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“Lilah?” Orion asks softly.
“Me?” I glance around. Finn’s eyes glitter while the rest look on in various degrees of suspicion. I shrug. “I’m always armed.”
Atlas scowls. “Give me your weapon.”
“No.” I clutch my bodice.
“You need something better than plastic,” Atlas says, shocking the hell out of me. “Finn.”
Finn barely twitches, and suddenly he’s holding two knives in each hand. I blink, trying to figure out where the fuck he just pulled them from, but the movement was too fast.
“You didn’t tell me you like knives.” He grins with all his teeth. “We’re going to have so much fun.”
Atlas plucks a slender blade from Finn and passes it to me. “You know how to use it?”
“More or less.” It feels heavier than I’m used to, but it fits perfectly in my palm.
“Get rid of that other shit,” Atlas insists.
There’s nowhere to hide, but I turn away from Orion, tilting my body toward the window before plucking the shiv from the front of my dress.
“Holy shit,” Orion laughs.
I try to tuck the new blade demurely down my gown, setting the shiv on my lap.
Orion grabs the shiv before I’m done, and when I turn to him, he’s examining the sharpened length of plastic with respect. “There’s dried blood on this.”
“I cleaned it.” But I’d used it enough times. Mostly as a deterrent. I’d go somewhere worse than prison if I ever killed one of the OCC’s precious omegas.
Finn snatches the shiv. “Mine now.” He picks at the dried blood and shoots me an affectionate smile.
Weirdo.
Atlas sighs. “Whatever happened to you before… That’s not going to happen again.” He fixes each of his pack mates with a stare. “You’re under our protection for as long as you’re with the pack. Understood?” Everyone nods, but it’s Orion he looks to for the final approval.
“Agreed.” Orion pats my knee. “We can coexist.”
I let out a breath from my soul.
The more they let me in, the more worried I am that I won’t be able to leave.
It’s a pain in the ass doing makeup in a moving car, even one as smooth as this limo, but I’m in a full face by the time we reach the ball.
Craig smiles like a dog with a ham bone when Orion steps out. His lips curl when I follow at the omega’s side.
Or maybe he scowls because Orion offers me his hand.
My prince.
Fuck, I have to kill that thought, but Orion’s so perfect.
He’s only slightly shorter than the alphas, just the right height to be my escort. I try to clutch his sleeve more than his toned forearm, but when we cross from the limo into the posh manor housing the ball, I want to climb him like a kitten in a tree that not even a team of shirtless firemen could coax back to the ground.
The old-school mansion opens up to a grand foyer with two grander staircases and a chandelier with more bling than a mine for blood diamonds. It’s packed. Wall-to-wall alphas and a handful of omegas tightly protected in circles of bulky men.
The Wyvern alphas form a square with Orion and me in the center.
“Is this normal?” I ask, looking from guest to guest. Every other dude looks like secret service with football shoulders and a not-so-concealed carry.
