Pack Darling, Part One by Lola Rock

Seventeen

LILAH

I fallasleep 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.