Once Upon A Pack (Royalverse #1)

Chapter 19

nineteen

The voice in my middle still sounds weak, despite glowing with contentment. I feel warm, but certain places on my body tingle. A swath along my left shoulder, both sides of my neck, my forehead.

And my right hand.

That’s where my eyes fall first—to the hand currently tucked into both of Dairragh Vreeland’s—as he slowly rubs his stubbled chin over the thin, buzzing skin covering my knuckles.

The duke meets my gaze, black eyes swirling. “Little dove,” he rasps.“There you are.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen this man look surprised before. Or maybe that’s something else, curving his brows up and parting his lips.

Before I can parse it, the pillow wedged into my side moves. Because it isn’t a sack of feathers—it’s a lord .

“Thank God you’re awake,” Sebastian practically moans, tucking a bare, muscled arm around my waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I’ve been worried sick, angel.”

I blink at the rippling expanse of his bare torso, squirming when his warmth sinks into my skin and the scent of toffee tickles my nose. A second later, that hot-and-cold sensation streaks down my spine, landing in a puddle that soaks my panties.

Sudden, masculine groans surround me. Including one from the prince sitting behind me. Asher’s fingers curl in my hair, tugging softly while he drops his chin and breathes over a rumble in his throat.

Against my thigh—which is now covered by a pair of men’s sweatpants?—I feel a hard jerk. Heat stings my cheeks when I realize it’s Sebastian’s cock .

I start to rear back, mortified. “I’m so sorry , my lord,” I gasp, struggling to sit up. “This is so inappropriate.”

To my dismay, the baron cringes guiltily, hauling himself upright. “You’re right, angel. I should be the one apologizing—it isn’t right for me to touch you without your permission.”

… um.

What?!

“N-no,” I argue, looking at all three of them in turn. Waiting for someone to call me impertinent for accidentally shaming a baron. “Not that . I meant it’s not appropriate for me to be touching you .” My gaze finally settles on Asher’s as I brace for his disapproval. “R-right, Your?—?”

Dair’s snarl cuts me off. Asher’s hazel eyes blaze with pain. “No, darling,” he murmurs, sitting forward and collecting the hand not currently clutched in the duke’s. “There’s nothing wrong with you wanting to touch your alphas.”

The sappy, clueless voice in my middle practically squees with happiness. My heart aches, and my head spins, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. Trying not to hope — please, God —because letting myself wish this is real might be the thing that finally breaks me.

Dair , I think desperately. Dair will be horrible to me and remind me of my place, and then I’ll be able to breathe .

But the cruel duke doesn’t have even an ounce of his usual animosity. Only searing regret and a jaw that flexes as he stares back at me.

“Ivy,” he finally croaks, “baby…”

Baby?!

I almost laugh at the absurdity of him calling me that, but a middle-aged beta in a white coat clears his throat. We all turn to watch him wring his hands nervously.

“Your… Highnesses,” he starts, uneasy. “The test results have been collected and finalized. I’d like to explain them to Miss— Her Highness . If that’s all right.”

Her Highness? As in Princess Ahmad? Or some other princess I don’t know about? Why on Earth would this doctor want to explain my test results to?—

Oh.

OH .

This time, I do laugh.

Because me ? “Her Highness?”

It’s funny.

I scrub toilets and talk to squirrels and can’t apply blush without looking like a clown. I have no graces or title or money or poise. My only jewelry is a now-missing locket and my one pair of shoes has plastic soles. I can’t be a princess .

I can’t even get Starbucks to make my latte with oat milk.

My hysterical giggles grate the silence dangling over the room. Beside me, Bast winces. His warm hand lands on my shoulder. “Ivy, I know this is a lot, but the staff has to call you whatever they call us. Because you’re our mate.”

Their mate?

Their. Mate????

The start of another crazed laugh dies in my throat when I see the doctor’s solemn expression. My voice shrinks. “But I—There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m not an omega; I just have health anxiety. So I can’t be—I’m not?—”

Dr. Grant holds out a tablet, as if I have any prayer of reading the charts and notes in his medical program. “Actually, Your Highness, you very well could be their mate because you are an omega. Your saliva sample contained no beta signatures, but the solution to detect omega pheromones lit up immediately. I need to order more detailed bloodwork to confirm, but I suspect your levels are akin to those in an emerging omega during adolescence.”

But that’s impossible .

I’ve been told, over and over, that this is all in my head .

Bast glances over and sees whatever my face is doing. He immediately tucks me into his side, sliding his solid arm around my middle to squeeze me reassuringly.

“So Ivy is a late bloomer?”

Dr. Grant grimaces. Dair’s chest snags on a new snarl as Asher shifts, his eyes flashing.

The poor man mops his palms on this white coat. “Actually, Ivy’s results are more consistent with an omega who’s been… abused .”

Dair’s voice is dangerously even. “Abused?”

The murmur in my middle feels frantic at the thought of displeasing him. I start to shake my head, unable to help the whine piercing my lungs.

Bast casts the duke a glare, holding me closer to his side. Asher turns away from the doctor and runs his eyes over my features, his immediately softening. A moment later, a thick wash of alpha dominance floods the area around the bed.

For me, it’s soothing. But Dair drops his chin, breathing harder. As if he’s somehow been put in his place by the same rush that settled me.

Bast chokes out a sound of reluctant amusement and sets his chin on my shoulder. “You’ll get used to them, angel. I’m just glad I’m not the only sane one around here anymore.”

Asher spares him a glower before turning back to the doctor. “Abused?” he repeats.

Dr. Grant nods. “Yes, Your Highness.” His nervous eyes run over my face. “Omegas in unsafe environments often designate later or, in extreme cases, not at all. The stress can put undue strain on their bodies.”

Another long silence swells around us. I shake my head again, forcing words up my dry throat. “I’m not—I’ve never been abused.”

The doctor looks like he doubts my words, but he doesn’t argue. “In that case, there’s a very good chance this is all a simple case of bad luck. Many medications and products aren’t safe for omegas because they suppress or affect their hormones in other ways.

“Most omegas avoid those substances once their preliminary designation bloodwork flags them as a potential omega during adolescence. If you— Your Highness’ blood work didn’t show any omega potential, you may have inadvertently suppressed what few omega pheromones you had by treating yourself as a beta.”

Another growl from Dair has me burrowing into Bast’s golden warmth. But this time, the duke pins his death stare on the doctor.

“ Treating herself? ” he demands. “You mean whatever asshat doctors she had when she was a child fucked up her results and essentially guaranteed she would wind up poisoning herself?”

The doctor wipes at his damp forehead. “Well, um.”

Pity swarms my stomach. I find myself reaching over to touch Dair’s black T-shirt, my fingers trembling. When he whips his head around and stabs my gaze with his dark eyes, I flinch. His mouth drops from a scowl into a soft pout.

“It isn’t his fault,” I whisper, glancing at Asher. “Or any of the other doctors. With all her medical issues, my mother and I could never afford private medicine for me—and the public system is really overwhelmed. I looked like a perfectly healthy beta when they tested me, so that’s how they treated me.”

Asher’s brows snap together behind his glasses. “They should have followed up.”

And, God bless him, he really believes that. The poor man has no idea how the majority of his subjects live.

“They don’t follow up with anyone,” I tell him gently. “They’re not able to because of the demand for their time and the strain on their resources. Most doctors in our public system work twelve-hour days and make a fourth of what private practice physicians make.”

I look back at Dr. Grant. “Right?”

He only hesitates for a second before confirming, “I’m afraid that’s correct.” The wrinkles in his forehead deepen as he frowns thoughtfully. “Did they have you on any medications, Your Highness?”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s still talking to me .

I’ve been on several medicines, all to treat my “nervous disorder”—and always whatever was the least expensive option. As I list the prescriptions, Dr. Grant’s expression lapses into pained resignation.

“Most of those weren’t safe for an omega,” he informs us, turning his attention back to Asher. “And she never ought to have been working as a maid. The chemicals in bleach alone are enough to cause hormone fluctuations if an omega is exposed to them regularly. Let alone whatever else she uses to perform her duties. And the level of energy she likely expends doing so.”

Dair spins away, running both hands through his hair as he mutters, “ Health anxiety my fucking ass. We’ve been hurting her.”

His harsh growl should scare me—and would have yesterday. But just like last night, the voice in my middle feels seen by him in the oddest way. Even when tension pulls taut throughout the room.

Asher is as frozen as a statue, not even blinking as Dr. Grant nervously adds, “I’d like to run more tests and assess how much damage has been done to your princess. We can give her a shot of omega-safe birth control, too. She’ll also need to begin an immediate regimen to help regulate her body’s needs.”

Before I can turn bright red, Bast shifts next to me, the scent of toffee— his scent—thickening. “Meaning?”

The doctor pushes his glasses up his nose. “She’s never had a proper heat. Heats act as a reset for omegas and their hormones. We’ll need to ensure her body is strong enough to work up to a heat and she’s well-tended to during it. She’s likely in acute touch-starvation, so that will need to be addressed, as well as any heat spikes that occur.”

Oh f ? —

My stomach drops. Bast’s solid warmth squeezes me gently. “She was on the verge of one earlier, I think,” he murmurs. His deep blue eyes dance with the loveliest softness. “How about now, angel? Do you still have cramps?”

A pinch pulls at the muscles in my lower abdomen, but I don’t want to admit it. I need to get back to work—and figure out how I’m going to pay for more tests and different medications. Not to mention a heat .

I won’t be able to afford a nice clinic with professional volunteers. Besides, the idea of my first heat being in a sterile room full of strangers terrifies me.

When Bast’s blond brows draw together, I think he’s somehow read my frantic thoughts. But then I remember— Oh. He can scent my fear.

And probably my need, too.

Asher definitely can. His hazel gaze blazes as it roams over my features for a long moment before he shoots a glare at Dr. Grant and barks, “ Out. Now .”