Episode 6 Wolf Among the Briars #2
I look away instinctively, snapping my gaze upward so I don’t crawl across the damn pool deck like an animal. But then she moves—arching, bending, flowing—and I have to look at her again. Out of the corner of my eye I see my pack members lean forward, as entranced as I am by the omega.
It only gets worse watching as her back bows and arches, hips rolling. And then she takes a deep breath and pushes her perfect round ass into the air, in a move that even I recognize as a downward facing dog.
Yoga. Florence is doing yoga on national television in skintight pink leggings and I’m torn between barking at her to fucking stop and joining her.
There’s a strange possessiveness in my chest that is screaming at me to not let anyone else but my pack see the way her body can move, can bend and flex and fold.
Fuck, do I want to fold her in half and fill her with my cock.
A camera man moves in front of me, cutting off my view of Florence as he focuses on her.
It’s enough to draw my attention to the other crew members lingering around the pool area, almost all of the men are watching her.
I don’t miss the hungry looks being cast her way as she moves fluidly through one yoga pose to another.
And that wakes up something ugly and territorial in me. Possessive.
Absolutely fucking not.
My feet are moving before I can think, drawn straight to her.
Her body shifts into another pose, long lines and clean angles that make my mouth dry.
This close I can see that her skin glitters in the sun, not with sweat, though there is some of that, but actual tiny flecks of gold glimmer across her skin, like she used a lotion with shimmer in it this morning.
It looks like pixie dust.
She pauses when I step up next to her, back turned toward me, front leg bent at a ninety degree angle, back leg straight, arms stretched straight out to either side of her body. “Pretty boy.”
“What’s this pose called, Ren?” I ask, my tongue feeling clumsy, heavy.
She glances over her shoulder at me. “Warrior two.” The muscles of her shoulders flex and ripple under her skin as she shifts, back arm coming down to slide along her straight leg, other arm reaching toward the sky as her back arches. “Reverse warrior.” She informs me without my asking.
I watch as she goes through what she quietly explains is a flow. From reverse warrior to a low lunge, to a plank, chaturanga to upward facing dog, then hips up to downward facing dog, step to the front of the mat, forward fold and roll up to mountain.
I watch enchanted, her low soothing voice like nothing I’ve heard before. She pauses standing with her feet planted together, palms pressed together at her sternum. I wait. She turns and gives me a considering look. Then she takes a deep breath and says, “Do you want to try?”
My brows jump. “That? What you just did?” A quick shake of my head. “I doubt I’d be any good at it.”
“Most beginners aren’t. But it's worth trying.” She steps off the mat and then rolls it up with quick efficient movements that speak of years of practice. “I teach a beginner class for omegas. I’d be happy to teach you too.”
I take one step closer to her. She eyes me warily, and I see what Piers was talking about.
How she seems… skittish. Ready to bolt. Had she had this same reaction to Grieves last night?
She’d seemed fine during the introduction ceremony.
“I’m surprised you didn’t notice, pixie, but I’m not an omega. ”
Her mouth quirks, even as her cheeks flush. “I did notice that, pretty boy. The omega part of the class is mostly so they can feel comfortable without having alphas or betas sniffing around them. It's a safe space. But beginners are all beginners, regardless of designation.”
“Do you need that safe space too?” I ask before I can think better of it.
Her expression shutters entirely and she takes a step back from me, under the guise of stowing the mat back in its rack, next to the free weights.
I hadn’t actually thought anyone but my pack would use this little workout space the show provided for us. But Florence has proven me wrong.
“Ren,” I start, wanting to apologize. It's not really any of my business. It can’t be. Not when at the end of all this we have to pick Isadora.
But she just shakes her head. “In my experience most omegas need a safe space. Unless they are exceptionally lucky.”
“And you haven’t been lucky?”
A wrinkle forms between her brows, she opens her mouth. Shuts it, and then opens it again, only to be cut off by a too loud voice courtesy of a megaphone. “All right. Time to go change for the first challenge. Everyone meet at the beach in thirty minutes.”
Ren gives me a tight smile. “Well, duty calls.” Then she hurries away from me, bare feet quick on the hot cement as she heads down a path that leads toward the island lagoon. Must be where her cabana is. I file that away for later, just in case.
I want to follow her, want to press her for more information. I’m the least alpha of my pack, not including Piers, of course. To the point where my family was surprised when I finally presented as an alpha a few years later than most. They’d all but given up hope and accepted that I was a beta.
But something about this omega has me feeling all kinds of alpha instincts, not the least of which is to never let her out of my sight. The need to make sure she's safe and cared for thrums through my chest.
I want to fucking provide for her, which is not something I’ve ever felt.
Other omegas stir my general alpha instincts to some extent.
But this is beyond the pale. This is a thundering pounding need to prove that I can take care of her, can give her food and shelter and soft things to cuddle up in and pleasure.
Its fucking wild.
And more than a little disconcerting.
I hurry over to where my pack is waiting for me. Unnecessary. We can retreat to our room separately. We all know where it is, but I suppose it looks better for the camera if we all go together.
Piers lingers at the edge of my periphery keeping pace with us, but out of sight of the cameras. Guilt pinches my stomach.
I should have fought harder against him being shuffled to the side like this. I should have said if we’re doing this, we’re doing it as a complete pack, but now it’s too fucking late. We’re here. The contracts have been signed and now our beta isn’t a part of picking our omega.
Is it really picking if you don’t have a choice?
I think about Florence, about how she didn’t approach any of the known pack members last night, instead seeking out our beta, getting to know him first and foremost. And that makes my heart get all warm and melty.
Even as the knowledge that Piers is right settles over me. Someone—some alpha—hurt her and now she’s cautious of our designation, anxious about spending time with us.
As soon as we’re alone in our pack suite in the main building of the resort, I blurt out, “We need to be careful with Florence.”
All of my packmates turn to look at me. “What does that mean?” Thayer asks, his voice a threatening growl. Like he thinks I’ve already fucked up somehow. Which, let’s be honest, if anyone is going to fuck up this charade we have going, it’s probably gonna be me.
I run a hand down my face and then grip the back of my neck. “Piers noticed… she’s been keeping her distance from all of us… the alphas. I think… she might… be scared of us?”
Grieves folds his arms over his chest. If I could smell him I would bet that his scent would be acrid with aggression. Not at me, but at the implication. “Why would Ren be scared of us?”
I shake my head. “Not us specifically, but maybe alphas in general? Piers wanted me to just… warn you all that we need to be extra cautious when dealing with her.”
Forsythe tilts his head, then slides his gaze over to Grieves. “How did she seem when you talked to her last night?”
Our grumpiest alpha frowns, mulling over his words before he says slowly. “She seemed… startled at first, but she warmed up to me fairly quickly.” His gaze flicks down to his split knuckles. “Gave me a nickname.” Is that… does he sound smug as he says that?
Yeah, yeah, I think he does.
But then there’s a flicker of… guilt maybe? Or shame? I can’t read the arsehole well enough to know what it is, but he adds, “She did have a moment, just before the end of the party…” He trails off, then shakes his head, maybe deciding it's not his place to tell. “Never mind.”
Thayer arches his brows then returns his attention to me. “If she was comfortable with Grieves, I’m sure whatever recalcitrance she was feeling last night must be nerves. This is a strange way to meet a pack.”
“So I’m the most offensive one of all of us?” Grieves sounds… hurt? I honestly didn’t think that was possible. Dude’s a duck, insults just roll right off his back. What the hell is even happening to my pack? “Not Courtland who fucks anything in a skirt and most things in pants?”
“Hey,” I protest, but not very loud. He’s not wrong.
I do love fucking. But it's the first time any of them have made me feel bad about my sexual appetites. Sure they’ve rolled their eyes at my antics and Forsythe has told me on more than one occasion to please try to be more discreet, but it's never been something to be ashamed of.
“If something happened that we need to know about, Grieves, now is the time to tell us,” Forsythe presses.
I wrinkle my nose, not liking that they’re brushing our beta’s concerns aside.
But then… Grieves did have a full conversation with her, I vaguely remember him being absent from our group for quite a long time while the omegas swarmed around us.
I’d put it down to him being a stoic son of a bitch, with very little in the way of social graces, but if he was talking with Florence that whole time…
Well, then maybe they’re right and it is just nerves.