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I can’t dodge all the bullets, but I can dodge enough.
Truth is, it would be perfect if my mates could be who I needed them to be.
But I didn’t end up in that barrel because Wyvern Pack runs like clockwork.
Atlas, Finn, Hunter and Jett are a hotter mess than a garbage barge in a volcano, and I’m not volunteering for the same hell cruise as Orion.
Even growing up, when all the trainers did was gush over how amazing it would be to bond a pack, it was never what I wanted—never what I thought I could have.
Now that I’ve seen pack life up close?
Even a dysfunctional one?
I’m good.
And I’m not going to be forced to settle with the Wyverns just because they’re convenient. Just because our dovetailed pheromones make us irresistible to each other.
As long as they stay the fuck away, they make it easy to resist.
It’s shocking how easy it is to sign away my life.
A few phone calls I never thought I’d make, and I have a move-in appointment with the lead scheduler at Honeymoon Hills—a.k.a. the heat suites. It’s a huge condo complex, and it’s the place to be if you’re the kind of omega who’d rather suck on a sugar daddy than be bound with bites.
The little voice inside still screams at me to run away, to hide, but the more practical, still-in-the-hospital part of me knows this is my best option.
Rotation is the only way I keep any kind of freedom.
I’m shuffling to the shower when a commotion kicks up in the hallway.
Heavy steps, raised voices, and dense alpha auras that punch through the door with dominance.
I brace myself, ready for my would-be mates’ energies to kick out my kneecaps and turn me into a shuddering puddle, but the gut-punch never comes.
It’s not them.
Wondering who the fuck’s trying to take me now, I dive behind the sofa, whipping out my scalpels.
“Lilah? Are you—” Max Wyvern pushes open my door with a bearded grin that dies when he chokes on my scent. “Whoa. Wasn’t expecting that.”
“Move.” Tall and red-headed as his son, Kieran pushes past his pack brother. His ice-cold, I-could-assassinate-you-right-now gaze snaps to me where I peek from behind the sofa.
When Hikaru and Scorpio step into the room, shutting the door behind them, I’m stewing in so much alpha my eyes water.
I grip my scalpels with shaking fingers.
Half of me wants to smother myself with a pillow so I don’t have to keep inhaling the heavy scents that fuck with my iffy omega psyche.
The other half, the horny, just-awakened, needs-sex-yesterday half wonders if they’d let me call them daddy.
Oh shit.
I need brain bleach.
Fucking hormones.
They smell like metal, ash, and something musky, sweet, and totally comforting in the most unwelcome way.
“You’re safe with us, Lilah.” Scorpio steps closer. Tall, dark, and crazy dominant, he reminds me so much of Atlas that I can’t meet his gaze.
