Pack Darling, Part One by Lola Rock

Eighteen

LILAH

Wyvern House HQis 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.

Clearing my throat, I shake away thoughts of the too-pretty mate I’ve barely even let myself look at. “Everything’s fine.”

“Just fine?” Max drops into his armchair. “What do we need to do to make you more comfortable?”

“Nothing.” I blink at the guy, seriously thrown off by his attitude. Max has Hunter’s same jacked build and dark, tanned coloring, though a few curls of grey sneak into his beard. He’s disarming in the same way as Hunter, especially because I’m always off balance when someone wants me around.

“Craig says you’re not integrating with the pack?” Hikaru narrows his eyes.

“Craig isn’t a reliable source.” Atlas’s knuckles crack. “I want to have him transferred.”

“That can be arranged.” Scorpio steeples his thick fingers like he’s negotiating an arms deal. “Assuming Lilah integrates instead.”

More threats.

Fun.

Atlas’s jaw clenches. Guy’s going to crack a tooth. “She’s integrating. She was doing our grocery shopping before you called in a meeting.”

Instead of rolling my eyes, I pull the pack’s card from my bra and flash the room. It’s my win that Craig has to pay for the cart. I would’ve thrown in more shit if I’d known. “They gave me the pack card. I’ve been making myself at home.”

“She doesn’t carry your scent.” The man in the corner has a voice like a glacier cracking.

He rises from his chair, dips to grab a carafe, and refills his coffee, never once glancing at the mug.

Smooth and deadly, he bleeds the same killer instinct I catch buried under Finn’s mischief.

But Kieran Wyvern doesn’t hide his darkness.

Maybe he can’t.

“We’re taking things slow,” Atlas says cautiously.

“And I’m not awakened,” I offer, feeling like my secrets will spill out any second while Kieran watches me with that killer’s gaze.

Hikaru’s deep hmm is a hive of wasps. “That could be changed. Easily. Shall I make you an appointment at the Wyvern Clinic?”

I tense like he just jabbed the needle in my throat. “You said you wouldn’t force me.”

“We won’t,” Scorpio says, “But the option is there. It might even make the transition easier if you can awaken in a controlled environment. Your perfume’s a time bomb.”

I swallow.

That’s always been a risk, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. The pheromone shots would be final.

Permanent.

“What’s the hold-up? I want to be a grandfather.” Max has a freaking twinkle in his eye, and I need to drill down into the carpet and die.

“No one’s thinking about kids,” Atlas says through gritted teeth.

I nod enthusiastically. I’m not sure I ever want to be a mother. And with this pack? I’d be beyond trapped.

I’d be…theirs.

Theirs in a way that terrifies me even more than going into rotation. At least then, I’d be the one throwing males away, a new pack for every heat.

“Put some thought on your future,” Hikaru says in the outwardly pleasant, but actually threatening tone that he spews like breathing. “If you can’t integrate, you have many other options.”

He’ll put me in rotation so fast.

I scoot closer to Atlas, hoping against hope that he’ll have my back. “I’m not looking at other options.”

“It’s good to see you getting along.” Scorpio smiles like we’re already picking baby names. “Is the pack up for a team-building mission?”

“A mission?” Atlas asks.

Scorpio offers him the thick card that was hiding under the donuts. It’s fancy stationery, the kind you only use for weddings. “The four of us were planning on representing Wyvern House at the Patrick Pack’s fundraising ball this weekend, but our younger generation should make the appearance. It’s past time for you to take over the networking side of the business. Bring your omegas.”

Omegas? Both? At a public event?

Orion will slaughter me, and I won’t even be mad.

I’m honestly starting to pity him. It makes sense none of the Wyverns care about me or what I want. I’m just some Darling bought on clearance and they’ve known me for thirty seconds.

But Orion is theirs.

Atlas freezes halfway to the invitation.

“Problem?” Scorpio asks.

“No problem.” He restarts, grabbing the invite so hard he crumples the thick paper.

“Good.” Scorpio gives a crisp, military nod. “Prove to us that you have your pack under control and you’ll be back on the active-duty roster.”

“Yes, sir,” Atlas says, crushing the invite in his grip.

Pressure thickens the air.

Scorpio watches Atlas with mountains of expectations while Hikaru side-eyes me, making sure I don’t forget his threat.

Meanwhile, Max glows like he’s already bouncing grandkids on both knees, and I’m afraid Kieran might snap our necks just because.

I hug a throw pillow while they chat, throwing me the occasional softball question.

As Atlas relaxes and the conversation turns to their business instead of his pack, I can’t help observing this new side of him.

He speaks confidently, with a rich, deep voice that would sound sinfully delicious barking me to flip over and let him do whatever the fuck he wants.

Treacherous butterflies take flight in my belly. I swallow hard, hoping they drown in stomach acid.

I need to shut down the horny ravings of my inner slut.

The Wyvern pack and I aren’t meant to be.

I don’t know how the six of us can survive a social event. If the pack treats me like Atlas has been, letting me walk on my own, so obviously unclaimed, the other alphas will gobble me up like a side of hash browns.

Orion won’t even have to dirty his hands. The ball will have plenty of omegas happy to gut me on principle.

You don’t move in on a mated pack.

But here I am. Wyvern Pack’s secondary omega.

No one with a single brain cell will believe I’m not in this position because I begged for it.

I sigh, ready for the inevitable fight.

Better carve a few more shivs to hide in my ballgown.