Once Upon A Pack (Royalverse #1)

Chapter 24

twenty-four

“Ivyyyyyyyy!”

Oh boy.

Not today , I beg the universe, wanting nothing more than to bury my head in the pile of mending on the low table beside my mother’s sewing machine.

I might have finished it already, but the back of my skull is pounding so hard, I don’t think I could even bend over to pick it up. The image of Asher’s serious hazel eyes staring me down sails through my throbbing brain. Along with the ultra-soft bark he issued before I stepped out of their car.

“You need to rest. No work, darling .”

Turns out, disobeying alpha barks can cause a lot more than the guilty wince permanently pulling at my features. My head’s been in a world of pain. And the sick squirm my stomach gives every time I reach for a new piece of mending isn’t my favorite, either.

Our alphas will be mad , my Omega frets. They said to rest, eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner .

They just want to court us , I correct gently. They aren’t our alphas .

She flashes me an image of Bast licking into my mouth while his fingers plunged into my core. Then one of Dair’s shoulders heaving as he apologized. And Asher’s broad, bare chest… with that tattoo .

His heart, wrapped in ivy.

My fingers work faster, feeding more fabric into the machine. As if pressing the pedal will somehow help me outrun the riot of emotions that rise to block my throat.

But that’s the problem—my whole life, anytime I felt scared or anxious, work has been my outlet.

My Aunt Matilda still doesn’t know what happened at the ball or in its wake, but she apparently knows me well enough to shove a mop and some gloves at me the second I walked through the door yesterday. She didn’t bother asking why I was in Dair’s clothes—nor why my hair was undone or why I had clearly been a crying mess for hours. She only put up a fuss when I told her I’d been given the day off today.

She was so mad about me giving up a long shift, I couldn’t tell her that I’d actually given up every shift for the rest of… forever, really.

That wasn’t my fault, though. Dair wouldn’t even hear of me continuing to work, and Asher acted like the idea personally offended him. Bast offered sympathetic squeezes of his warm, strong hands, occasionally rolling his eyes at them while the duke growled and the prince blustered. But the baron also continued to carefully remind me about the doctor’s warnings.

The message was clear. My old job—my old life —isn’t really an option anymore.

I can either find the courage to go back to the city with the princes and let them court me… or I can stay here and find some other omega-approved job. A different way to deal with the heat Dr. Grant warned me about… and perhaps, eventually, some other alphas, too?

But, no.

No .

The thought alone makes me physically sick. I learned that last night after trying to follow Asher’s calm, concerned instructions. Aunt Matilda’s tomato soup went down well enough, but the longer I sat there, listening to my cousins bicker over the last breadstick and imagining that this would be the rest of my life…

I barely managed to make it to the bathroom before the whole meal came back up. And every meal since, too.

The Google searches I’ve done while I tend to Mama’s mending clients inform me that this is pretty normal. Omegas who find scent-matched alphas are supposed to stay with them . Period.

Otherwise, all sorts of horrible things start happening.

I close my eyes, recalling the quiet beeps of my mother’s heart-rate monitor. It used to be the only sound in this room, sometimes. The steady rhythm a constant reminder of exactly what happens when omegas lose their mates.

It’s more than that, though. Because— Lord, how pathetic —I think I miss them?

Their tender touches and worried eyes. The way they argued among themselves about how best to please or comfort me.

Even more humiliating? I miss my work .

Not the scrubbing and the scraping, but being in their space, inhaling their scents. Listening to Bast sing off-key while he fixes his hair. Sneaking peeks at whatever books Asher leaves around so I know what he’s thinking about during the day. Dair’s dark gaze gliding across my skin when I least expect it.

If they go back to their real home without me, who will bake Asher banana bread when he’s had a bad day? Or leave strategic bottles of water around for Dair? And Bast never remembers his keys …

“IVYYYYY!”

Sickness somersaults in my center as a stab of pain hits between my hips. Panic pinches at my lungs—because, really, what do I do if I have another heat spike here ? Without any space or privacy? Without them ?

And with my cousin Claire deciding it’s perfectly all right for her to waltz into my room…

The light from the short hallway to the kitchen burns my eyes—which is when I realize— oh, it’s dark .

Nighttime… and I haven’t eaten all day or mustered the courage to turn my phone off Do Not Disturb. My Omega trembles with unease, pacing my insides while she mutters that the alphas won’t like us anymore. We should obey them, try to please them, check and see if they’ve called us or?—

“Ivy!” Claire snaps, stomping on the sewing machine’s cord to rip it from the wall socket. “Jesus, I’ve been calling you for like five minutes! What the hell is wrong with you? Mom said you didn’t even work today!”

Aside from eight hours of mending, two hours cleaning the bathrooms, and another two folding and sorting laundry.

I’m too exhausted to bother arguing. My numb fingers rub at my throbbing temples as I ask, “Did you need something, Claire?”

She throws her hand on her hip, glaring expectantly. “You owe me thirty dollars for the takeout last weekend. And you said you’d fix the strap on my tote bag two days ago .”

Now would probably be a good time to point out that charging me thirty dollars for the one slice of pizza they saved me isn’t exactly fair. Especially considering I pay our rent and all.

But Claire works, too, in the bar down the block… and I did eat that one piece…

With a sigh, I fish for my own beat-up tote bag, noting that it could use repair, too. At least Claire’s is fixed. I hand it to her along with all the money in my wallet. I’m five dollars short—and she sneers as she informs me she needs the rest by tomorrow.

She slams my door as she storms out, not bothering to thank me. My shoulders slump, a shooting pain jolting through them.

Great .

Dr. Grant warned me about that , too: the physical aches of touch-starvation.

Feeling like I might start to cry, I leave my unplugged sewing machine and wander over to my bed. The mattress squeals while I roll onto my side and bring my pillow to my chest, hugging it as I turn to the window.

I can’t see the stars from here because my room faces a brick wall, but I remember gazing up from the kitchen last week, thinking about that day Asher and I wished on the same star.

And the fact that, even days ago, my wish was the same.

That he’d see me the way he used to. That maybe one day…

My wish came true .

So why am I lying here in agony?

The voice in my middle may be even more anxious than I am, but she also seems to know things quicker than I do. She answers easily, her tone sad but resigned, Because he couldn’t see me. And he broke your heart.

There’s a beat of silence before she winces slightly. Not to mention the wild one.

Dair’s dark, feral eyes flash into my mind. My Omega is right—he’s part of the problem, too. I may understand why he was so cruel now, but it doesn’t undo months of feeling fear in his presence. I’ve been conditioned not to trust him… in an entirely different way than I distrust Asher.

And, Lord— Bast . He was so wonderful to me in every way. Before the ball. During it. After, too, in Asher’s bed.

He probably feels terrible , I think. Especially if he’s tried to contact me. He might think I’ve ignored him all day because I hated what we did and blame him.

That’s an awful notion. I may not have been prepared to deal with the way I felt afterward, but he didn’t do anything wrong. If anything, I’m the one with issues.

I need to tell him that, at the very least…

With a deep breath for courage, I swipe my phone open and turn off DND. Usually, I might have one or two complaints from my aunt and a text from Gracie—but this time, messages pour into my inbox.

I’ve had the princes' numbers saved for emergencies and errands, but I never expected to see them actually scroll across my screen.

Lord Sebastian Burns.

Duke Dairragh Vreeland.

Prince Asher Everhart.

Sebastian’s texted the most. I guess that isn’t surprising. He’s constantly on his phone—messaging women, I always assumed.

The visceral stab of jealousy that gores into me doesn’t last long. Once I start thumbing through his texts, it’s vividly clear he hasn’t thought of any other girls today.

Lord Sebastian Burns

Good morning, beautiful.

I missed you so much last night, sleeping was impossible.

I was worried you were cold and wanted to hold you. Please tell me you have an electric blanket or a body pillow or *something* so my Alpha doesn’t rip right out of my body and storm over there.

today 12:41PM

Angel, I’m so sorry about yesterday. Next time, we’ll go so much slower, ok?

Or fuck me, there doesn’t even have to be a next time.

today 2:18PM

Just promise you have the toys and stuff you need. Please?

today 4:03PM

Okay, so, impulse control? Not my strong suit. You might be getting a big box of nesting stuff and alpha substitutes sometime this week… I picked the colors based on that pretty dress you wore to the ball.

I hope you kept that dress, Ivy. It makes you look exactly like the angel you are.

I’m in tears by the time I reach the last message, but the picture of Bast’s handsome, coiffed perfection grinning with a squirrel at his feet manages to make me giggle.

today 6:56PM

Nigel and I are fine, btw. I took some cookies out to him after dinner, and we had a nice visit. Lovely chap.

Asher’s thread is next. He hasn’t written as often, but his texts are jammed with details of all the work he’s done to try to make this easier on me.

Doctors he’s lined up—one set here and another in the capital, “in case I choose to accept their invitation.”

A play-by-play of the conversation with his parents, where he essentially told his father they would not be entertaining any more prospective princesses— ever .

Another he had with his mother, where she assured him that she learned all the duties her role entailed, once upon a time, and has no doubt I could do the same.

He also spoke to Princess Ahmad, informing her that his pack had found their mate. According to Asher, she was gracious and offered to stay for a while longer to help me learn the ropes if it suited me. Judging by his tone, he seemed surprised by the suggestion but didn’t have a preference about my decision either way.

My heart skipped when he messaged a photo of my mother’s locket, telling me they’d found it the night of the ball and asking if he could have it cleaned and get the clasp repaired. Since, apparently, falling out of my bra and onto the manor’ rocky driveway caused some damage.

There was more—designers and personal shoppers, language tutors, jewelry makers. He’d even opened a brand-new bank account and sent me a digital version of the debit card, requesting that I “please” use it for “any and every expense” I had. Indefinitely.

He must know I won’t use it at all. Perhaps that’s why he was so quick to give it to me?

My angry headache has become a full-blown migraine by the time I scroll to the final message under his name. A short, simple one.

Prince Asher Everhart

I know this is all so much more than any of us deserve from you, but we will spend our lives earning it. I’ve missed you every day, goose. I know I deserve to miss you forever. But if you feel you can’t be my princess after all of this, please tell me you’ll forgive me before I go.

Oh, Asher.

He always seemed so stoic, even as a boy. I was one of the few to see all the vulnerability under his careful mask. How much he worried and wondered and wished his life could be different.

We were alike in that way.

Maybe we still are.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The memory of Mama’s monitor underscores every beat of my restless heart. Highlighting just how fast my pulse races as I realize: This is it . Everything I’ve ever dreamed of. My lost prince. A better life.

I just have to be brave enough to try… and let them try.

My phone vibrates in my hand, alerting me to another message. From Dair.

His thread is much less effusive than the others. There are no promises or pleas. Just a series of short, terse lines demanding to know if I’m okay.

Duke Darraigh Vreeland

Have you eaten? And rested?

Today 10:21AM

Answer me, omega.

Today 3:04PM

None of us have heard from you. Tell me you’re all right.

Today 7:49PM

Ivy, my Alpha is fucking frantic. Are you sick? Hurt?

And the last one, received seconds ago.

I’m downstairs.