Chapter 1
chapter
one
present-day
Does anyone else still get those bad dreams?
You know the ones.
I’m supposed to be taking an exam—but I just woke up and I’m three hours late!
I’m in the middle of a speech—and I forgot to put on pants!
Well, this is sort of like that.
Only it’s my actual life.
As a high school librarian and Certified Elder Nerd, I can confidently say I’ve always been the sort of person other humans want to stuff into lockers.
So I know that, for a lot of kids, the best thing about high school is the fact that it ends .
And the promise that, eventually, there will come a day where you never have to see those numpties again.
Unless you’re me, apparently.
In which case, a guy you’ve spent the last nine years trying to forget is in your living room.
And he isn’t alone.
What are they doing here?
Our parents’ house is enormous—a grand assortment of lavish rooms that have gotten more ostentatious every year since they passed away. I’ve never been a big fan of the pomp, but at least there are plenty of places to hide.
Normally, I’m not really a “fade into the background” type of girl, but, uh… I definitely can’t be seen right now.
If these are actually the alphas I think they are…
Balancing on the tips of my toes, I crane around the wall separating the first-floor hallway from the parlor.
Fuck a duck.
Yep, that’s definitely them.
The one on the leather loveseat is Jesse Locke, effortless Golden Boy and my sister’s friend from high school. He’s as gorgeous as ever—lanky and muscled, with the sort of fluidity that hints at innate athleticism.
The years have only made him more impossibly handsome. All-American beauty—a straight nose, sharp jaw, hazel-green eyes.
Honestly? His face is just unfair.
So is the other alpha’s. The one who should be a stranger, but—thanks to some late-night social media stalking—I admit I know his name.
And maybe his batting average.
But only because literally every article crows about it.
Dante Pérez .
I’m mildly annoyed that he’s just as attractive as his photos. Deep-tan skin, molded onto bulging muscles. Dark-chocolate eyes, a painfully sexy smile, and a square, dimpled chin.
Like damn , dude . The bright white teeth are overkill. He’s already way too hot without flashing those .
I really don’t want to believe these alphas are here. But I would, unfortunately, recognize them anywhere. And not just because my sister used to hang out with Jesse, and Dante is Jesse’s packmate.
They’re famous, too. Gorgeous and single… and two of the best professional baseball players in the country. They played together in college. Now they headline the Kings, our hometown’s MLB team.
Which reminds me:
What the hell are they doing in my house?
Alicia—my alpha older sister and unofficial warden—graduated with Jesse nine years ago . They hung out a lot back then, but I got the sense the star pitcher moved on to bigger and better things once he made a name for himself.
He found Dante, of course, and one other alpha for their pack. A catcher, I think. Though that guy’s notorious for hiding from the cameras Jesse and Dante seem to love. And I don’t see a mystery man any?—
“Hiding?”
I whirl, my hands flying to cover my chest.
There’s a man behind me, standing a few steps away with his fists in his pockets and a ferocious frown twisting his full lips.
Is that… a backwards Kings baseball cap on his head?
I’m gonna kill Alicia .
My throat goes rough and tight, hands shaking while I flatten myself against the wall. Damn omega instincts . Why couldn’t they give us super strength or mind control or insane parkour skills?
Seriously? Running and hiding? That’s all I get?
Stunning gray eyes glint in the shadows, even more striking beside his equally pale skin. They’re… intense. Enough for me to question if my impulse to flee might be prudent.
My skin buzzes, reminding me why this whole scenario feels like a literal nightmare—I’m only wearing a paper-thin nightgown. No one told me we’d have company.
Then again, Alicia tends to forget I live here.
I wish her new husband would also forget I live here.
It was Bradley’s idea for me to move in after college.
At the time, I thought he was being generous.
They make the kind of money it takes to maintain this monstrosity of a house—and they’re only mostly condescending about my job and general existence.
In the end, though, his reason turned out to be infinitely… ickier.
So, really, the sooner my sister has her way and gets me out of here, the better.
Some warning about whatever this is still would have been nice.
Now, I’m in a blush scrap of silk, staring at one of the most beautiful alphas I’ve ever seen.
All casual sex appeal, with his tousled, nearly-too-long hair curling from under his backwards hat.
And an attractive dark-brown beard to match. Of course .
He keeps scowling at me, the expression impassive. Huh . It’s not arrogant like Dante’s bright grin, or gorgeously carefree like Jesse’s.
Nope. This guy is… disapproving?
Of me? In my own house?
In my sister’s own house?
The audacity.
He tilts his head slightly, gray beams gliding down my body and back up. Not judging me, exactly, but… looking. Really looking.
Which is fair.
There is a lot to see.
I typically pride myself on that: being a lot. A lot of thoughts and opinions. A lot of books and projects and ideas. A lot of jokes and fun. All the better to go with the hips, ass, belly, and breasts I also have a lot of.
Alicia would say that a woman “with my figure” shouldn’t wear nightgowns this skimpy. In her mind, every spare moment of my life ought to be dedicated to finding ways to squeeze myself into some arbitrarily acceptable shape—all so I might have a shot in hell of finding a pack one day.
I wonder if she would still be so desperate if my weight was her only objection. True, most omegas are petite. It isn’t a rule , though. Omegas come in all shapes and sizes, just like alphas and betas.
But not all omegas have the perfume I do.
Thank God I just got out of the shower . I always scrub myself with de-scenting wash. Ever since my perfume came in and the doctors started their endless crusade to “fix” it.
They each ran endless tests and wound up shrugging. Oh well. Too bad. Guess she’ll die alone.
By the fourth or fifth doc, it was almost funny. Almost .
Deep down, I was devastated. My whole life felt a bit like being a puzzle piece from the wrong box, with everyone trying to jam me into slots that weren’t made for people like me.
I was bigger than other girls, so that meant I had to be shy and socially awkward. I didn’t “look like someone who worked out,” so people gave me side-eye at the gym.
If I was going to be fat, I was also supposed to be embarrassed and humble and agreeable. And… well… I’m not.
It never made any sense to me. I was born this way. In this body, with this scent. Hating it seemed as useless as loathing myself for being a redhead. Or a Sagittarius.
Still, Alicia insisted I’d never find a pack if I had such an “entitled” attitude. Translation: “You’re burning out my nostrils and need to start settling. Stat.”
Little did she know, there are , in fact, alphas who like the strength of my scent. Including her creepy partner.
Does it ever piss anyone else off that absolutely terrible men without partners get to be called “bachelors,” but amazing single women are labeled “tragic spinsters” by thirty?
Does it piss anyone else off that they don’t want to be a spinster, despite how much they love giving the patriarchy the finger?
I wish I didn’t care about the whole “mates” thing. I blame all the fan fiction and smut I read.
Because, really, who says finding scent-sensitive love-matches is a person’s only chance at having the sort of companionship I’ve always wished for?
My stupid brain, apparently.
Not to mention my Omega.
But we don’t talk to her.
Blocking out the whines squirming in my middle, I cross my arms over my chest and squint at the alpha standing across the hall, eyeing him in an exaggerated echo of the way he’s glaring at me. Making a joke for myself to enjoy.
The strange alpha doesn’t seem to get it. He stands taller, muscles swelling. Happy to have me ogle him, I suppose.
Game on, buddy.
Some of the sternness evaporates from his features as he skims his eyes down my body, pausing to absorb the lower curve of my belly, straining against my slip’s pastel silk. That gray gaze leaps up my boobs, which are spilling around the lace cups molded over them.
Huh. Interesting.
His poker face tells me he hasn’t caught my scent yet—most alphas who do scrunch their noses. The body wash and scent-canceling spray I practically swam in must be working.
Fucking Bradley.
“You, uh—” The guy pauses, roving his eyes over my chest one final time before bouncing them up to my face “—weren’t expecting us?”
Us .
That word and his hat confirm that he’s the third alpha. Jesse’s pack member and teammate.
My mind spins with implications. Things like his name. Which— okay, yes, fine —I’ve memorized from the tabloids.
Colt Davis .
He’s just as notorious as the other two, if a bit more mysterious. He avoids pictures, mostly, but in the few I’ve seen, he’s either straight-faced or scowling.
Sort of like he is now.
I hate to admit it, but a tremor of intimidation moves through me. He’s just so big and menacing , frowning like that.
His features fold into deeper creases. “Hey,” he mutters, gruff. “I won’t tell anyone you were eavesdropping. It’s no big deal. We are in your house.”
Fuck . The thought of him telling the others I was peeping on them didn’t even occur to me. And—oh God —I forgot I had on these pink pom-pom slippers.
Anyone have a noose? Or a cloak of invisibility? I’m not picky.
“Seriously,” the alpha rumbles, stepping closer. “I’m good with secrets.”
Oh, I bet he is. I see secrets swimming in his eyes. The mysteries swirling there only multiply while he extends his hand, a tiny quirk finally lifting his lips.
“I’m Colt. Locke Pack.”
His scent creeps into the air between us.
Some mixture of a neutralizing cologne and his true smell.
The combination is thick and refreshing.
Wet, somehow, but also breezy. Its salted edge skitters down my spine and curls around my middle, squeezing.
Saliva pools in my mouth, adding to my nervous nausea.
I have to shake his hand, right? I can’t change my name and my face and move to Argentina? Or maybe just run and hide in the pantry? We do have Girl Scout Cookies in there.
He waves his hand at me, the gesture just grumpy and impatient enough to have me rolling my eyes in resignation. I reach out. “Bridget Woods.”
His lips twitch again. “I already knew that.”
Figures . Jesse probably warned them about me before they came over. I open my mouth to ask what the actual fuck they’re doing here , but our palms brush, fingers clasping.
Everything inside me slows to a trickle. Blood pounds in my ears, slowly filtering from my skull to my spine. Trickling through me in a hot dribble that settles between my hips. I gasp, accidentally perfuming.
Greeeeeeaaaaaat .
Not only has this alpha seen the outlines of my nipples , but now, he’s also going to smell me.
Colt’s reaction is… average. His eyes flash with aggression. He drops my hand like a hot coal and recoils a step, staggering as if someone just splattered him with that bucket of fish guts.
See? This is the part where not caring would really come in handy.
But I do. So I scramble into the wall, and try to summon words. An explanation. A joke. Anything.
Before I manage a proper response, he turns, stiff as a board, and stomps right back up the hallway. Away from me.
Probably going to wash his hands, I think, guilty and oddly hollow.
He wouldn’t be the first, but I wish he could be the last. That isn’t likely, though. Not with Alicia trying to auction me off every chance she gets.
I’ve got to get out of here .
Living with Alicia, in the ruins of our fucked-up family, was meant to be temporary .
But I’ve been here for two years and I still can’t afford my own place.
I barely manage my meager living expenses and the suppressants I have to take because Alicia would die of embarrassment if I went to any of our local heat clinics.
God forbid one of her friends sees me there. Or scents me there.
Little does she know, her worm of a husband acts like a slavering dog the second my pre-heat perfume comes in.
I’m uncomfortable even standing here now. If he walks by, he’ll be all up in my personal space. Making the sorts of remarks that toe the line between jokes and threats.
He’s smart, damn him. A lawyer. Adept at knowing exactly how much he can squeak past without giving me something solid to take to Alicia. Which is the main reason I’ve allowed my sister to continue her crusade to get me a pack of my own.
Footsteps approach from the opposite hallway. For a second, fear constricts my airway. Then my mind reboots, and I note the light tread—Alicia’s.
The girl weighs less than my bra, I swear.
She greets the Locke Pack with a shiny hostess voice. “Jesse texted me this week and mentioned you might stop by, but I had no idea you were so serious! Are you guys really here right now?”
“In the flesh,” Dante smirks. “Did Goldilocks tell you why we were coming to call? Or did he leave the bad news out as per usual?”
Jesse snorts. “It isn’t bad news. Of course I told her. You think I’d just show up here asking for her sister’s hand without warning?”
I’m sorry.
I’M SORRY.
W.H.A.T?!
A record skips in my brain, replaying his words again and again.
Her sister’s hand. Her sister’s hand.
Her sister’s hand.
As in the hand that just sent their packmate running for the hills?
After a full minute of complete disbelief, I realize I must be missing their conversation. Shrinking down as quietly as I can, I strain to hear the rest.
And it’s ridiculous.
Insulting.
Infuriating .
But Alicia actually listens. And—oh God— calls my name .
“Bridget? Is that you in the hallway? Come in! ”
Her friendly bark hurtles me into motion, my desperate Omega forcing me to obey the undercurrent of command.
Crazy bitch . Now do you understand why we don’t talk to her?
I stagger out from the shadows, forgetting that I don’t have any real clothes on until it’s too late. Which leaves me standing in front of the Locke Pack. Without underwear.
Remember that bad dream?
I’d like to wake up.