Thank the gods and goddesses, Evgenia packed my tablet.

Maybe the OCC just didn’t want to reclaim the cracked-screen dinosaur. Either way, I’m grateful.

Now I have almost everything I need.

Only one problem. The Wi-Fi password.

I don’t have data. I have a little cash saved in my secret accounts but no way of accessing or adding to the funds if I can’t get online.

Like I said.

I can go a week without food.

I can go four minutes without oxygen.

But I cannot survive a single day without Wi-Fi.

I just have to be a good ghost and wait for the right time to sneak upstairs. I creep to the bottom of the stairway and press my ear to the door.

Nothing but silence.

Wood creaks somewhere else in the house, but I don’t hear footsteps, music, or any other sign that anyone’s home.

I chew my lip, hesitating.

I have to be brave. Make a break while I can, try to find their router, and pray that someone wrote down the password.

Clutching the half-busted tablet, I sneak through the door. My feet sting and my blood pumps. I move silently, hyper-aware of every scent and sound.

At the top of the steps, I press my ear to the door again.

Still nothing.

Breathing fast, I touch the doorknob.

A door slams in the house, and I snatch my fingers back like the knob’s on fire.

Craig’s voice carries in a sickening whine. “Yes, Alpha. I just got back. No. She’s downstairs. No, I haven’t. Yes, I will. Yes, Alpha. Can I come meet the pack? I’ll—”

His voice cuts off, and he curses softly. Plastic rustles, and then a chair creaks, taking someone’s weight.

Craig is number one on my not-safe-to-be-alone-with list, but if no one else is home, I need to take this chance.

Patting my hip to make sure my shiv is tucked in my waistband, I suck in a deep breath. I can take care of myself.

The basement stairway opens to a hall, and I spot kitchen tile in the archway just diagonal. Somewhere inside, a bag rustles, then there’s a crunch crunch crunch and a gross, lip-smacking noise that’s so ear-licking it could only be Craig.

I creep on tiptoe, taking shallow breaths. I don’t catch any alpha scents, or omega, thank goddess.

Craig sits at the breakfast nook of a high-end kitchen, shoveling salt and vinegar chips into his mouth and fiddling with his phone.

Clutching my tablet tighter, I clear my throat.

He keeps munching and scrolling.

I wouldn’t put him past him to ignore me on purpose, but he has that glazed out-of-body look of someone living inside the digital world. Like that one omega I saw so focused on editing her selfie, she didn’t realize she was perfuming in the middle of a social until an alpha had his teeth halfway into her neck.

She was pissed he made her hit post before she added her skin-smoothing filter.

I have a feeling Craig’s about to be equally excited.

“Uh—”

“Shit!” Craig jumps, bobbling his phone before fixing me with his beta stink eye. “What the hell are you doing sneaking around?”

I hold out my tablet like an alibi. “I just wanted to ask for the Wi-Fi password.”

“Tough shit.” He scowls with chip grease slicking his thin lips.

“It’s just a password.”

“Why do you even want it? So you can hack the cameras and steal data from the pack?”

Hack? I blink.

At least now I know there are cameras in the house. And now that I know, I can feel the eyes on me like poison ivy vines creeping up my back, choking and claustrophobic. “I need to check my email.”

“So use your phone.”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“Sure you don’t.” Craig flicks chip crumbs into the air. “Let me guess. You want the pack to buy you one? It’s never happening.”

“I just want Wi-Fi on my tablet,” I say like I’m explaining to a toddler who needs a four-hour nap and a long time out.

“No. You don’t need to bother getting comfortable.” Craig narrows his eyes until they’re sewer-rat beady. “Soon enough, you’ll be back where you belong.”

Too bad I don’t belong anywhere. Least of all, in this kitchen. Still, I hug my tablet.

If it were anything else, I’d give up, but I need a way to reach the outside world. Otherwise, I’ll be trapped forever with the pack that doesn’t want me and their asshole sidekick, Craig.

Betas should be easy to manipulate.

He’d be cake if I had a single pheromone or a slice of charm.

Too bad I’m not the omega he wants to impress. If anything, the pack will thank him for driving me away.

“Please?” I try to sound sweet while my fingers clench around the ghost of something stabbity.

“What are you going to do for me?” he asks.

Not stab you in the eye? That’s as much as I can promise.

“Never mind.” This is pointless, and even if I have to ask one of the alphas, I won’t beg a beta.

“Did I say you could go? Put away the groceries and don’t even think about stealing. I know everything that happens in this house.”

Craig saunters past me, smirking when I shrink away from him.

As if I’m afraid?

I just don’t want the stink of wet cardboard clinging to me.

This is why I hate betas.

They’re all smiles and pretty words when they’re sucking up to an alpha or a real omega.

Me? I see the ugly truth.

The kitchen tile is cool against my bandaged feet. Without Craig, the space is straight off someone’s vision board with huge glossy appliances and a floor-to-ceiling view of the gardens.

It would be gorgeous if not for the touches of frat boy.

The bag of salt and vinegar chips that Craig left to marinate adds to the rubble of open packages on the table and counters. Crumbs dust every surface, and dead moths pile under the fancy under-cabinet lighting.

I shudder.

Mess in your home is like nails on the chalkboard of an omega’s brain. It’s not even my home, and I have to take a few deep breaths to stop myself from hyperventilating.

Maybe it’s different for male omegas? There were never many at the OCC and they mostly kept the guys apart from the female side of campus.

We tend to react…explosively to each other. Full-on clawing, biting, hair-pulling embarrassment.

I should ignore Craig’s order and scamper back downstairs, but since he told me to put stuff away…

No one will mind if I clean a little. I’ll have nightmares of ants biting my ass if I don’t deal with this slobbery.

I toss the petrified remains of chips and snack cakes into the trash and quickly stash Craig’s “groceries,” which is code for chips, cookies, and instant noodles. When I put away the one almost fruit—a jug of orange juice—I gag when I open the fridge.

It’s a graveyard of sauces and takeout containers that time forgot.

I jam in the juice and fall back against the door.

Nightmare city.

I’m starting to get curious about Orion. I guess an omega who can tolerate Craig is an omega who knows how to tolerate all kinds of shit.

For now, I put everything in the cupboards, remembering which ones have the food, just in case I need to sneak a meal of cheese puffs.

It’s fine for me—I’m trying to screw with my hormones. Any other omega would shrivel up if all their meals came out of plastic bags.

I’m using wadded paper towels to herd moth corpses without touching them when I catch the sound of soft footfalls.

“Craig?” asks a male voice as silky and sweet as unicorn fur. “What did I tell you about—”

The footsteps die in the doorway.

I tense like a tarantula rears between my shoulder blades, fangs poised to strike.

I hold my breath.

I don’t turn around.

Maybe he’ll keep walking.

Maybe he’ll pretend this never happened.

“You’re not supposed to be here,”he growls with rage so spiky, I jump.

A whiff of apple cider sneaks into my nose and bubbles into my bloodstream.

My mouth waters.

My knees wobble.

My body doesn’t know what to do.

Do I lick him?

Do I grovel?

I tremble, aware on a cellular level that I’m the one in his territory. I’m the intruder. The enemy.

“I’m sorry.” I turn slowly, opening my palms, dipping my head, and keeping my gaze dropped to the floor.

But speaking means breathing and I catch a face full of the sweetest omega scent I’ve ever tasted.

I’ve smelled hundreds of omegas. Hundreds of scents, no two even close to similar, and I’ve loathed every. Single. One.

If they smelled floral, they were too fake. If they smelled like baked goods, they were too thick and cloying and ugh.

This scent is…

Crisp apple cider with hints of autumn.

It’s like snuggling under a blanket in an apple orchard, gazing up at the stars feeling comfy and cozy and so impossibly safe.

It’s exactly where I want to be.

It’s exactly what I want.

“Why are you upstairs?” his voice shakes. “Why are you here?”

I can’t look at him. My throat muscles clench and unclench. “Craig told me to— I didn’t mean—”

“Get out,” he says roughly.

I lift my head just high enough to see his toes. He wears thick socks where he stands, totally blocking the doorway.

I shuffle to the side, hugging the wall of cabinets. I know I can’t look at him. It’ll break me to see the hate in his eyes. To see the man who smells like that staring at me like I’m scum.

Shuffle-stepping, I make my way around the kitchen, looking only at the tiles.

He steps back when I come too close. “I don’t want to see you again.”

“Okay,” I yelp, slithering away, needing to be anywhere but here.

“Wait.”

My joints lock like he just barked an alpha command, every inch of me alert for his next words.

“You’re bleeding,” he says softly.

If he told me to fuck off, I would.

If he told me to disappear, I’d be gone.

But if he tells me you’re bleeding in that voice, that silky, sexy voice, how am I supposed to keep looking away?

My gaze snaps to him.

Our eyes clang, and a chip falls from my heart with a crisp, metallic sound that makes my ears ring.

Angel blond curls with sapphire blue eyes and a collar of glittering silver mate bites.

All he needs is armor and a horse and he’d be a prince.

But Orion isn’t here for a rescue. He’s here for my execution.

“Get out.” His plush pink lips curl. “Out!”

I run, the back of my throat tasting like blood.