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Just my own thoughts reminding me, unnecessarily, that I didn’t belong here.
I barely tasted the rest of the meal, and when Charlie volunteered to retrieve dessert from the kitchen, hinting strongly that I should accompany him, I didn’t meet his eyes. Philip went with him, instead, and I sat, cast adrift without the grounding presence of his million-dollar hand on my leg. Margaret, sitting at the end of the table next to me, leant forward to spear one last morsel from a serving dish, and I finally saw it: the scar, pale but visible, the smooth texture glinting in the low light against the milky skin of her throat. I took a gulp of wine, for something to do, and nearly choked on it, imagining teeth biting down so close to where the wine traveled now, down my throat, into the hot cavern of my body. Margaret–cold and beautiful Margaret–wasmarked. Mated. Philip had bitten down on her skin, broken it, had bonded her to him, washer alpha.
He had said his family was traditional.
I had thought I had understood.
But now, sitting with them as they conversed, I realized that I hadn’t, not really. It was obvious that these people–these Princes–thought that this was normal, was natural, was the way things were supposed to be. Margaret, and Asterid, and Rose, were bound to these brothers, permanently, subject to the every whim of their alphas, and for what? Money? Prestige? Power?
All of that could be torn away at any moment. A fight, a death, or just a slow falling out of love. I’d seen all three happen before.
A scar, though, on an omega’s neck?
That was permanent. That was for life.
You could walk away from the man, and he from you, but the scars would remain. The bond. My skin crawled–was there a chill in the old townhouse, or was that grating feeling that of the suppressants that coursed through my blood vessels making themselves known?
The two alphas–because they were, weren’t they,alphas, not justmen–returned from the kitchen, their strong hands carrying delicate china plates, each with a slim slice of pale cake, a swirl of cream–not the spray kind–and a scattering of fresh raspberries. Once everyone was served, Charlie retook his seat, but his hand on my thigh now felt like a heavy weight, pinning me to my antique chair, keeping me caught at this table of wolves.
And Charlie wanted–
Charlie thought–
He thought I was hismate.
He thought I was his already.
Charlie
The pack trailedout of the townhouse much earlier than normally, in, I supposed, deference to her. Us. I was thankful–I was anxious for them to leave.
“Did you have an okay time, Ella?” I asked, walking up behind her as she stood at the counter. I gently took a stack of plates from her hands. “Leave it. I’ll do it later.” I wouldn’t–the housekeeper was coming tomorrow, but she didn’t need to know that.
I spun her to face me, looking between her deep blue eyes. “Charlie…” she said, her hands by her sides. “Tell me more about your family.”
Ah. It was time for this.
“Well, there’s Jack, and Philip, and Richard. Asterid, Jack’s fiancée, she’s a librarian. Rose is a novelist, obviously. Margaret works in publishing.” I brought my hands to her hips, but she was stiff under my hands. “You’ll fit right in. You all love words. Rose especially,” I smiled, wanting to lighten the mood. The chatty omega would forgive me for the joke at her expense. “She’ll talk your head off if you let her.”There, was the mood lighter?
“And they’re all omegas.” It was not.
I nodded, removing my hands from her hips, crossing to Philip’s wine fridge and pulling out another bottle of his fancy water. I offered it to Ella, but she shook her head. I took a swig from the bottle.
“And they’re all… mated?” she asked. “To your brothers, I mean.”
She blushed. For fuck’s sake. The girls, mated toeach other?We weren’tthattraditional.
“Yes, they are. My father… My parents were mated. My brother, as the oldest, took up the title of pack alpha when he died. That’s part of why he feels so responsible for us: we’re not just brothers, right? We’re hispack.”
She nodded. “Margaret is your pack’s…” She didn’t know the word. Why would she? It’s not like most people lived in pack hierarchies; to hear my coworkers talk about their spouses, their children, most people barely lived infamilies, just a loose assortment of over-scheduled strangers who happened to sleep in the same house.
“The head omega. Yes, she is. It’s unusual for the head alpha and omega to not be paired, but that’s how it worked out.” I shrugged; it was a long story, and not one I wanted to spend time on tonight. “It works for us. Margaret doesnotwant us to call her this, but she’s like our pack mom.” The corner of Ella’s mouth twitched: the barest hint of a smile. “I know. She’s not particularly… motherly,” I agreed.
“Are you kidding?” Ella shot back. “She’s a total MILF.”
Relief flooded through me as I let out a bark of laughter. If Ella was feeling comfortable enough to joke around, then…
I moved closer to her, one step, then another, and when she didn’t run, I collected her in my arms, pulling me into me, burying my nose in her peachy hair. She softened in my embrace, the woodenness leaching from her body as I held her tight. She was quiet for a long time, limp against me, her arms dangling at her sides, then, finally, she spoke.
