Chapter 17
chapter
seventeen
Damn.
Celine has some balls.
Just before all three of us burst out of the room to chase Remi down, the female alpha’s sharp features appear on the threshold. “Gentlemen! Don’t even think about it,” she snaps, low and even.
All three of us open our mouths to protest, but Celine belts out a no-nonsense bark that whips me upside the head. “This is not up for debate. Remi has chosen to leave. You will let her go.” She pulls at her suit jacket and gives a solid nod. “Take a moment to collect yourselves, and we’ll discuss your options.”
As soon as the slab falls shut, the three of us have to take a full minute to shake off Celine’s dominance. Then we need another two minutes for our brains to reset.
Because holy shit, this place smells like heaven. And hell.
Remi’s stress raises my hackles on a visceral level. But the wet arousal woven into the caramelized honey and singed lavender is ev-er-y-thing.
Fuck.
Think, Damon.
Deep breath.
No. Wait. Don’t breathe. Do not brea?—
Annnnnd I have a boner.
I’m not alone, though. A quick glance around tells me that my pack brothers are all in the same, woody boat.
Apart from the poke-your-eye-out bulge in his two-thousand-dollar pants, Smith looks like he’s ready to murder someone. Which is weird because that’s usually Cassian’s job. Instead, he just seems… frozen.
I shift on my feet. Clearly, there’s some shit we need to talk about. This is unfamiliar territory for our pack. We don’t usually have discussions. Or, you know, share about our feelings. Or talk, actually.
Cassian and I used to be different. He’s withdrawn more and more over the years. And maybe, now that I’ve met Remi, that makes sense… but, at the time? I hated it.
Over the years, Smith has been gone more and more, too. He stopped showing up for every game. Then he stopped showing up for most games. Now we have a box with our pack name on it, sitting empty, week after week.
If I ever let myself slow down enough to think about it… yeah. That shit would hurt.
I found a new normal with them because I didn’t have a choice. Silent workouts. Passing each other for three minutes in the unfinished kitchen sometimes. Sharing UberEats for holiday meals. Occasionally catching a game or a movie on TV.
It got to the point where random puck bunnies were the best companionship I had. Going home with a random girl wasn’t really what I wanted—but, hell, at least it was someone’s home. A few hours to trick myself into feeling less alone.
Because facing the truth was too hard. But no matter how much I tried to deny it, the fact remains: we are not the pack we used to be. And we have never been a pack that talked.
This room is making me itchy for about eight different reasons. But mostly because I don’t have Remi on top of me. And the whole place is just full of her.
Shock echoes through all three of us while we stare at the door. Beastly shakes his off first, slowly turning to glare right at his brother. “What the fuck have you done?”
Smith doesn’t answer. His scent is past super-dark-roast and edging more into smoking-cinders-after-a-nuclear-explosion.
Right.
Time to diffuse this clusterfuck of a situation.
“So, she’s really the one?” I ask Cassian. “The girl from the group home? The hot one who used to bake you cookies?”
I remember being jealous that he got to leave school and head “home” to a cute girl who made him treats, while I had to shuffle back to whatever couch I had crashed out on that month.
Cassian laces his fingers behind his neck, muttering in a snarl, “I never said she was hot. She was sixteen, for fuck’s sake.”
Yeah, and we were seventeen. And shitheads.
Okay, okay. He might not have said “hot.” He probably didn’t even imply it. He always was weirdly protective of her. Chivalrous and shit.
At the time, I didn’t understand why he gut-punched the guy in our weight-lifting class who asked him to bring in one of “his girl’s” bras. Now, I get it. Anyone who talks about our omega’s boobs is getting wrecked.
Which is definitely hypocritical, considering the number of mental jpegs I snapped when her sweet little nipples popped up today.
C’mon, Big D. Focus.
Smith’s hands slacken, releasing the white-knuckle fists dangling at his sides. “She probably had to leave the home when her designation came in,” he mutters. “I doubt it was safe for her to stay near so many emerging alphas with perfume like that.”
He’s practically growling by the end of the sentence. Which makes sense. As our pack alpha, his instincts must be riding him even harder than mine are. And right now, I’m like half a deep breath away from ripping that stupid door off its hinges.
“Do we even need to talk about this?” I ask, vibrating in place. “We’re obviously going after her, hugging the stuffing out of her, and keeping her forever, right?”
“No,” Smith says, his voice heavy. “I… it can’t be her. I’ve seen her every day for two months. I would have recognized if she was ours.”
He lets those words soak in before sighing and sitting down slowly—probably because of the monster trouser snake he’s contending with.
Cassian flashes his teeth in a menacing gnash. “Can’t you feel this? This is the first time in tengoddamnyears that I’ve felt anythinggood. She’s mine. Which means, if she isn’t your omega, then I must not belong in your pack.”
Oh. Fuck.
We’re going there? So soon?
I shove air out of my nose, trying to think around Remi’s perfume and distress. The fact that I literally can’t tells me everything I need to know.
“Me neither, Big Hoss,” I say, wincing. “I mean… this is it. Maybe the scent-neutralizers at the shop or whatever de-scenter both of you wear to work fucked with things, but now, you have to know she’s the one. You wanted it to be scientific—well, here we are. She picked us. Before she saw you, she wanted to go home with us and try to be a part of this pack. There’s gotta be some way for you to fix this.”
Usually, Cassian’s face is a mask of anger or a perfect poker face. I’ve never seen it look so… twisted. His mouth is frozen in a grimace, and his big brows are folded down, pulling at the scar over his left eye. I clap him on his shoulder, shaking him slightly.
“C’mon, Cass. We’ll figure this out. It’ll be fine. Better than fine. We found our mate, guys. This is a good fucking day.”
Smith seems to snap into action. He checks his watch and sits forward, gesturing to the seats opposite him. “Sit,” he barks quietly. “We need a plan.”
A bit of Cassian’s long-lost fire ignites in his eyes. “She’s a person, Smith, not a hostile takeover. A checklist won’t help us. She needs nurturing. And you still haven’t even told us what you did to her.”
Our alpha is stone-still. To an observer, he might even look calm. But his voice is gravel when he replies, “She works slowly, and she’s often distracted. The other investors wanted to fire her. I tried to get her to pick up her pace.”
Oh God. As someone who knows Smith, I can tell you that “pick up her pace” is code for yelling. If not barking.
It sounds like anyone’s worst nightmare. Let alone an omega’s. I don’t know much about their designation, but I know an angry alpha can be terrifying for them.
And they like cuddly shit. I think.
Maybe I should have Googled.
Right now, I need to get these two off each other’s backs.
“We can handle this,” I butt in. “Smith will stop being a dickhead CEO?—”
“Damon,” he growls.
“—Cassian will apologize to Remi for having absolutely no game in high school?—”
“Fuck off,” he cuts in, back to his grumbling self.
“—and I’ll lick her pussy until she never wants to leave us. Good plan? Good plan. Let’s go find Balls Of Steel Celine.”
“She won’t help us,” Smith snaps. “It’s against their policy. Any information shared between alphas and omegas has to be done directly by them.”
Cass cracks his knuckles, all feeling dropping off his face, leaving solid determination behind. “She’s mine. And no one is going to stop me from finding her and making her mine.”
Well, that sounds healthy.
Doesn’t some fairy tale start out like this?
A horror movie?
Close enough.