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It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes at her. She won’t appreciate it. I know this from experience. She’s always quick to correct anything she sees as a fault in me. And having sex with the pack she thinks is going to save us is one of them.
She’s coached me on this. Give them enough to keep them hooked, but withhold actual penetration. Keep them coming back for more.
I shake my head. “We just slept together. That’s all.” She looks at me like she knows I’m lying, but I can’t be bothered to care. I probably should have taken a shower before coming home, but I couldn’t bear the thought of washing them off my skin.
“Well, go get cleaned up. We’ve been invited to a party at the Werth Pack house this afternoon. I’ve laid out the dress I would like you to wear.” Without waiting to see if I’ll follow her instructions, she spins on her heel and disappears down the shabby hall.
I frown after her. A party at the Werth Pack house? Why didn’t any of my guys mention it this morning? Is it supposed to be a surprise? A spike of excitement hits my stomach, making it clench while my heart races. Is it a surprise party to publically invite me to their pack? I can see them doing that, wanting to mitigate my nerves by keeping me in the dark until the moment they ask.
My frown shifts, blooming into a full giddy smile as I do a little dance right there in the foyer, before rushing upstairs to get ready.
The dress my grandmother picked is very omega. Pale pink and flouncy, with flowers of the same color embroidered on the sheer overlay. It falls to just above my knees, with sheer cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. It looks soft and innocent and exactly like everyone thinks omegas should be. Nevermind that I prefer faded ripped jeans, converse and vintage t-shirts, or leggings and oversized sweatshirts. I haven’t been able to pick my clothing since I moved in with my grandmother five years ago. When she started grooming me into the perfect omega without knowing that I would be an omega. It’s almost like she thinks if I act like an omega, everyone will forget that I haven’t presented as one.
I suppose that’s true to some extent. After all, I infiltrated the most powerful pack in the city with my feminine wiles.
I snort at the thought. It couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ve always been up front about my grandmother’s machinations. I’m a terrible liar and wouldn’t have been able to pull off seducing five males like some kind of honey pot spy.
They know and they don’t care, which just makes me even more sure that we’re fated, meant to be together.
I ready myself how my grandmother likes. Soft makeup that accentuates my hazel eyes, gentle curls cascading down my back. She’s never let me cut my hair, even though I find it more of a pain than anything. I swear once I’m old enough I’m going to a salon, getting a bob and dying it an outrageous color like teal or peach. Or maybe a combination of the two.
My grandmother’s gaze runs over me as I descend the stairs and I can tell just by her expression that I’ve done something to displease her, but I don’t know what. She doesn’t share it either, instead spinning on her heel and leading the way to our car. We don’t have a driver, so she slides behind the wheel while I slip into the passenger seat.
We’re silent on the drive over. It’s not uncommon in our household. It’s either silence or her berating me, teaching me. I much prefer the silence.
When I step out of our old, but well-maintained car, I wait by the door, not moving an inch as I look up at the main Werth Pack house. It’s huge. Three times the size of the house my grandmother and I live in, gray stone and perfectly manicured. It says ‘we are important and you are not.’
My pack house won’t be like this. It’s going to be cozy and welcoming, nothing too big. I want us to be stumbling over each other, to never be truly alone.
In a house this big, you could hole up in one wing and not see anyone for a week.
I hate it.
My grandmother moves into my line of sight, her hazel eyes running over me again, from the top of my light brown, lightly curled hair down to the strappy silver heels on my feet and the pink polish on my toes.
I wait for her to give a grudging nod of approval before she leans forward and takes a deep inhale. I cringe away from her, even though I know it’s necessary. She wants to make sure I don’t smell like the younger Werth pack before we go in there. It was hard to wash all of them off my skin, but knowing I would see them sooner than tonight helped.
She leans back and nods again, before curling one sharp nailed hand around my upper arm and tugging me toward the front door where an attendant waits. She’s mastered the art of dragging me while making it look like she’s simply guiding me. If that isn’t a metaphor for our relationship, I don’t know what is.
We pause at the door where my grandmother gives our names, and the attendant marks us off their list before ushering us inside. I swear I see a flash of pity in her brown eyes when she looks at me, but then I’m being pulled across the foyer and into the large ballroom.
That’s right, the Werth Pack house has a freaking ballroom, like one of those English manors or a castle. So extra.
The sound of countless voices hits me first, the excited chatter of alphas, betas and a few omegas that crowd the space. They must be piping in scent blockers because with a group this size the intermingling smells should be overwhelming and off putting, but there’s just the slightly chemical fresh air scent.
Unexpected nerves hit me. I fiddle with the ring on my finger, twisting it slightly, rubbing the heart-shaped knot with my thumb. It settles me in a way that nothing else can. I think that’s half of why they gave it to me. They wanted me to have a physical reminder of their feelings for me, because, let’s be honest, I doubt my place with them more often than not.
Why wouldn’t I?
Davis and Jackson come from a billionaire pack.
Ford is the son of the NFL running back Kevin Woods.
Asher’s mother is a famous model in Korea, and his father is a Nobel winning scientist.
Topher’s from a pack of all betas. One of the first packs to form without an alpha or an omega. His mother has written books about it. Best sellers about polyamory without the hindbrain instincts that drive alphas and omegas into packs. Apparently, it’s all about communication between the pack members.
They’re all well known, wealthy, distinguished.
