Once Upon A Pack (Royalverse #1)

Chapter 17

seventeen

The duke’s tattooed hand shakes as he reaches for?—

Me?

I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t feel the soft press of his touch, shuddering as he gently grips my jaw and lifts my chin.

Their chamber is as blurry as the ballroom felt last night—but when those dark irises beam at me, my lungs unlock. His eyes bounce between mine, examining closely.

“Ivy,” he finally says, thick but soft. “You don’t know what’s happening, do you?”

It’s somehow the exact problem and perfect question all rolled into one. Because, actually, no . I don’t know what’s happening to me. Or them .

A week ago, I scrubbed this entire room and the kitchen and all three of their bathrooms—no one even noticed . But now they’re all here? Protesting and apologizing? Half—or in Dair’s case mostly —naked?

This can’t be real.

The foggy edges of my vision make it feel like a dream. Or a fantasy that’s gotten away from me.

I don’t know what it is. But based on the heavy, grief-filled gazes trained on my face? They all seem to.

Mortification and fear swoop through my stomach. My chin quivers in his grasp. “A-am I sick? Or… crazy?”

Dair’s brows fold together, his gaze softening in an unfamiliar way that somehow looks perfectly right on him. “No, baby,” he whispers. “You’re not crazy at all. I bet you hurt , though.” His thumb rasps over the hollow of my cheek as his nostrils flare and his eyes sharpen. “Show me where.”

How does he know? My mind swirls. I’m so confused, I can’t resist the compelling pull in his eyes. And the answering urge to please him.

My hand finds my lower abdomen, pressing into the cramps twisting between my hips. He snarls quietly but kneels closer. The scent of tart cranberries and torn mint slices into my lungs—sharp and refreshing. Like the exact kind of deep breath I’ve needed for the last eighteen hours.

He slips his fingers over my clutched hand, stroking my knuckles with intent. Like a lover might. Deep, dark eyes snag mine, more solid than I’ve ever seen them. “This hurts because you need a knot, omega.”

Omega .

The word reverberates through my entire body. Buzzing. Blaring . And, finally, connecting directly to that new voice buried in my middle.

I’m here , she says again. So quiet and helpless. Please. I’m here, alpha .

She used that word last night, too, didn’t she? Not duke. Not prince. Or “my lord.”

Alpha .

And he just called me…

“Omega?” I repeat, my lungs shriveling with anxiety. “N-no, Your Grace, I’m a beta. I—they’ve done tests .”

His answering glower is very Dair-like. “I don’t care what the damn tests said,” he replies, “I’m your alpha. I feel it.”

Before I can protest, Bast jostles into Dair’s side, his navy eyes wide on my face. “Me, too, angel,” he agrees.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know what to think . But as I blink at Lord Sebastian Burns’ oh-so-handsome features, his expression creases. All hope falls from his face, replaced with pleading.

His warm, strong fingers reach for the sudsy hand that held the scrub brush, squeezing carefully as his eyes search mine. His voice drops low. “If I can ever get you to forgive me for being a complete idiot , I hope you’ll let me show you how much I want to be your alpha.”

My alpha .

They all keep saying it. Dair, now Bast. The voice I’m imagining.

Everyone except ? —

I whip my head to the prince, all but begging him to set this whole mess straight. “Ash,” I whisper.

He forbid me to call him that ever again. I need him to tell me the truth, though. To tell them . “I’m a beta, right? I’m—I’m not— I can’t be your mate . That’s why you wanted me to leave, remember?”

Asher is pale as bone. As pallid as the first day we met when those horrible bullies mocked him and his mother. More colorless than he looked the rainy afternoon he asked me not to come back to the manor, and told me he wouldn’t be returning, either.

“I need you to let me go, ” he’d said, looking so pained. So much like he does right in this moment. “I’ll never find my mate if you’re here.”

But I was a stupid young girl. Too in love and hurt and worried about him to understand. “Here at the manor?” I’d asked.

I still had dreams about the way he’d pounded a fist into his chest, only once, and twisted his expression into a snarl. “No. Here.”

His heart , I realized later—after he had issued his orders and stiffly strode off. Away. Gone .

Except he’s here now. Watching me with sparkling hazel eyes. Wet eyes, actually. And the pale, anguished face that resembles cracked china when his features break.

“No, goose,” he says, dragging in torn breaths. “I was wrong . So fucking wrong. And I’ll never?—”

His chest heaves as he shakes his head, grim certainty settling in his gaze. “I’ll never be able to tell you how sorry I am,” Asher scrapes out.

He keeps speaking, his brows crouching lower and lower. Frowning more deeply as the edges of the room melt, and I miss half his words.

“—an omega.”

“—get you help?—”

The voice at my center— my… Omega? —hates that he feels so upset. She’s frantic with guilt, whimpering that this is her fault .

Which would make sense, if I really was an omega and these truly were my mates .

I whine, so confused and overwhelmed that I don’t know what else to do. Asher’s voice gets more urgent. Dair growls. Bast’s perfect chest echoes with a rolling purr.

Gasping, I sway toward that sound. Needing it in a way that leaves me reeling. The pain between my thighs tweaks tighter. My lungs squeeze, then squeak.

And the room dissolves.