Chapter 8 Ranier
Ranier
When a pack chooses to wallow in their own malaise, it’s amazing how quickly a manor as big as ours can shrink to the size of a padded cell.
Bastion is sprawled on the ancient sectional, bourbon in one hand, his phone in the other, scrolling so hard I swear he’s going to engrave the screen into his corneas.
Wyatt’s at the window, arms folded, gaze fixed on the rain that’s been coming down since Selection earlier.
I’m at the hearth, doing my best impersonation of a man who feels nothing at all.
That lasts about seven seconds, until the doorbell shrieks through the silence and someone uses the knocker at the same time.
“Tell me that’s not who I think it is,” Bastion mutters.
I flick my eyes to the clock. The rest of the house is empty, just us. I don’t think any of us expected our new omega to arrive so soon. “Did anyone order an omega with a side of public humiliation?”
Wyatt’s lips twitch, not quite a smile. “Maybe the girl brought a press entourage.”
I don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, I make for the door. The glass in the entry is warped with centuries of cold and condensation, but even through the distortion, I know the silhouette by heart. My father. Of course.
He’s flanked by two smaller figures: Helena, my sister, in a prim dark coat with her finishing school sash, and Richard, who looks like he’s only here under pain of death or threat of losing his allowance.
I open the door and brace for a lecture.
My father’s voice is thunder at a funeral. “Son.”
“Father.” I step aside.
He sweeps in like he owns the manor, Helena on his heels, and Richard dragging in last, already eyeing the wine rack over Bastion’s head. The house absorbs their energy.
My father doesn’t take his coat off. He gives the room a single, surgical scan, then lands his gaze on me. “You finally did your duty. I’m proud of you, Ranier. Even if your new omega is… a commoner.”
“Fuck off.” I’m nothing if not consistent.
Helena gasps. “Ranier.”
“Don’t worry, Helena,” says my father. “He’s an alpha with an omega now. He can say what he pleases.”
Wyatt snorts from the window. “Must be nice to have that kind of leeway.”
Richard sidles over to Bastion, who doesn’t even look up, and helps himself to the decanter. “So is your omega coming, or what?”
Helena steps into the circle of light from the fireplace and hugs her arms to her sides. “Why a commoner, Ranier?”
“We didn’t pick her,” Bastion grumbles. “She picked us. She played the Council. I respect it, but it’s still a loss.”
My father turns to Bastion and gives him a nod that’s almost approving. “Silverwood, you know better than anyone what’s at stake. This is about legacy, not preference. Not comfort.”
Wyatt hums just loud enough to be a problem. “Legacy didn’t do Charlotte much good.”
Helena ignores Wyatt. She faces me, and for a moment I see the version of her from before she left for omega finishing school—still blunt, still too smart for her own good. “I’m off for two weeks before term starts again. I can stay, if you want. Help her acclimate. Maybe she’ll need a friend.”
“That’s unnecessary. She won’t last that long.”
Helena tilts her head. “Maybe she will. What if she’s… good? What if she’s exactly what the pack needs? Have you considered that?”
“Good and omega don’t always line up,” says Bastion, with a bitter laugh. “At least not in this house.”
Helena’s smile is knife-bright. “You’ve never even met her, Bass. Maybe this is the one time you’re wrong.”
“I’m never wrong,” Bastion says, but there’s no venom left in it.
Wyatt finally turns from the window. “She’s stubborn. You’ll like her, Helena. She’s stubborn in the way that makes Councilors hate themselves.”
Richard drinks, winces, and jumps into the conversation like he’s diving on to a grenade. “Why are we even pretending this is a real thing? It’s a formality. Give it a month, then bail.”
My father regards Richard like he’s dogshit on a good shoe. “You’d know about bailing, wouldn’t you? You’ve been suspended from two schools in three years.”
Richard grins, pure teenage spite. “And yet here I am. Still in the line.”
My father sets his jaw. “You could learn something from your brother. He understands what it means to carry a pack.”
I want to punch a wall. “I understand that you’ve made it clear since I was nine that everything’s my fault, and now it’s my job to fix it. Don’t pin this on me.”
My father steps closer and lowers his voice. “Nobody asked you to be a martyr, Ranier. You did that all on your own.”
Helena slides between us and holds up her hands.
“Stop it. This is why nobody wants to visit. Just—let’s be civil for one afternoon, okay?
The new omega arrives later today, right?
Maybe she’ll be terrible, and then you can all gloat together.
But until then, can we just eat lunch and pretend to be a family? ”
Nobody answers. It’s not that kind of house.
Finally, Bastion heaves himself upright. “I’ll have the table set.” He gives me a look, half warning and half exhaustion. “You coming, Starling? Or you want to sulk until morning?”
I brush past my father, not quite shouldering him. “I’ll be there.”
Wyatt gives Helena a half-bow and offers his arm. She takes it, rolling her eyes for show but not resisting.
In the dining room, the table is already set with candles, linen, and crystal. My father sits at the head, with Helena and Richard to his right, and the three of us—the so-called “Everhart Pack”—lined up on the left. Bastion pours more wine.
My father clears his throat. “I want to toast Ranier. Not just for doing what the Council asked, but for holding this family together when so many have tried to tear it apart.”
I don’t raise my glass. I just stare at the flame.
Helena nudges me, whispers, “Don’t be an asshole. Just once.”
I pick up the glass. For a second, I want to scream. Instead, I fill the silence with my own toast: “To the omega we didn’t want, and the future we can’t escape.” I drink.
Helena bites her lip to keep from laughing. “You could at least try to be optimistic.”
“What’s optimistic is surviving the next six months with my brain intact.”
My father waves a hand, dismissing the whole exchange. “It won’t be that bad. She’s not the first girl to walk into a house that hated her. She won’t be the last.”
I look at him, hard. “It didn’t go well for the last one, if you recall.”
He shrugs. “That wasn’t my doing. That was yours.”
The conversation dies after that. We eat in silence, each of us pretending the food has flavor, the wine isn’t vinegar, the air isn’t made of secrets and half-buried threats.
After lunch, Helena corners me in the hall. She waits until the others are out of earshot, then steps in front of me, arms crossed.
“You’re not fooling anyone,” she says.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re scared, Ranier. Not angry. Scared. You think letting this girl in is going to finish what’s left of the line, or ruin the pack, or maybe just ruin you. But you’re not the only one in this family. You don’t have to carry all of it.”
My sister is suddenly taller than I remember, or maybe just more confident. I feel the burn of embarrassment rising in my neck, and I want to shove her aside.
Helena lowers her voice. “Just… be nice to her. At least try. You don’t have to marry her. You don’t even have to like her. But if you make her life hell, you’ll regret it. Trust me.”
“Why do you care?” I ask. “You’ll be gone in two weeks.”
She smiles. “Because I know what it’s like to walk into a room and be hated on sight. Finishing school is full of girls just like you, but meaner.”
That lands. I look away. “Fine. I’ll try. But I don’t have to like it.”
She laughs. “Nobody expects you to. Just don’t sabotage it before it starts.”
I nod. She lets me go, and I walk the empty halls for a while, the echo of her words rattling around inside my head.
I tell myself she’s wrong, that I’m in control, that I’ll find a way to undo this mess before it becomes permanent.
But I know the truth: I am scared. Scared to let another omega in close enough to nearly ruin it all. Again.
When my father and siblings have finally left, I return to the sitting room. Bastion’s there, lights low, staring into the fire.
“You ready for tonight?” he asks.
“I’ll survive,” I say. “If she’s smart, she’ll run before dinner.”
He grins, but there’s nothing happy in it. “You ever think maybe she’s not the problem?”
I don’t answer.
Wyatt drifts in from the corridor, carrying a fresh bottle and three glasses. “I say we take bets. How long before she leaves, or you do?”
Bastion takes a glass. “A week, tops. Ranier’s got the record for running them off.”
Wyatt passes me a glass. “You in?”
I hesitate, then take it. “Three days.”
Wyatt laughs. “I’ll take the under.”
We drink, and for a moment, it almost feels like old times. Almost.
But as I watch the last ember flicker out, I wonder how long it will take to erase her, this omega with her cotton-candy hair and her starved ambition.
Not long, I hope.
But hope has never done me any good.