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Finn is my hetero life-mate, and I’d never remind that asshole to dress warm.
Orion was always different.
Just like Lilah’s different.
Only, I don’t know if I’m treating her like this because she’s omega or because she’s ours.
I don’t know what this girl is, but she’s not what Jett fears. Not what Atlas suspects or Orion dreads. Not a slut or an invader or enemy or any of the other names they’re probably calling her in their twisted skulls.
What I’m most afraid of?
Lilah Darling might be our biggest hope. Or she’s about to tear our pack a-fucking-part.
All I can do is wait and see which way the coin falls.
***
Seventeen
LILAH
I fall asleep with a belly full of rice and Hunter’s smoke invading my dreams. Orion stars in my fantasy feature, playing the knight in shining armor who rescues me from a troll and licks me head to toe for reasons that make total sense in the middle of the night.
When my alarm beeps, I wake up panting, my thighs pressed hard together against the ache of what I hope to god wasn’t a freaking sleep orgasm.
My hormones need to chill. I don’t care if I’m surrounded by muscled, steamy, tempting, beautiful men.
We can’t play this game.
I cannot awaken. I can’t start to let them think of me as a potential mate. Not for one second.
After a cold shower, in clean clothes, I throw in another load of laundry, then creep up the stairs, listening to the house at every step. Footsteps sound and coffee mugs clink in the kitchen.
No way am I bumping into my housemates and their brain-fogging pheromones. I slink up the back steps, popping out in the lawn and stealthily making my way around front, dew soaking my sneakers. My feet itch. The bottoms are all scabbed over, but no one’s going to catch me complaining.
Like the creeper I am, I lean half-hidden against the corner of the garage. I peek inside and spot a few empty car slots.
Did Hunter already leave?
“You’re late,” says a harsh, beta voice worse than a constipated rooster.
I whip around to find Craig sneering at me in khakis and a white collared shirt. He looks like a third-rate caddy. Or the guy who drives beers to the golfers in a D-list rom-com. My nose wrinkles at the wet cardboard smell of his pheromones.
“I’m supposed to be meeting Hunter.” I hug the wall, not showing submission, but not acting dominant. Hopefully, Craig will forget I exist after this chat.
“The pack got called into HQ. Hunter told me to take you to the grocery store.” He holds up a black card, looking so smug, I’m almost positive this is a special treat for him. I hope it’s just the card he’s gloating over, and not the chance to boss me around.
“I’ll take a rain check.”
“Wait,” he shouts so quickly I can’t help but stop. “Alpha Hunter said it, so you’re going. Don’t try to get out of work.” He clicks a key fob, making the SUV chirp.
I weigh the options.
Shopping spree on the pack? Or hide out and lose Hunter’s goodwill?
When Craig struts for the car, I decide I deserve ice cream now that the image of his khaki wedgie is seared into my brain. I move toward the passenger door.
“I’m not your chauffeur.” Craig tosses the keys.
