What would happen if I slouched forever? If I refused to go back inside and let them parade me around like a walking proof-of-concept. Like,see, even the difficult Starlings become compliant omegas in the end.
Someone crunches over the gravel behind me.
I nearly jump out of my skin. Did my father send one of his lieutenants out to corral me? Maybe even Zane? But the scents are all wrong.
I don’t turn until a second set of footfalls catches up, and then another and another. A whole pack. The smallest of the four individuals is already ahead, flitting over to the bench before the others have finished rounding the corner.
“Congratulations.” Emery launches her arms around me with, as usual, zero chill. She’s practically vibrating with excitement. Her hair is still dyed a cotton-candy blue and pink that made the Selection Council lose their minds a year ago. Her dress is far less constricting than mine—bohemian floral and loose in the sleeves, perfectly suited to the garden and to her. “We’re so proud of you, Helena."”
I let myself smile. “Thank you. Finishing School was quite the ordeal.”
Emery makes a face. “Don’t I know it. I heard you gave Councilor Evans a run for his money.” She playfully elbows me. “Thank goodness someone finally did.”
I laugh and hug Emery back. “All I did was remind him that omega education shouldn’t stop at napkin-folding and heat-cycle management. I’m sure he’ll recover.”
Emery snorts a laugh.
It’s hard to imagine that the scared Emery I met a year ago is the same one in front of me now. No longer humiliated and rejected by my idiot brother and his packmates, but cherished and adored by them. Emery gave me hope that maybe this omega-forward path would work, but Emery never gave up her art career for a pack. She grabbed both and never let go.
So why can’t I?
Because my father is a Starling?
Behind her, my brother Ranier materializes with his usual confidence, wearing an evening jacket with none of the stuffiness it should entail. The two men with him linger behind: Bastion, a roguish ex-gambler, and Wyatt, still looking like his withdrawal from social media addiction is hitting him hard. They radiate alpha energy in a way that’s impossible to ignore, but neither tries to dominate the conversation. Instead, they hover around Emery, orbiting her like she’s the actual center of the universe.
I suppose she is to them.
Emery fetches a small bottle from her purse and hands it to me. “Speaking of Wyatt, he made you this. They’ve been… experimenting.”
Emery sounds unsure, and my brother’s mischievous grin does nothing to settle my suspicions.
I take the glass bottle from Emery and inspect it. The label is hand-drawn and depicts a cartoon seagull wearing a graduation cap. The contents are suspiciously cloudy.
I pop the cork and sniff: lemonade, but with something stronger riding shotgun. “Is this legal?”
Wyatt offers a lazy grin. “Barely. I used the lemons from your mother’s garden. Count it as a family tradition.”
I take a sip. It burns, but not in a bad way. “How did you even get this past security?”
Wyatt and Bastion exchange a look, and then Bastion shrugs. “We bribed the chef.”
I look to Ranier, who crosses his arms.
“Of course you did,” I said.
Emery studies me for a few moments. “You doing okay?”
I pause with the bottle at my lips and look up through the tangle of branches overhead. “Fine, I guess. Overwhelmed. Is that obvious?”
“To me, yes. The rest of the room is still too busy speculating about your first pack matches to notice.”
I choke on the lemonade. Emery pats me on the back, grinning. “Sorry. You do get used to the attention.”
“Do you?” I ask her.
Emery has no answer I like. And yet… she’s not wrong. Most of the ballroom talk tonight—after the initial congratulations—was about which local alpha house would try to stake their claim first, or whether the Starlings would keep to tradition and organize a match through Omega Selection Day, whichisthe plan.
I haven’t even been graduated for a full month and already, my body is public domain.
