Chapter 6
SIX
Devlin
My heart is pounding. The scent of sex and heat clings to the hotel room, thick and unmistakable, but it’s their words making my stomach lurch.
Shit. Cathal. He’s pack lead?
Panic crashes into me, scrambling my still-groggy thoughts. I bolt upright, my pulse thudding against my ribs as I take in the rumpled sheets, the pillows scattered across the floor, the distant hum of music filtering in from downstairs.
The wedding. Fuck. I need to go. Now.
A sharp inhale to my left. A rustle of sheets. My breath stutters, eyes darting toward the two men still sprawled in bed, wrapped around one another in a way which has a whole new spike of lust ricocheting through me. Tadhg, his dark brows drawn tight even in half-sleep, a hand reaching toward me but hesitating. Lorcan, blinking up at me with that sleepy, satisfied look that would have made my knees weak – if I wasn’t currently in full-body get-the-fuck-out mode.
I shove back the covers, wincing as my legs protest at the sudden movement. My body aches in ways that make it impossible to pretend the last however many hours didn’t happen, but I shove the thought aside and reach for my dress. It’s a crumpled mess, but it’ll have to do.
Behind me, the mattress shifts. A deep exhale. “Red, wait?—”
I don’t.
My hands shake as I yank the dress over my head, my breath coming too fast, too sharp. The fabric snags on my shoulder and I growl in frustration.
I don’t have time to waste!
A strong, warm hand brushes my skin, attempting to help, but I jerk away before the contact can weaken my resolve.
“I have to go,” I rasp, voice rough from hours of—yeah, not thinking about that right now.
I scan the room for my heels, spotting them near the dresser. I can barely even recall them coming off. I grab them and slip them on, cursing when the straps refuse to buckle on the first try.
“Clover.” Tadhg’s voice, low, coaxing. “Just…talk to us.”
I lift my head—and instantly regret it.
Lorcan is fully sitting up now, tousled hair, sharp green eyes locked onto me like he can see the exact moment I’m about to run. And he hates it. His jaw flexes. His fingers twitch against the sheets, like he wants to grab me, hold me down, keep me.
Tadhg isn’t much better. His bright blue gaze flicks over my body, taking in every rushed movement, the slight tremble in my fingers, the way my omega is fighting me.
I can’t do this.
My reflection in the mirror stops me cold.
My lips are swollen, my neck a mess of faint marks that I don’t even remember getting, and my eyes – wide, frantic – belong to someone teetering on the edge of disaster.
I force a deep breath. I can deal with this later . Right now, I need to get out of this room and back downstairs before anyone notices I’m missing.
Ha! Fat chance of that, Devlin, it’s been hours already.
I press my palms against the dresser, grounding myself for one last second before I grab my bag, fingers curling tight around the strap as I make for the door.
“Clover, please?—”
I don’t stop. The anguish, desperation and heartbreak in Tadhg’s tone is enough to make me stall, but I push on.
The hallway is a shock of cool air against my overheated skin. I didn’t even stop for my underwear, I realise, as slick and cum start to slide down my thighs. Fuck. I should go to my room and freshen up first. Maybe grab some slick-absorbing panties from my case too.
My omega whines. Not just at leaving. At leaving them . She wants to stay and nest and mate with her alphas. But I tamp those instincts down. Well, as best I can anyway. The desperation to avoid all things Cathal is a powerful motivator to override everything.
This was just a heat spike. Or two . If I can get out of here before my full heat hits, I’ll be fine. Safe . Everything can go back to normal and I don’t have to acknowledge that I’m scent-matched to two members of my ex’s pack.
Yeah, dream on, Devlin.
The reception is in full swing by the time I make it back downstairs, suitably freshened up. The hotel’s complimentary toiletries selection included some scent neutralising body wash, and although the stuff is probably crap, I used the whole bottle anyway. And I grabbed those panties. Fingers crossed and hope for the best that the combo works, and that I can get through the rest of the night without any more heat spikes.
Laughter and clinking glasses echo through the outdoor marquee, the scent of floral arrangements and expensive perfume masking the traces of my own lingering arousal.
I stick to the edges of the crowd, keeping my head down as I navigate between tables, careful to avoid any familiar faces. Need is still simmering beneath my skin, just shy of breaking into something uncontrollable, so I have to stay under the radar.
And then I see him.
Cathal.
He’s standing near the bar, broad-shouldered and devastating in his tailored suit, talking to a groomsman I don’t recognise. I’d like to say he hasn’t changed a bit but he’s just so much more…alpha than I remember. Devastatingly handsome. Where Tadhg is all messy locks and stubble and a carefree attitude, his twin is sharp. Precise. Perfect.
My stomach lurches.
I duck behind a group of older guests, angling myself toward the opposite side of the room before he can spot me. I can’t deal with him right now. Not when I still feel raw from seeing – and scent matching and fucking – his twin and his packmate.
I exhale sharply, but before I can figure out where to go next, a warm hand closes around my wrist.
“Oh, Devlin! There you are.”
I spin around to find Nuala, the radiant bride beaming at me, eyes bright with champagne and the afterglow of newly wedded bliss.
“You disappeared for a bit,” she teases. “Come dance with me.”
“I—” I start to protest, but she’s already dragging me toward the dance floor.
The band shifts into a slow, easy melody, and I let her twirl me into the middle of the crowd, forcing a smile as I settle into the rhythm.
It’s fine. This is fine. I can do this.
Except…
I feel them before I see them.
A low, unmistakable heat crawls up my spine, setting my nerves alight.
Tadhg. Lorcan.
They’re here.
I don’t dare turn around, but my body betrays me, reacting to their presence before my mind can catch up. My breath shortens, my pulse hammering as the air thickens with the unmistakable pull of pack bonds, of alphas finding their omega.
I grit my teeth and focus on the dance, on the bride’s laughter, on anything but the way my body aches at their nearness, all the while I’m praying the hotel’s descenting products don’t do me dirty.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask Nuala, desperate for a distraction. Slick has started to seep out of me just at the proximity of my alphas. Shit.
“Hmm? Tell you what?”
“That the guy from the bar and the club the night of your hen do, was the best man at your freaking wedding! I would never have gone home with him if I’d known…”
Nuala throws her head back and laughs. “I didn’t have a clue, babe. I only met the guy last week at the rehearsal dinner.” Her eyes gleam with sudden interest. “I thought he looked familiar, but I couldn’t place where I knew him from. Most of that night is a blurr. Why did we do so many shots? I swear I had a reaction to all the e-numbers in the lurid green liquor… Why? Is something going on between you two? I know next to nothing about him, I’m afraid, so I don’t have any dirt for you.”
Thankfully I’m saved from having to answer her because someone steps into my space.
“Care for a real dance?”
I blink up at the alpha in front of me – Podraig, one of the groomsmen. I remember him from school. He’s tall, blond, good-looking in an easy sort of way, but I barely register any of that past the scent of his interest, the possessive gleam in his eyes.
I force a polite smile. “I was just?—”
“Come on,” he grins, sliding a hand to my waist. “Just one dance.”
His touch ignites a visceral reaction in me. A warning, sharp and instinctive. I try to step back, but he doesn’t let go. My omega hates having another alpha’s hands on us, and I’m not too keen either.
A low growl rumbles behind me.
Everything stops.
Podraig’s grip falters just enough for me to yank free, and I barely have time to inhale before a presence looms behind me – heat and dominance wrapping around me like a snare.
“She’s taken.”
Tadhg’s voice is calm, but there’s no mistaking the threat beneath it.
I turn slowly, my pulse skittering. Lorcan stands beside him, dark-eyed and unreadable, but the tension rolling off him is undeniable.
Podraig hesitates, but then his lips curl. “I don’t see a mark.”
Lorcan shifts forward, the movement slow, controlled. “Do you see her wanting you either?”
Podraig scoffs. “She hasn’t said no.”
My stomach tightens. “I?—”
“You don’t speak for her,” Tadhg cuts in, voice low, dangerous.
Podraig’s jaw tenses, but he must see something in their stances that makes him think twice. He steps back, lifting his hands. “Didn’t realise she was off-limits.”
“She isn’t,” Lorcan corrects. “She just isn’t yours .” I really appreciate his distinction. He’s not trying to claim me like an object or a possession, but he’s sticking up for me and making sure this creep gets the message loud and clear without making a scene.
Podraig mutters something under his breath before disappearing into the crowd.
I let out a shaky exhale, only to realise I’m completely caged in, their bodies bracketing mine.
“Are you okay?” Lorcan’s gaze pins me, unreadable. “You ran.”
Tadhg’s fingers brush my wrist, his voice a quiet rasp. “Why?”
I swallow hard, my pulse hammering beneath my skin.
Because I’m terrified.
Because this has changed everything.
Because I don’t know if I can survive wanting them the way I do. Not when they’re Cathal’s pack.
But I can’t say any of that.
So instead, I meet their gazes, set my jaw, and state, “I don’t belong to you.”
Their answering growls tell me they disagree.
And I don’t know if I want to fight it.
Or if I want them to prove me wrong.
Tadhg’s hand brushes my waist, his fingers just barely grazing the satin of my dress, and I swear my body betrays me in that instant – heat rising, pulse skittering, every nerve singing with the primal pull of my alphas.
“We’re not doing this here,” I hiss fiercely, glancing around, desperate to see if anyone’s watching. Nuala seems to be the only one, giving me a knowing grin and a flirty wink before wandering off.
Thank god she didn’t say anything. Or worse, ask questions. Maybe she’s a better friend than I give her credit for.
The reception is a blur of dancing, champagne, and soft golden lights, but my skin prickles with the sensation of eyes on me. Surely, someone has noticed the tension crackling between us.
“Devlin—” Lorcan’s voice is low, firm, threaded with concern and something darker.
“No,” I snap, a little too sharp, panic edging into my voice. “Not here. Please.”
Tadhg steps closer, his warmth a dangerous lure. “We just want to talk?—”
“Please,” I beg, barely able to meet his gaze. “People are staring.”
They aren’t – not yet – but I know they will be if we keep this up. Multiple alphas closing in on an omega is never subtle, even if most of these people think I’m a beta.
Lorcan’s jaw ticks, frustration flashing across his dark eyes, but before he can say anything, a new presence slips into my space.
“Mind if I cut in?”
The voice is smooth, familiar, and laced with just enough steel to make both alphas tense.
Cathal.
Ice floods my veins, freezing me in place as he steps between us, effortlessly inserting himself into the storm brewing around me. His sharp, assessing gaze flicks from Tadhg to Lorcan before settling on me, his expression unreadable.
“I believe this is a wedding, not a territorial dispute,” he says mildly, though there’s an edge beneath his words that makes my stomach twist.
“Cathal, don’t—” I start, but before I can finish, he takes my hand and sweeps me onto the dance floor.
I jerk against his grip, my pulse a violent staccato, my breath catching in my throat. I don’t want this. I don’t want him . And I sure as hell don’t want my body betraying me when I should be clawing his goddamn eyes out.
But my traitorous feet move, following his lead, because we’ve done this a thousand times before.
My hand presses against his chest, pushing back just enough to keep space between us, but the heat of him seeps through my palm, through the fine fabric of his suit, through every stupid, reckless part of me that still remembers the way he used to say his heart only beat for me.
I hate him.
I hate myself more.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I hiss, my voice low and sharp.
A small, knowing smile tugs at his lips. “Saving you,” he mutters, like this is some kind of fucking favour . “You looked like you were about to bolt – or worse, cause a scene.”
I stiffen, my grip tightening into a fist against his jacket. “I was handling it,” I snap, venom lacing my words. Even though we both know I wasn’t.
I’m shaking, every muscle coiled tight, my omega instincts screaming at me to run before my scent betrays me. The hotel’s descenting products should be working. They have to be working . But what if they’re not?
What if?—
Fuck. My panties.
How much slick can they hold? The traitorous throb between my thighs is already telling me not enough . I grit my teeth, forcing myself to breathe through my mouth, desperate to keep my scent locked down, desperate to ignore the way my body is reacting to him.
His grip on my waist is firm, steady, as he guides me through the slow rhythm of the music. I hate that he still knows exactly how to move me. Hate the way my skin remembers his touch like a song I never forgot the words to.
“I’ve been searching for you for hours,” Cathal says, his voice softer now, more intimate. His dark hair is a little tousled, his suit perfect, his blue eyes too fucking knowing. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
I focus on a point over his shoulder, refusing to look at him. Refusing to let him see the war raging inside me.
“I didn’t know you’d be here either,” I mutter, barely managing to keep my voice even.
“But I’m so glad you are,” he whispers, his breath warm against my cheek. His fingers flex slightly against my waist, just for a second. Just enough to send a jolt of heat down my spine. “You look…” His voice thickens, his gaze dipping to my lips before dragging lower, over the curve of my dress. “Stunning. So different, and yet exactly the same somehow. Why does it feel like a lifetime and no time at all has passed?”
My stomach twists violently.
“Don’t…” The word slips out before I can stop it, sounding a lot more heartbroken than I intended.
Cathal’s grip tightens, his thumb pressing just slightly into my hip. “Don’t what?”
I snap my gaze to his, the full force of my rage coiling tight in my chest. “Don’t do this. Don’t act like—like you can just walk in and?—”
“And what?” His voice dips, something raw bleeding into it. “Tell you how beautiful you are? How sorry I am? How much I fucking miss you? Because you are, I am, and I do.”
A sharp, disbelieving laugh bubbles up in my throat, but I bite it back. You don’t get to miss me . You don’t get to stand here, looking at me like that, like I’m the best thing you ever lost.
Like it wasn’t your fucking choice.
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches, the heat of frustration, anger, want tangling in my ribs. My hands are shaking. My pulse is racing. My body – my stupid fucking body – is sweating with nerves, anxiety, and possibly another heat spike.
I don’t want this.
I don’t want him.
I want to get through this night unseen, unnoticed, untouched .
But then he freezes.
His fingers go rigid against my waist. His breath stutters.
And I know.
My stomach plummets.
He scents me.
The shift is instant. Devastating.
His pupils blow wide, black swallowing blue, and his lips part slightly as he inhales again – deeper this time, like he can’t help himself .
Fuck.
I see the exact moment it hits him. The moment he understands .
His throat bobs. He licks his lips. Takes a slow step closer.
“Devlin,” he breathes, voice dark and stunned.
Then he sniffs.
Panic lances through me like a lightning strike. My entire body locks up, fight-or-flight instincts screaming at me to move .
I know that look.
I know what’s about to happen if I don’t act.
If I let him get any closer.
So I do the only thing I can.
I run.
I rip myself from his grasp so fast it shocks him, my breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps as I dart backward through the dancers.
“Devlin—”
I don’t wait to hear the rest. I shove past a couple twirling too close, nearly trip over the edge of the dance floor, and bolt for the nearest exit.
I hear footsteps behind me.
Too fast.
Too strong.
I push harder, bursting into the cool night air, my lungs burning, my scent spilling out in waves I can’t control anymore.
I don’t stop.
I can’t.
Because I know if they catch me, I won’t be running anymore.