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I already know everything I need to know about this pack. They need heirs. I don’t understand why they can’t offer a reputable omega—a good little girl who’ll beg to be with them—but they’ve kicked a fucking boulder by choosing me.
I’ll play along so they keep me around. Dodge Craig and their advances. Keep busting my ass to stop myself from awakening, and find all the best hiding spots in whatever hideous McMansion these rich boys call home.
I’ll do what I do best.
Be a ghost.
And before anyone notices, I’ll disappear.
In the morning, Trainer Marc finds me sleeping in the locker room, curled up in a nest of towels.
He’s beefy for a beta, with big biceps that try to make up for his lack of neck, and a scent that’s so identical to the plastic mats they use in the weight room that I don’t notice him until he’s nudging my ribs with his sneaker. “Up, Darling. You’re late.”
I’m groggy, disoriented, but up I jump.
Trainer Marc doesn’t screw around and I don’t want my ass caned by a dude who can bench press four times my body weight.
“Late for what?” I shiver, realizing I slept in my damp swimsuit and nothing else. Or maybe not so much slept as passed out in. I haven’t eaten since the infirmary French toast.
“Your ride’s here. Where’s your bag?”
Ride.
Bag.
Pack.
Oh shit. “They’re taking me today?”
“They’re taking you now. Put on some clothes.” Marc doesn’t move, waiting for me to strip down and give him a show.
Whatever I’m walking into today, I’ll be so fucking glad to be out of this hellhole.
I whip my grey sweats on over my suit and jam my bra and undies in the pockets. I’d leave them, but I’m done donating my unmentionables to the trainers’ spank banks.
Marc grunts. “Hurry up. And behave. Military pack’s not going to tolerate your shit.”
“You mean mercenary?” I don’t know exactly what Wyvern House does, but it sure as shit isn’t handshakes and parades.
“They were good enough to feed and clothe you all these years. Don’t be ungrateful.”
I am so grateful, especially when Trainer Marc stares at my ass the whole way outside. What a wholesome childhood I’ve had here. What a wonderful upbringing.
Although, in its defense, the OCC usually throws a big farewell party when an omega graduates to join their pack. The trainers give speeches, there’s cake and a sappy slideshow, and the lucky omega is sent to their happy new life in a flurry of hugs and tears.
Not us Darlings.
We just fade away.
Like Marisol Darling—my best friend until the morning her dorm room was just empty. We used to share food at lunch and fight off the mean girls shoulder-to-shoulder. Then nothing. Gone. I haven’t heard from her since, and no one will tell me where she went.
There’s no party for me, either.
Marc drops me at the edge of the parking lot where Evgenia waits with a ratty duffel bag and a bittersweet smile. Craig leans against the side of a huge black SUV like a wannabe prep-schooler in khakis, tapping his toe like he’s ready to crush me underneath.
He can try.
If he does, I’ll show him my teeth.
