Chewing on my lip, I decide to go for it using the first numbers that come to mind when I think of the pack. Surely they can’t bestupid enough to use their jersey numbers, but stranger things have happened.
Four-Four-Six-Three.
Huh. I suppose they are that stupid. The keypad lights up green, granting me entry into the devil's lair.
The moment the door opens, my knees buckle as three combined scents hit me.
Forest pine and cold air—smoke, spice, and snow. A whimper escapes my throat as I fall back into the now closed front door.
Mine.
They are mine.
My scent matches.
The three souls that have been put on this earth to balance me perfectly.
The same three people who have lied to me for weeks, maybe even months, about who I really am. Three men who knew I was their scent match never once said anything.
They tormented me. Claimed me in the most animalistic way possible. Made me so fuckign exhausted as I tried to navigate the absolute clusterfuck that was them.
They knew.
And they didn’t say anything.
They may not have lied, but keeping the truth from me, not only about my family history but about our bond, is the greatest betrayal.
I had been eating myself alive for weeks, wondering why I couldn’t stop thinking about these men. Why wasn't the contract that I had signed enough for me to walk away from them and to set clear boundaries?
It’s because of this. The bond that thumps in my chest now that I can smell them.
I feel my heart crack in my chest, something in my soul fracturing as I ask myself why. Why wasn’t I enough? Why did they hide this from me? Why wouldn’t they just tell me?
Why, why, why?
I could torture myself with wondering with the barrage of questions rolling in one after another. With a scream, I launch off the door, finding a glass vase at the entry table. Picking it up, I bring it behind my head before throwing it at the wall. It explodes, sending tiny pieces of ceramic around the room.
That felt good. Catharic.
Turning back to the hall table, I grab that, using a strength I didn’t know I possessed, to throw it against the wall. With a clatter, it breaks into a few pieces, making a small part of me feel better.
This time, when I come to, I am far more shocked by my whereabouts.
Holden, Dominic, and Sasha’s scents aren’t as strong here, but I know that I am still in their house.
Looking around, I gasp, noting that I am in a nest. It's not an Omega’s nest though. Or at least not for an Omega that has ever been in here before. It doesn't have that comfort to it. The kind that can only be made by my designation.
So, the Alphas. They made this nest. But for whom?
Looking down in my lap, I find a stack of paperwork, along with a mobile phone. Leaving the device for now, I begin flicking through the paperwork. Document after document of information with random names, and the last name Welsh flashed before my eyes. I see the name Cameron more than once on bonding documents filed with the government and on pack registrations that list my mother's name.
Coming to the last page, I pause. It's a birth certificate. My birth certificate.
Lennon Welsh. Not Lennon Gilmore, like I had been led to believe all of these years.
Brett was right. Patrick Gilmore was never my father.
I had thought that seeing the documents clearly would have given me some relief. It's only given me more questions, though.
