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The room folds around the two men.
Every conversation cuts when they stroll past. Their footsteps move in sync, the telltale sign of long-time pack members. The waves of their dominance make my blood flutter in the bad way that says I don’t want this kind of attention.
I recognize the dark-haired man.
Hikaru Wyvern.
He owns the OCC.
He owns me.
He’s a cold-faced, older man with sword-sharp brows and cutting cheekbones. He’s not even standing close, but his dominance already has me wanting to roll over and show my belly.
The man at his side is even worse.
Built like three pasted-together linebackers, he has salt-and-pepper hair, a square jaw, and a take-no-shit attitude that has me sinking into the sofa cushions.
Please be here for someone else.
“Lilah.” The silver fox action figure stops his floorboard-crushing steps directly in front of me. “I’m Scorpio Wyvern. You must’ve been waiting.” He sheds alpha in pounding waves, his scent metallic in my throat. It’s gunpowder and blood, aggressive and suffocating.
At least, at first.
I catch a hint of something sweeter clinging to his clothes, but I close it down hard. The sharp overtones that are all Scorpio are bad enough. I’d crawl under the sofa, but I don’t dare show my back.
“I’m Hikaru Wyvern. I’ll be standing in as your guardian for this discussion.” The ice face takes my side of the couch like he’s in my corner while Scorpio sits across the empty table.
He’s my guardian?
This is my nightmare.
This is everything I knew would happen. I grip the cushion, trying to ignore the black static fuzzing at the edge of my vision.
“Relax,” Scorpio says, sitting like he’s in his war room instead of an atrium packed with hundreds of nosy eyes, all wondering what underground hellhole the poor pitiful Darling is about to be sold off to.
Hikaru snaps for one of the waiters. “Water.”
A few seconds later, a chilled glass is thrust into my trembling hands.
Bet Hikaru adds it to my tab.
I drink it anyway. I have to get my shit together. I’m not going to sit back and let them ruin what little hope I have left for my life.
It takes a few more blinks and deep breaths before I realize a third person has joined us. He’s thin in that weaselly kind of way, a brown-haired beta whose scent I can’t make out over the Wyverns who leave me gagging on metal.
“This is Craig,” Scorpio says as if I should recognize him. All I know is he has no surname, so no pack and he’s not the threat I have to worry about with two big alphas sucking up my oxygen while they count the money they’re going to get for selling me to slaughter.
Craig perks up, preening, only deflating slightly when I keep sipping my water, unimpressed.
Scorpio clears his throat. “We won’t waste your time. I’m presenting you an offer on behalf of my son’s pack.”
“No.” The word slips out before I realize who I’m talking to.
He hits me with a who’s-in-charge-here look that makes my lips snap shut and my spine snap straight.
“No one’s forcing you,” he continues, “we need to place a female omega with our sons’ pack. We’ve had you on our radar for ages.”
“But I’m not awakened,” I croak out.
