Pack Darling, Part One by Lola Rock

Thirty-Three

LILAH

Finn’s visitleaves me breathless and rattled. I pace my nest, fighting the urge to bury myself under layers and layers of blankets, but now even those smell like Finn.

There’s nowhere to hide.

His haunting eyes stick with me.

That aching emptiness. I wanted to pour myself into him, wrap myself around him, and never let him go.

Because he’s my mate.

And he doesn’t want me.

None of them want me.

I need to focus on what I want instead of waiting for packs and parents and—well, anyone—to feel like keeping me around.

With my nest reeking of blood orange and heartbreak, I grab a clean sweatshirt and escape the suffocating house, posting up in the gazebo where there’s nothing but fresh air and starlight.

Thankfully, the Wi-Fi reaches this far.

I finish up a job, then send a huge invoice with instructions on how to route the payment to the bank account in my fake name. In the darkness, acting all cloak and dagger, I feel a little more like myself.

Or at least, the self I used to be.

I’m afraid the Wyverns have changed me too much.

I’m afraid what it’s going to be like spending the rest of my life alone.

“Lilah?” Orion’s soft question cuts through the night. “Are you out here?”

“In the gazebo,” my traitorous mouth answers.

His footfalls crunch against the grass, and the way his skin glows in the moonlight, he looks fae. “There you are.”

He was looking for me.

My inner omega squeals, because Orion wants to be with me.

He noticed I was gone.

I shake that hussy off. He only noticed because he’s just as alone as I am in that house. I’m not the one who can fix it. The pack has to get their shit together.

Hispack.

Not my pack.

“What’s up?” I ask, checking my email like it’s so important I don’t give a shit that Orion’s standing there all lonely, practically begging for a hug.

“Oh. I just wondered if you wanted to watch a movie…” I sense him shuffling, scratching at his arms. “The guys are out chasing Finn. He disappeared.”

My stomach sours. Shit, I hope he’s okay.

Not that I should care, but he was feral while he was cutting me down.

“I’m going to head to bed early.” I stare at my screen, using it to shield me from Orion’s weapons-grade pout.

“If that’s what you want. In the morning…” He hesitates on the steps. “You can come up and have breakfast. We eat together before the guys go to work. You could join us…”

I don’t know if he realizes what he’s offering.

Join them?

My brain fizzles out, thinking of more than one way I could join. Like when Atlas has him moaning in the pack bed.

My heart starts to move, and I can feel the blood rising in my cheeks.

A hint of caramel hits my nose.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, trying to hold back the panic. “Good night.”

Orion frowns, his nostrils flaring.

I strain to keep rigid.

Please go. Please leave me alone.

I’m a breath away from throwing myself into his arms and begging him to let me stay. But if he catches my scent… There’ll be no more movie nights or breakfast meets. I’ll be packed in a blacked-out van headed straight to whatever pack picks me up on clearance.

“Good night,” he says, walking off into the night.

I sigh, leaning back on the bench.

That’s when a new message pings my inbox.

I frown because no one has this email address. I only use it for my black market dealings.

The sender’s handle is a long chain of letters and numbers.

Subject: Pack Your Shit

Be in the garage at midnight.

-CW

I snort.

If the C is for Craig and the W is for Wyvern, the chauffeur is getting even more delusional. He’ll never be a Wyvern.

Not that I should be smug.

I’ll never be one either.

I hurry back into the house, all-too-aware that my scent is only spiking higher.

A swim won’t fix it. Neither will starving myself.

I’m past the point of no return.

Pre-awakening, on my way to my first full heat.

I can’t stay here when a near-empty bottle of lotion is the last flimsy piece of spiderweb holding together my web of lies.

I shove the lotion into my duffle with my other shit, including the hoodies and T-shirts that belong to the guys.

They’re my trophies, and I’m keeping them.

I spend the last hour booking bus tickets and a hotel a few states away. I’m trusting Craig to give me a ride off the property, but that’s far enough. Once I’m past the gates and cameras, I’ll tuck and roll out of the car if that’s what it takes to make my own way.

The house is dead when I sneak upstairs. Orion must’ve gone to sleep and the guys aren’t back yet, with two parking slots empty in the hangar of a garage.

I stay in the shadows, crouching, waiting, and dreading what comes next, even though I should be happy.

This is what I’ve always wanted.

The chance to go out on my own. The chance to stand on my own and make my life whatever I want it to be.

Only now, when I picture my witchy cabin in the woods, it has a lot of alphas out back, chopping firewood in unbuttoned flannels that show off their abs. A giraffe of an omega hugs me from behind in the kitchen, nuzzling my neck while I pile up way more sandwiches than I’ll ever eat as a girl on my own.

My heart aches at the vision.

It can’t be like that.

The sound of a rickety engine shatters what’s left of my fantasy.

Craig rolls up in a rust-bucket sedan that would look more at home in a zombie apocalypse than the Wyverns’ mega-garage.

“Is that everything?” He sneers at my duffel bag.

I hoist it over my shoulder. “Just get me out of here.”

“Hold up. I have to check you for a tracking chip.”

“For a what?” I recoil as he reaches for me.

“A chip,” Craig insists. “The Center tags its omegas. Didn’t you know?”

I’ve never heard it mentioned, but it makes sense. Even a Darling is an investment. If I run, the OCC loses what it paid.

“Where would it be?” I smooth my hands over my arms, feeling a crawling sensation under my skin.

“I have the scanner.” He pulls out a hunk of plastic, stepping toward me. “Give me your arm.”

He’s just a beta, but the guy smells like last year’s pizza box and having him in my space sends my omega instincts flailing. My perfume rises in a panicky cloud.

Not just my perfume.

That skin-crawling sensation doubles down.

Something isn’t right.

I open my mouth to scream, to tell him to get the fuck away from me, but Craig is already looming.

“Hold still.” Craig grabs me by the throat, jamming my back against an SUV while he jams a syringe into my arm.

It’s propane in my veins.

My blood boils, vision spinning. I try to react, try to pull away, but my reaction speed is dulled. Everything’s smudged with oil, and I’m on fire.

My throat aches.

My core burns.

My scent soars.

My heat.

It’s here.